“You’re not very impressive anymore.”
“If you bait me, you should know what you get,” Fenimore breathed in his ear. He reached into the low cut blouse and removed a persimmon, then pinched Chet’s nipple. Chet squeaked and writhed. Fenimore chuckled. “Finally got a reaction from you, doxy.”
“Did you used to do this often?” Chet asked breathlessly. His ass felt wide open, at the mercy of the half-erect man bearing down on him.
“Often enough. I best loved taking apart young fops new to court. Old bessies would hover over the girls during their coming out; they’d be guarded and locked day and night. But no one cared to hover over young men. They were especially sweet if they thought themselves the highest lords of Uos, swaggering drunk from one tavern to another. I could take that type all day.”
“What about women?”
“Of course women. Whores by the boatload, naturally, and sometimes I had an older widow with multiple assets and a wet, ready civet. That’s how I started, you know. Older women with assets.”
Chet frowned critically, trying to match up what he knew from his studies against Fenimore’s claims. It was really too bad he hadn’t taken Clementina’s class about that period in Tache history. “Didn’t you ever marry? I thought it was almost a requirement back then.”
Fenimore sighed. “They tried to drown me with a wife once. She was young and attractive. I carefully ruined her with my attentions, then lent her out to friends and sundry until she found a man who fit her better than I ever could. She learned to play the game rather well, I’m proud to say. Such a good student. I was quite sorry when she died in childbirth last... um. Three hundred and half a year ago.”
“That’s despicable,” Chet said, scowling. He wanted to climb out from under Fenimore, but he could barely move in this position.
“Oh, it’s far better to be despicable than boring. My love life is—was—considered absolutely notorious at court,” Fenimore said congenially. “That way my other activities are well covered.”
“You snooped for your prince, didn’t you?” Chet said, thinking back to what Knife had said. Knife had called Fenimore a “colleague," and Knife was almost certainly a spy.
“Snooped?” Fenimore seemed confused.
“Um. You were a spy? An intelligencer.”
Fenimore shifted his weight—uneasily, Chet realized. “It seems my past is more uncovered than I’d thought.”
“Well, Knife said you and she were colleagues. And I just assumed...”
“Ah, Knife.” Fenimore breathed a sigh of obvious relief. “I see. Yes, of course she would insinuate that.”
Chet wondered if the man would fuck him again, or if they would continue lingering here conjoined like mating insects. “I’m growing tired,” he said, tightening his aching ass muscles to emphasize the point.
“Good thing I am not.” Fenimore began moving atop him. He lifted himself off and pulled Chet closer at the same time, so they were still connected, then fucked him at a leisurely pace.
Chet felt wide open, wider than he’d ever been in his life. The underwear was somehow gone from his knees. He gasped when Fenimore reached around and grabbed his cock, stroking up with a light touch. Chet thrust backwards, aroused once again. Fenimore laughed and took him at a swifter pace. This time Chet wasn’t overwhelmed—he found that he preferred the rougher fucking. It felt better, the thumping against his ass reverberating through him with fantastic pressure. He came without warning, spurting messily all over the skirt. Fenimore bore down on him, coming with shuddered gasps.
Chet struggled away from the man, determined to break free. He heard an audible pop as his anus was released, and Fenimore didn’t hold him back.
“Oh, Pantheon,” Chet groaned. “I don’t think I’ll ever be tight again.”
“Yes, you will,” Fenimore predicted. “You will be tight, and I’ll rend you open once again. That, or I’ll lend you to another man who’ll do the work for me.”
Chet frowned. “I’m not your wife.” Blouse, skirt and bra to the contrary.
Fenimore grinned at him. Apparently spotting something in the hay, he lifted up a ruined twist of the pink underwear. It was torn asunder. “You’re rough on clothing, little girl. What will Saemion say?”
“She would say it’s time you two came down and ate midday,” Othnielia said, sticking his head through the ladder hole. Chet almost buried himself in the hay head first, he was so embarrassed. “Here, Chet,” he said, tossing in a bundle. “Now that you and Fenimore have had your fun, perhaps you’d prefer something more suitable to your preferences.”
