House of Lust (33 page)

“I’ve never seen any prostitute dress like that – perhaps he goes to some dodgy parties?”

Amne collapsed into gales of laughter.  The thought of her excessively serious and straight husband going to one of the more dubious noble parties was too much.   Lalaas grinned.  She wiped the tears from her eyes.  “Lalaas, it’s a life-saver being with you in this palace.  You’re just about the only one who keeps my sanity.”

“Thought that had flown years ago, Amne.”

Amne punched him on the arm.  “Cheek.  Come on, enough of this, let’s take lunch then go out riding.”

They made their way to the dining room.  Elas came in shortly afterwards and listened silently while Amne informed him as to where they would be going.  The prince tolerated her going out provided she was escorted at all times.  He still felt only having Lalaas was too little but as both pointed out, the captain had showed his abilities in the past and as Elas knew, Lalaas was the only one he trusted to be with his passionate wife and not succumb to her charms.  He was in fact grateful for Lalaas taking her out as it seemed to defuse her temper, for she became fractious if kept indoors too long.  His own attention was firmly on social matters.  His current project was to oversee the renovation and rebuild of the public baths.  For too long these facilities had been allowed to decay and if Kastania was known for one thing, then it was for its public works.

All over the empire such works were continuing, and for the moment they were enjoying the peace, but Astiras and his family knew it wouldn’t last.

It was almost the tenth anniversary of the accession of Astiras Koros to the throne.  The fourteen year old Argan Koros stood at the top of the steps of the governor’s residence and inhaled deeply, sucking in the spring air and stretching.  He was glad the winter was gone; he could enjoy the brighter days, the warmth and the less chance of it raining.  He didn’t mind the cold too much, it was the wet days he disliked.

He felt more and more at home here in Turslenka now.  Kastan City and Zofela were receding memories, but he knew soon, one day, he would have to leave and take up whatever governorship his father had planned.  Would it be Slenna or Romos?  It wouldn’t be any other, for Niake was firmly Evas Extonos’, and Jorqel would be in one of the other two.  No matter, he would find out in due course.

Footsteps behind him heralded the arrival of Kerrin.  Kerrin was becoming very much like his late father in appearance, and since Panat’s death the winter just gone, he was much more subdued and sad.  Panat just gave up one dark morning; he had been ill for a while and his injuries that he’d gained years ago worked against him.  His sight had gone, his body had failed him and finally he just let go and faded away.

Argan and Amal had comforted Kerrin as best they could, and of late Kerrin had showed signs of recovering from the blow.  To have no parents now was lonely, and Argan and the Bragalese girl were the closest to family he had.

The death of one man didn’t mean martial training was done; another had to be found to continue Argan’s and Kerrin’s training, and a young officer in the militia had volunteered.  He was one of those middle-ranked noblemen who was either the second, third or lower son who would not take up the family’s head once the current head died, so had to find useful employment.

Mostly they went into business, running one of the House’s branches of trade, but sometimes there were too many sons to fill positions and they tended to find their way into military posts, positions the rest of the House tended to look down on.  Sometimes these people turned out to be utterly useless, but sometimes the military found they had a talented officer and used them as best they could.

This particular individual was from the Bosua family, a low-to-middle ranked House who had built their fortune on manufacturing bovineskin goods, and owned a large tract of land in Frasia where they bred herd beasts from whose skin they made top quality bovineskin.  The manufacturing sheds were well away from any residence as the smell was fairly awful.

The young Kontas Bosua was keen, slim, tall, and had a shock of black curly hair and very pale skin.  He was probably no more than ten years older than Argan, and was properly in awe of the young Koros prince.  Kontas was a sub-commander of one of the Turslenkan militia companies but was uncommonly good at fencing and had a pretty good grasp of tactics.  His strategic vision was however not so good.

“A good day to practice our riding skills, ‘Rin,” Argan said, without looking to see whether it was his friend or not.

“Yes, ‘Gan,” came the familiar reply.  “I’ll be pleased to ride out away from here.”

Argan looked at Kerrin who was now standing alongside.  “You don’t like it here?”

“No.  Father’s memory is here, and I will always think of him dying in Turslenka.  I can’t wait to go to another place.”

Argan looked away.  “In time, yes.  We have a couple of years yet.  Still plenty to learn.”  He looked out over the sea of roofs to the sea, glittering in the distance.  “We ought to learn to swim one day.”

“Swim?  What for?”

“I think we will be taken by sea at one time or other, definitely if we are to go to Niake and the west.”

