"I guess you like the outfit," Megan said. He'd pulled the halter away from her breasts and she'd managed to get the skirt out of the way of any outflow. But the outfit had never really come off.
"Maybe too much," Paul said, getting up and starting to retrieve his shirt.
As she wiped herself she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
"Paul," she said. "what's wrong?"
"Nothing," he replied, dismissively.
"Was it me?" she asked with a plaintive note in her voice.
"No, sweetling," he said, sitting down by her. "It's just work."
"You look tense," she said. "Lie down."
"Why?"
"On your stomach," she replied, pushing him over. She rolled over and straddled his back, the skirt hiking up out of her way. She thought for a moment of simply hammer-driving his upper vertebrae, but she wasn't sure if his healing nannites would cure it. And whoever took over from him was sure to kill her, even if she succeeded. Instead, she took her thumbs and started digging them into his back, rolling upward with strong, firm, strokes.
"God that feels good," Paul exclaimed. He pillowed his head on his hands and rolled his back up. "Thank you."
"Now, what's so troubling at work?" she asked. "Don't you dare tense up on me," she added, pushing at the muscle that had bunched at her words until it had eased back down.
"It's nothing I think you'd be interested in," Paul said.
"Probably not," Megan said. "But verbalizing a problem is quite often a way for the unconscious to find a solution. You talk, I'll massage. Call it division of labor."
Paul laughed at that but was quiet for a while as she continued massaging his back.
"Minjie Jiaqi's aide killed him and took his Key," Paul said, finally. "He's willing to join with New Destiny, but he's putting too many conditions on it for me to feel that I can trust him. Minjie had been a friend for years. I don't feel happy just letting the son of a bitch get away with it."
"Good God," Megan said. "I hope the Coalition doesn't know."
"They don't," Paul replied. "We have a very good source close to their Council. But the problem is..."
"You're tensing up again," Megan warned. "Talk, don't tense."
"The problem is that if he feels he can go his way, the others will too," Paul snarled.
"Calm," Megan said. "Shuuuh. Talk it out."
"I'm holding a tiger by the tail, honey," Paul said, rolling out from under her and sitting up. "The council members that side with me don't understand the importance. Really, only Minjie ever did. Celine wanted to be able to make her damned abominations. Chansa... Chansa just wants power, direct power. The kind that the Council couldn't really wield before the Fall. Reyes has his... girls." Paul stopped and looked to the side, shaking his head. "Every time I come in here I think of the... the horror that they are suffering and it just makes me want to throttle that perverted bastard."
"You need some more massage, Mister Paul, sir," Megan said, grabbing him by the shoulder and pushing him facedown again. "So how do you keep them in line?"
"Subtly," Paul muttered. "For one thing, all their guards are bound to me. They didn't notice at first and since they have I've been quite pleasant but very definite about it. The thing is, if one of them decides to defy me, I can take them out at any time. Furthermore, it's my guards who hold the power plants and my word that locks the shields. And I'm very careful to remain shielded myself. When I'm in here, no one can enter or leave and there's a shield up to ensure that. But this Patala bastard had all my guards killed and refuses to have them replaced. He doesn't have access to much power; I could destroy him in an instant. But I'm afraid if I do, it will cause the others to react."
"How was Minjie killed?" Megan asked. She lay down on his back, pressing her breasts into his muscles and rolling them around. "Now, doesn't that feel better?"
"Oh, very much so," Paul said, rolling over.
She mounted him, smiling sweetly, trying hard to enjoy it enough to get moist and started moving up and down. To her surprise she actually did start to enjoy herself, at least partially because she was looking at his unguarded neck. She clamped down on him and leaned in, stroking up and down, imagining cracking his hyoid bone and watching him choke to death on his own blood. When she realized she was finding sexual pleasure in the thought, she tried to think of something, anything, else.
"How was Minjie killed?" she asked, panting.
"You want to know now?" Paul gasped.
"Um, hmmm."
"Binary toxin," Paul said. "Part in his food, part in his wine. By the time the nannites could react, he was already effectively dead." He rolled her over and began thrusting until he came and collapsed onto her, burying his face against her neck.
"Kill him," she said, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back to where she could look in his eyes. "Have him assassinated. Quietly. Then make a deal with his aide. Don't fuck with me, I won't kill you."
"How?" Paul asked as he drew out of her.
She knew the answer but wasn't about to tell him.
"That should be easy to figure out," Megan said. "Have Celine do it."
"Hmmm..."
"There," she said, using a corner of a towel to wipe herself, "don't you feel better?"
"Yes," he replied, kissing her on the lips and running his tongue into her mouth. He needed to use a toothbrush and he smelled. "Thank you."
"I live to serve," she said, running her hands over the back of his neck. She knew damned well how she would kill this unnamed usurper. The only problem was escaping after she did it.