“Thank you,” Chet called as Othnielia disappeared.
“Abyss, I’m hungry. Guess I’ll have to whip you another time.”
Chet shrugged, still distracted by Othnielia’s appearance. He, or, um, she didn’t turn a hair—if she’d had any, Chet thought. Fenimore was putting himself back together; he wiped himself down with the torn underwear and buried it deep in the hay. Chet snorted. Othnielia would probably find it mid-winter, frozen solid. Repayment for her kind hospitality, Chet was afraid.
He bundled the rest of the soiled women’s clothing together and descended the ladder, Fenimore following. Chet found himself mulling over Fenimore’s earlier words, disturbed at the images they invoked. There was no way Fenimore would be lending him to anyone. Chet had chosen to explore this bizarre and riveting sexual world once, but he could stop any time he chose. Right? He was a free man despite their little games.
Midday was a hearty meal, featuring a doedicu roast with gravy and mashed parsnips. Othnielia turned to Chet while they were eating. Chet braced himself for questions regarding his sexual adventures, wincing inside.
Instead, Othnielia said, “I understand you’re studying for your Ph.D. in archaeology, Chet. Have you dedicated yourself as an affiliate to Philapo, yet?”
Chet swallowed a suddenly dry bite of home-baked bread. It went down like ashes in his mouth. “Uh. No, good Flame. I’m unaffiliated and intend to remain that way.”
The usual startled looks around the table followed this statement. Chet was used to them by now.
Journey said, “I’d assumed you were waiting to become Literati for some reason.”
“I don’t see the need.”
“Are your family atheists?” Othnielia asked. “We have a clan of atheists a few miles away, bunking down and waiting for the end of the world. While I admire their survivalist attitude, I find myself dubious as to their goals.”
Knife chuckled under his breath. “I’m dubious as to atheists’ grasp on reality.”
Chet agreed readily with this assessment: atheists on Uos were a paranoid lot with reason. They were alone in their assertion that the Pantheon were not really gods at all, but evil space aliens with too much power, playing with humans like children with toys. Some sects believed that there were no higher beings, while others argued that there was a bigger god somewhere in the universe who had originally created everything, including the Pantheon. Chet could only be glad he hadn’t fallen in among a group of such weirdoes and kooks.
He cleared his throat. “No, good Flame. My father is a dedicated Merchant, and my mother is the only non-hereditary Scientist among my aunts and uncles on that side. All six of my sisters have dedicated themselves as Acia Nuns. My two older brothers have followed in my father’s footsteps as Merchants, carrying on our family business.”
People were staring in earnest now, even Fenimore. “All six of your sisters dedicated themselves to Acia?” Othnielia said.
Chet nodded glumly. “My youngest sister dedicated herself last midwinter. You could say my family is highly affiliated.”
“You must feel like the odd man out when you go home,” Journey observed.
Chet shrugged, playing with the remaining food scraps on his plate. “Yeah.”
“How do you intend to pursue a teaching career without dedicating yourself to Philapo?” Journey said. “The Literati University System isn’t pa
rtial to the unaffiliated, though you are the population majority. They don’t like us teaching, even in more congenial locales than Wetshul. Do you plan to teach at an independent city or city-state university?”
“I don’t know,” Chet said, downcast. “My father keeps threatening to stop paying tuition and drag me home by the collar, but... the past holds so much. I feel it on my shoulders, like a weight. If I didn’t study history, I think I’d drown under that weight.”
The Flame at the table exchanged looks. “The past is the past,” Othnielia said, rising to gather empty plates. “Mostly it’s like layers of rock, pressed stratum of events piled atop one another.”
Someone knocked at the door, and Masie rose to answer it, greeting the neighbor on the step. She closed the door behind her to speak to her friend; Chet could hear them conferring in undertones outside.
Journey was frowning deeply, gazing at Chet as if she wished she could see through him. “Chet... before I, um, took the initiative the other day to rid you of your virginity, did you... were you...” She gulped and looked away. “What I’m trying to say is, when you held a lit match or lighter to your fingers, could you burn?”