“Why Niake, ‘Gan?”

“I’m to marry Velka there, remember?  We are betrothed, after all, and Niake is her home city.  I’m not the emperor or heir, so it won’t be in Kastan City.  As I’m supposed to be Prince of the West, it should be in the principle city of the west, and that’s Niake.”

“Getting married is silly,” Kerrin said gloomily.  “Just because people say you have to marry her.”

Argan shrugged.  “Being a prince isn’t all good; you have duties to follow.  One duty is to marry and have children so the empire gets more leaders and generals.”

“But you don’t really know Velka do you?  I mean you’ve only seen her maybe five or six times, and she seems so stuck up these days.”

“Stuck up?  Oh, ‘Rin, don’t be a spoiler!  You don’t like her because she doesn’t speak to you.  She doesn’t speak to Amal, either, have you noticed?”

“You like Amal more than Velka, so if you were going to marry anyone, it would be Amal, surely?”

Argan smiled sadly.  “Not allowed.  She’s not Kastanain, or a noble.  I’m not allowed to marry who I like.  Duty,” he faced his friend squarely, “but I will insist on both you and Amal being in my household after I marry Velka.”

“Quite right too.  It’d be awful not to have people around you like.  Anyway, where would you live?”

“I don’t know.  In fact I haven’t thought about that much to be honest.”  He thought on that matter for a moment.  “Maybe Slenna or Romos.  It depends where the emperor will send me when I’m of the age to rule a province.”

“It should be Kastan City; surely you’ll be named the new heir when Jorqel takes up the throne?”

Argan smiled, still looking out across the rooftops.  “Emperor?  Me?  I don’t have the ruthless streak necessary.”  He had memories of what Metila had said to him, and the spiteful remarks Istan had hurled in the past.  “Could I condemn people to death while sitting in a chair?  I don’t know.  It sounds like a lot of hard work and everyone wants to see you and speak to you.  No, I don’t think I’m going to be a good emperor.  I want to be a good general, with you as my bodyguard,” now he looked directly at his friend who smiled briefly in response.

Argan slapped his hands against his thighs.  The mornings were still chilly but the day would warm up, and from the look of the sky it would be a sunny day.  The recent rains had stopped the day before, and although the ground was still sodden, he was eager to go out riding.  “This afternoon we will ride out to the coast.  I want to see that old shipwreck again.”

Kerrin agreed.  “But don’t go climbing too far – the tide comes in quickly there.”

Argan grinned.  “Oh, don’t be a spoiler.  We can take Kontas with us.  He needs to teach us more on riding tactics, doesn’t he?  We can learn as we go on our ride.”

“What of now?  Another boring morning with Mr. Sen?  Or the governor?”

“Oh, both.  A lesson in Epatamian protocol,” Argan grimaced.  “It’s all hand waving, like you’re trying to dry them in the wind,” he waved his hands wildly to demonstrate.  “Lots of smiling, even when you don’t feel like it.  Funny people, the Epatamians.”

“Yes – but when will you ever meet them?  They’re so far away from us.”

Argan shrugged.  “Who knows?  Mr. Sen always says expect the unexpected.  Maybe a fantor will fall out of the sky and splat into pieces in the town square there,” he pointed.  “SPLAT!”

Kerrin chuckled, something he hadn’t done much over the past season or so.  “You make me laugh.”

“Good, it’s about time you cheered up.  It was horrible what happened to your father, but you and I have a long time to be friends and I want you to be happy.”

Kerrin sighed and nodded.  “I think if it wasn’t for you I’d die of sadness.”

“Well you’re not going to.  What are your duties this morning?”

“Oh – care of tack and harnesses.  Learning what they are all called and where they go on all kinds of equines, not just the war beasts.”

“Ah.  Equine care as well, yes?”

Kerrin nodded.  “As your bodyguard I am to take care of the more menial tasks while you think of more important things.”

“Like whether fantors will fall out of the sky, yes.”  Argan nodded seriously, then glanced slyly at his friend.  Both burst out laughing on cue.

“Oh, wasting time, are we?” came Thetos Olskan’s voice from behind.  Both boys turned as one to see the big, greying governor glaring at them.  “Idle hands make mischief, you know.”

“How’s Metila?” Argan asked.  “Good morning, Governor, by the way.”

“Sire,” Thetos said gruffly.  “Metila is fine; it’s only a winter chill.  She’s recovering.”

“I know – I heard her sneezing.  It’s like a fantor, it’s that loud.  I thought you might have gone deaf with all that in the same room.”