* * *
Paul returned over the next three days in quick succession, each time looking more worn and wan. Each time he chose at least one of the girls, sometimes two. Twice in the three days it was Megan, to her well-hidden disgust.
After the quick succession of visits Paul didn't come back for two weeks and then another long pause of almost a month. The last visit he bedded Ashly and Velva, one of Ashly's little clique, giving them something to talk about for days.
This pattern continued for months. From time to time one of the girls would begin showing signs of being pregnant and after a brief check by Christel she would be whisked out of the harem and into the confinement quarters.
Each month, Megan secretly prayed that she wouldn't be one of them. If she was taken out of the harem, away from her "experiments," away from the books that at least gave her a few hours of work during the week, if she was simply cooped up and fed like some damned brood mare, she was sure she would go completely insane.
She wondered, as the time passed, about the pregnancy rate. She had spent enough time on the outside to know that farmers' wives spent most of their time "knocked up." But over a six-month period, only two of the girls tested pregnant. A similar group on the outside would be at least an order of magnitude more efficient as "breeders."
But given Paul's infrequent visits, the rate was not so surprising. A couple of visits a month, one maybe two of the girls "taken" at apparent random and there was no way that the rate was going to be much higher. And he was getting to be in terrible shape. She had to wonder if his nannites were bothering to maintain his sperm count. It was just another of Paul's studied blindnesses. He had a "duty" to perform, even if he was performing it badly. The fact that this "duty" happened to be sex with voluptuous young females, none of whom had a say in the matter, was quite beside the point, of course. It was just another proof that Paul was absolutely crackers.
But, as the time went on, despite the many things she now had to occupy her, Megan looked forward to his infrequent visits. The disgust was starting to fade and that terrified her. By the sixth month of captivity, she was beginning to look forward to the act, to the sex. It no longer felt like rape and she was horrified that she was actually starting to enjoy Paul's company. He was smart, very smart, and when he did bother to talk he was interesting. The chance to know something of what was happening outside the harem was delightful. T
o listen to the intrigues that were going on among the New Destiny faction and, from time to time, to hear about the actions of the Freedom Coalition that fought against them.
What was even more horrible was, she began to enjoy him as a bed partner and he definitely seemed to prefer her to the other girls. The dreams continued but more and more they tended to be erotic rather than nightmares. Or, they were nightmares, because the dreams never really changed; she'd see his face above her, taking her. But the fear and anger and disgust drained out of them as time went by. The helplessness was still there, but something in her was changing. When she had him at her relative mercy, she no longer looked at him as a target. The plans were still there, remaining in the background, waiting the proper time, but she no longer thought of killing him when he was inside her. She wanted him. And she hated herself for it.
* * *
"Here it is," Megan said, holding up a small bottle filled with yellow liquid.
The still-room was now filled with odd scents, a complex of strong musk, rose water and an undertinge of sulfur. Ceramic bowls bubbled over charcoal braziers and a small complex of distilling equipment dripped liquid into a small glass jar. The end of the table was covered in a pile of spices and several sealed bottles were scattered around them.
Christel took the bottle and removed the stopper, sniffing at the liquid.
"Oh," she said, tipping some of the liquid out and rubbing it on her inner wrists. "Wonderful!" she exclaimed, sniffing at her wrist.
"It's not very potent," Megan noted. "The scent will wear off quickly. I need a secondary distilling apparatus to get it to be real perfume as opposed to a very light cologne."
"Can you do that?" Christel asked. She sniffed at her wrist and noticed that the scent had already begun to fade.
"Oh, yes," Megan said. "But it will have to be ordered from a glassmaker. The cost is well within our... well I've got it listed as 'fripperies' budget. The cloth to make clothes, board games, that sort of thing. We haven't really touched the budget on that. And the glassware isn't all that expensive."
"All right," Christel said, sniffing at her wrist again and touching some of the cologne behind her ears.
"Um. I'd sort of hoped that I could... use this to trade," Megan said. "I can't sew and I was hoping I could trade this with the other girls. Obviously, you have first dibs."
"Obviously," Christel smirked. "But that's fine. Just don't start too many fights, okay?"
"Okay."
Christel looked around the room and then under the workbench.
"What is that big bucket?" she asked.
"That's sort of the junk left over," Megan said. "I'm going to have to have it hauled out sooner or later, but there are two hogsheads for it. They're plastic lined, so they won't leak."
"Okay," Christel replied, looking around and shaking her head. "You really do surprise me, Megan."
"Thank you, ma'am," the girl said as the older woman left the room. "I certainly hope so."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Megan was frowning at the latest bill for cosmetics when Paul suddenly appeared in the office. She let out a slight shriek and the paper she was holding flew across the room.
"Jesus, Paul!" she snapped. "Ding a bell when you're porting or something!"