“Er, yes?” Chet was not a little freaked out by this line of questioning. “Yes, fire burns me like it burns everyone else.”
“Oh, thank Pantheon,” Journey murmured, bowing over until her forehead rested on the wooden table. “I didn’t screw up, then.”
Othnielia and Knife chuckled. Chet frowned at this. “Does someone care to explain?”
“To initiate as Flame, you have to be a virgin,” Knife said.
Chet grew hot—his face probably almost matched his hair. Journey thought he might have been a candidate to be Flame? But... he was just a guy. A normal, everyday guy. Despite having just, um, cross dressed to experience anal sex with a man. Anyway, he couldn’t initiate to Pelin now. Chet cheered up at the thought, grateful that he was no longer a virgin. His aching ass, so recently plundered, felt like an insurance policy in his pocket.
Masie closed the front door, calling goodbye to her friend. She turned and murmured in Othnielia’s ear.
Othnielia went instantly still. “Is she sure?” Masie nodded, her expression serious. Othnielia took a deep breath. “You four had best climb down into the cellar. Our local sheriff is going door to door, asking after you. Not by name, but by description. He’s my friend, and I’m sure he won’t look further than he has to, but best we don’t stretch his dedication to the badge, eh?”
Masie had already rolled up the rag-tied carpet in the kitchen to reveal a cellar door. She pulled the trapdoor by a ring to reveal a black void. “Saemion, light a lamp. We can’t send them down in the dark.”
Chet couldn’t believe it as he descended the ladder behind Journey. The events from three days ago rushed back to him, and he gulped residual nausea. By the steady, dim light of the oil lamp, he could see the cellar was more like a large pantry. It was filled with wax-sealed canning jars, rotund barrels, packing crates of wizened melons, sacks of root vegetables, and dusty bottles that undoubtedly held alcohol.
Othnielia stuck his face in the hole. “You okay?”
“We’ll be fine," Journey assured him.
The trapdoor closed, locking them in. Chet sat on the dirt floor, repressing panic. He took deep breaths, listening to the footsteps and murmured words overhead. Noise resonated just fine through the floorboards, anyway.
Fenimore glanced around. “Where’s the Raptus?” he whispered.
“In the living room. My purse," Journey replied, glancing at the ceiling.
“If we had it, we could try to gain control of the sheriff’s mind and send him away,” Fenimore said. “If he discovers us and attempts to use force, the shielding power might work even now.”
Knife sighed. “I trust Othnielia to cover for us.”
“She’s the reason I survived the World War,” Journey put in. “Most Flame died, you know. That’s why three council members just initiated. The medical experiments carried out on Flame were the worst of part...”
Chet jerked at a knock on the front door, and Journey fell silent. Chet’s whole body was tense, his shoulders shaking. He pressed his face into his knees and waited.
Chapter 14
On the Road to Fengfu
No one spoke in the cellar as someone walked across the wooden floorboards to answer the door. “Jindo, welcome! We just finished eating midday—would you care to set in?”
“No thank you, Masie. I just need to talk to Othnielia.”
More footsteps. “Yes, Jindo? How can I help you today?”
Chet blinked, sorry that he couldn’t see anything. This was like listening to a soap opera on the radio. The strange male voice murmured, and Chet only caught a phrase or two. “Murdered," was the most prominent word, and also “renegades,” “stolen car.”
Chet heard Othnielia sigh. “Got it. I’ll keep an eye out.”
Jindo’s voice rose in volume. “Of course, of course. I’m canvassing the whole neighborhood for clues, starting with the west end and moving east in a leisurely fashion. Can’t miss a thing that way. The law enforcement up the mountains seems quite keen; they don’t understand our way of doing things.”
“I understand completely, Jindo.”
More murmurs, a laugh. Someone was smoking by the smell of it. Discerning the pattern of footsteps, Chet decided they’d moved into another room. More talk. Doors opened and shut. Silence. Chet was going out of his head, waiting. Journey had her eyes closed and was taking deep breaths. Fenimore had his hunting blade out, his expression grim. Knife... Knife looked like a man—or an individual, rather—finally in his element after a long, dull day. His eyes sparkled with interest, and his leg jiggled, like a benched athlete waiting for a coach to put him in the game.