Thetos grunted.  “Young prince, you’ve got a fixation with fantors.  You’ve never seen one, so why the fascination?”

“Then they really exist?” Argan became excited.  “Really?”

“Oh yes, they do, but not here.  They’ve never been here.  Far away, yes.  Far to the west, beyond the western mountains, or so people say.  So, you’re interested in fabled beasts.  What of flame beasts – some call them dragons?”

“Oh, those too?  Do they really exist?”

Thetos shrugged.  “Perhaps – although nobody has actually seen one.  Maybe one or two have, but only in the bottom of a bottle.”  He laughed at his own joke.  “Great sea slitherers, that can drag a great ship down under the waters.  Hmm, yes, listen to the tales of drunken sailors in the taverns along the waterfront.  There you’ll hear lots of tall stories.  Which are true, or have some truth you’ll have to work out yourself.”

“Wow, we ought to go and see for ourselves!” Argan said.

Thetos waved a finger under the prince’s nose.  “Ah-uh, not until you’ve reached the age of maturity.  The emperor would have my innards for breakfast if he found out I let you go to those dens of sin.”

“What – really?  Ugh!  Would he really eat you?”

“No, just an expression – but I’d be in deep trouble.  Stay away from those places until you’re old enough and wise enough to know what trouble they bring.”

Argan was doubly fascinated.  “What trouble, Governor?”

“Ah,” Thetos knew he’d done it again – saying too much to the curious Argan.  “Well, drink, women, thievery.  That sort of thing.”

“Oh.  Drink – yes people fall down when they do that too much.  Women?  Are women trouble?”

“Oh, yes, more than you could imagine,” Thetos grinned dreamily.  He snapped suddenly out of it and assumed a serious expression.  “Uh, these types are prostitutes.”   

“Prostitutes?” Argan said, a little too loudly for Thetos’ comfort.  “What are they?”

“Women who sell their bodies to whoever will pay.  Loose women of bad morality,” Thetos said firmly, nodding with emphasis.

“Oh,” Argan frowned, trying to work that one out.  He had the feeling the subject should not be spoken about.  “And thievery?  People steal from others there?  Why don’t you stop it then?  You’re Governor, so your word should be good enough!  Arrest those who ignore you.”

Thetos chuckled.  “Then I would have to arrest half the waterfront population.  Look, Young Prince, those sort of people are not worth the effort, and they stay in their own district.  They are a known hazard to anyone who goes there, and frankly it’s a rough area, the same with all dock areas the world over.  I leave them alone as it helps them to blow off a lot of frustrations.  As long as it doesn’t affect the rest of the city or trade, then it’s best not to go down there and stir up a nest of stingers.”

Argan didn’t look satisfied, but left it alone for the moment.  “There’s a lot of things that seem to happen that shouldn’t, and people don’t do anything to stop it.”

“That’s the way of the world, Prince Argan.  When you become governor, you’ll find that there are some districts you won’t be able to police properly, and it’ll be a waste of time trying to stop whatever it is.  They have their own sub-culture, and they’ll leave the rest of us alone if we do the same to them.”

“Alright, I’ll take that as good advice.”  Argan accepted Thetos’ bow and the Governor strode past, his two aides following close behind.  Kerrin bowed, too.  He excused himself and wandered off to the stables for his morning lesson.  Argan, all alone, thought for a moment, then decided to hurry to the governor’s room before he went to Mr. Sen.  He had a few moments to spare.

As he hoped, Metila was there, tidying up the remnants of breakfast.  “Ah,
Lakhani
,” she addressed him as he entered.  She spoke in Bragalese to him.

Argan did the same to her.  “Metila – can you tell me something please?”

“Of course, if I can.  It’s not often a member of the ruling House asks a humble slave girl something.”

“Metila, you’re no humble slave girl; we both know that.”

“I was trying to make a joke.”

“Oh.”  Argan grinned.  “Sorry, I had something on my mind.”  He dragged a chair out from under a desk and sat on it.  Metila sat on the edge of the desk, Argan idly noting that this made her show most of her legs, and he wondered why she deliberately did that.  No matter, he had to ask her as she seemed quite wise in certain things.

Metila smiled to herself.  The prince was ignoring her legs which she suspected he would.  She listened attentively to him.

“Metila; what happens when a woman sells her body to a man?”

“Oh – a whore?  A prostitute?  Well, she has sex to sell, and men – and sometimes some women but that is rare – will pay for that.  Places like brothels and taverns have those sort of women.”