"I'm sorry," Paul said, then frowned at her, looking at the papers scattered across the desk. "What are you doing in here?" he added severely, the frown creating a furrow between his eyebrows. He had lost weight even in the last few weeks and was so thin his ribs showed. His clothes weren't as elegant, either. Actually, he looked like a walking corpse.
"I'm doing the accounts these days," Megan said, waving at the papers and worrying about the change in his appearance. Paul dying from malnutrition was not part of her plans. "And other things."
"What 'other things'?" Paul asked, dangerously. There was an almost feral light in his eyes as he stared at her. "And why are you doing the accounts?" he asked, harshly.
"The 'other things' is making perfume," she said, coming gracefully to her feet and walking over so he could smell the underside of her wrist.
"Nice," Paul said, mollified. "You make it?"
"I have to." She frowned in turn, returning to the desk, and sitting in the graceful motion Mirta had taught her. "Do you know that there's not a single perfumer in all of Ropasa? Saving me, of course. You want to make some money instead of spending it for a change?"
"Making perfume?" Paul snorted.
"Perfume was a major trade item in preindustrial days, Paul," Megan replied, hotly. "Given what I'm paying for cosmetics for the girls, I could make a killing if I was still on the outside. Setting up a perfumery would be expensive, but I'd recoup the investment in a year!"
"You're not getting out of here, Megan," Paul said, kindly, squatting by the desk. "You have more important work to do. Don't... don't make the mistake that some have made."
"Paul, I'm not trying to escape, okay?" Megan replied, wondering and fearing at the truth in the statement. "I don't even know where we are. Okay, I got up to a window, that I couldn't fit through, and looked out. We're in a castle. Big surprise. We're in a castle on a mountain. We're in a castle on a mountain that has a valley down below and other mountains in the distance. Paul, I could be anywhere in Ropasa, okay? And I got enough of a look to see that there are about a billion Changed guarding the castle. There's a town in the valley. Why do I think it's probably crawling with your forces? Paul, I'm not trying to run away. I'm just saying that you're leaving money on the table, here!"
Paul looked at her for a moment and then laughed, finally sitting down on a pillow, some of the tension going out of his face.
"You've changed," he said, still chuckling.
"What do you mean?" she asked, cautiously.
"Where's the meek little Megan that I found by the side of the stream?" Paul said. "Meek, scared little Megan. She's disappeared and been replaced by a coldhearted business woman who wants to make a killing in the perfume business."
"Little Megan is still here," she said, smiling. She shook her head at his appearance, though. "Paul, what have you been doing to yourself? You look like a damned ghost. How long has it been since you've laughed?"
"Too long," he admitted, frowning. "The world is such a terrible place right now, Megan. That bitch Sheida and her lackeys..."
"Paul," Megan said gently. "You need to get some rest."
"There's too much to do," he said, almost wailed. "I'm holding on with both hands, as tight as I can, and I can feel it all slipping away!"
"Paul," Megan said, severely. "Go take a shower, maybe a bath. No, wait..." She thought for a moment and then nodded. "Stay here. Don't go anywhere. Promise?"
"Promise," Paul said. "But why?"
"Why do you come here, Paul?" Megan asked.
"Because I have a duty..." Paul started to say.
"And we have a duty, too," Megan replied, cutting him off. "More than just to make babies. You're the most important man in the world, right now. Our duty is to make sure you can do yours, and we've clearly been falling down on the job."
"That's what Christel says, but..."
"Christel, Schmistel," Megan snorted. "I'm sorry; she's good for keeping the girls in line but there's a reason I'm doing the accounts. Face it, Paul, she's not the brightest leaf in the tree. I know what you need, and you're going to get it. So you wait right here."
She got up and walked into the main room, pointing at Shanea, who was talking to Mirta, and then at Mirta. She walked over to Christel and squatted down.
"Paul is here and he looks awful," she said to the woman.
"In the office?" Christel said, flustered and getting to her feet. "He'll want to check the books..."
"I'll handle it," Megan said, laying her hand on the woman's arm. "Let me handle this, okay? He needs rest. You've tried your arguments, let me try mine, okay?"
Christel looked at her, and at the door, frowning.
"Christel, I don't want your job," Megan sai
d, softly. "I don't want to try to keep the girls in line. I don't want to hold the whip. I don't, okay? But what happens if Paul kills himself from neglect?"
The woman gulped and shook her head. "I don't know, I suppose..."
"You suppose what?" Megan said, softly but fiercely. "That Chansa would take us under his wing? Not hardly. We'd probably go to Reyes, who goes through women like a shark though a school of fish. Or to service the Changed. Or be Changed. Maybe even turned over to Celine." The latter council member was the source of most of the monsters that had been created for New Destiny's war. Most of them had started off as human beings. Under the rules pre-Fall they still were human beings. But nobody who had seen them or heard of them could think of them that way.
John Ringo - Council Wars 02 - Emerald Sea Page 49