Movement overhead, scrapping. The carpet being rolled up? Sure enough, the cellar door creaked open. “All clear. Come on out,” Othnielia said.
“What’s the word?” Knife said, climbing the ladder first.
Othnielia had a distracted, unhappy look of someone being pulled in two directions. “Sheriff Jindo is being mighty good to us. He carefully visited all our neighbors first, including Masie’s best friend, who is the biggest gossip in these parts. I gather that he’s playing a delicate game, and a jurisdiction game at that.”
“He’s covering for us?” Journey said as she put the lantern on the kitchen table.
“Covering for me. He doesn’t know you from a herd of macrauch, but he knows you’re here, of course. It’s obviously why you abandoned that stolen car in the neighborhood.”
Saemion, who was leaning in the doorway, said, “Jindo owes you for a couple of solved cases, ’Lia, going back some years. You are the local expert on god affiliates.”
“So when do we leave?” Fenimore asked, his whole body radiating pent-up energy.
Othnielia eyed Knife and Journey. “Well, now. That’s a question, isn’t it?”
Journey looked reluctant. “We need to go to Plainsdaugheau to see Aureate but don’t have enough funds on hand. I have reserves in a cache near my home. So does Knife, of course. My place is closer than Knife’s, but it’s a long ways north to Eich Che, especially when we’re wanted by the police and all.”
Chet nearly choked. “Plainsdaugheau? We’re going to Plainsdaugheau?” Half a world away, the city-state was located in the middle of the ocean, perched at the edge of an unassailable land mass. It was so far away they might as well have been headed to Elderbeth in outer space.
Knife eyed him speculatively. “Chet, you’re from the Door area. That’s half as far as Eich Che, and in the right direction.”
“Um. Yes?”
“You mentioned before that your family is rich.”
Chet dropped his eyes. “My family would rather see me locked in an insane asylum than accept the company I’m keeping.”
Both Knife and Fenimore grinned in response; identical grins, in fact. Fenimore slapped Chet on the back
bracingly. “I think we can slip through that net, fair enough. Lead us forth.”
“My parents actually live outside of Door in the suburban community of Fengfu...”
“Yes, yes. We’ll figure it out," Knife said. He turned to Othnielia. “We’re headed west. Door is only about six or seven hundred miles away. The Arch Trade Route is near here, isn’t it?”
“People call it Highway 1 these days, and yes, it’s about ten miles via back ways, over fields and through orchards. I wouldn’t want to take you by the front road anyway, what with curious neighbors just having been spoken to by the sheriff. You hitchhiking?”
Knife and Journey met eyes, and neither seemed overjoyed by the prospect. “Yes,” Journey said. “Looks like I’ll be taking the hit on this one.”
Chet frowned, not certain what she meant. Knife and Othnielia each touched her gently: Knife took her hand and Othnielia her shoulder, supporting her. “Maybe it won’t come to that,” Othnielia murmured.
“Maybe. Think you can get us there tonight?”
“Best not risk it. Ceroses do better in daylight, and I’d like to get home before dark. Don’t think it’ll rain tomorrow, and Sheriff Jindo made it clear he’s giving me space. He even outlined where he’s searching next.”
“Of course, that would be the best way to entrap you. And us,” Knife muttered.
Othnielia gave him a long, measured look. “Can you think of a better plan?” The tension between them was subtle but present. Chet looked from one to the other. They weren’t exactly having a staring contest, but it was a near thing.
Knife gave up first, dropping his eyes. “No. We are as you see us: without luggage or backup.”
“Well then, you’d best trust my friends and not fool around here, making a mess of things.” Othnielia’s tone was sharp.
Knife turned away. Journey looked like she was being ground between two stones. Chet felt the same, though he lacked her insight. He’d always thought of the past as fascinating and intricate, all the battlefields comfortably far away. But to three—no, four—of the people here, the past was alive, tainting the present. Othnielia had been right about layers of rock, he decided. Whatever layer of past lay between the Flame, it jutted into the present in a distinct, geological fashion.
The Artifact of Foex Page 14