Under A Velvet Cloak (4 page)

One day she was late returning, because it had taken unwonted time for a farmer to fetch the grain she needed. It was dark as she made her way back, but she was confident she could handle it. The night was not her enemy; it was her friend. If anyone should follow her, she could readily elude him in the darkness. Sometimes village louts tried; that was a penalty of beauty. She had a knife, and Morely had made sure she knew how to use it, but had also impressed on her that avoidance was far superior. Knowledge, confidence, and darkness were all she needed. She could slip silently into shadow, like a forest sylph.

She came into sight of the house. There was no light, which was odd; normally he left a lamp in the window, a signal that he was waiting for her return. Morely himself was often out peering through his star-tube, especially on a clear moonless night. The stars were endlessly fascinating; she shared his constant amazement.

She went to the house, found the lamp, and lit it from a fireplace ember. “Morely?” she inquired, concerned that he might have overslept or suffered some accident. But he was not in the house.

I
have a bad feeling about this.

She took the lamp and looked outside. She made a search pattern, carefully spiraling outward from the house. Such efficiency was typical; she had learned it from Morely and took pride in it. He had to be somewhere; she would find him.

She did not. Instead she found the velvet cloak, with its starry pattern, lying on the ground. Blood spattered it.

She stifled a scream of horror. Something dreadful had happened to Morely.

Kerena wasted little time weeping. She analyzed the situation and planned her approach, exactly as she had been taught to do in any emergency. Morely was gone, but surely not dead, for his body was not there. His Seeing ability and general knowledge should have protected him from almost any ugly surprise. So what had happened?

Obviously he had been tricked in some fashion. Kerena used her Seeing, which had progressed less rapidly than her body or her practical expertise; it had refused to be hurried. But it did enable her to pick up recent physical and emotional events in the area, in a general way. She moved about the house, extending her awareness. Morely had been there, unconcerned as dusk approached. Then he looked out and saw Kerena coming. He went out gladly to meet her.

Uh-oh,
Jolie thought.

But Kerena had not arrived back at dusk. She had been a good hour later. That arrival could not have been her.

She went to the cloak, still on the ground. Why had he put it there? Normally he wore it, or spread it on the ground when they lay outside gazing up at the stars. But the dusk today was overcast; there were no stars to be seen.

Or when they made love. They had a good bed inside, but still liked to do it out on the cloak, reenacting their first tryst. She liked to pretend to be seducing him for the first time, and he liked to play along. She even winced at his penetration, though it never hurt later. Somehow the reenactment never got dull.

Along with the drops of blood on the cloak was a fresh stain of sex.

His presence was there by the cloak, along with someone else. Kerena could not fathom the other; it was strange and magical, resistive to her Seeing. Female, but otherwise obscure.

But Morely would not have done it with a strange woman. He had been resolutely loyal to Kerena, even before she seduced him. Especially not on their cloak. Had his business required him to bed a female client he would have done it; she understood about that. She herself might someday have to bed a male client, as business. But never in this manner.

Yet it seemed he had. How could that be?

Think magic, girl.

The answer came in a blinding nonmagical flash of insight. Morely had gone out to meet Kerena, and had spread the cloak. He had sought to love her.
He had thought it was her.

Someone had timed it for when Kerena should normally have arrived, and somehow emulated her, and indicated she was ready for love. He would not have questioned that; he did love her, and making love (now sex and love really did merge) was their chief joy together. He had gladly joined the im~ poster
¹
-and she had drugged him or enchanted him and taken him away. The drops of blood on the cloak-perhaps a poisoned needle, stabbing him, drawing blood, then paralyzing him. He would not have been wary while clasping Kerena; he would have embraced her, and maybe hardly felt the prick of the needle as he climaxed within her.

“I betrayed him!” she exclaimed, appalled. “My semblance deceived him, made him unwary. He walked blithely into the only trap that could have snared him. Because of me.” Tears of outrage and guilt flowed.

Not your fault, girl.

Kerena picked up the cloak. She shook it and brushed it off, but did not go after the stains. Whatever there was of Morely was there, and she valued it.

There must have been more than one person, because a woman petite enough to emulate Kerena would not have had the strength to carry away an unconscious man. Indeed, someone must have carried him, because now she found indentations in the ground beside the spot the cloak had lain, leading away from the house. She tried to follow them, but the ground turned hard and they disappeared. Her Seeing was blocked; she could not divine the trail. They must have known she would try to follow, and prevented it. They had had time to get well away; there could have been a horse nearby.

Why had they done it? Possible reasons abounded. The husband of a client could finally have discovered the connection, and come to extract revenge by imprisoning and torturing Morely. A rival Seer could have sought to enslave him, making Morely’s powers his own. Some town or village might have wanted a Seer, and known he would not remain there voluntarily. Obviously they had known about Kerena, and not wanted her; she was the apprentice, as yet only the shadow of the master.

Where could they have taken him? Not to any nearby village; the locals knew and respected him, and in any event his abduction would be immediately known in the area, so no nearby village would be able to get away with it. Where, then?

That perhaps gave her a clue. Most folk remained close to home; travelers stood out. Any local villager anywhere could spot and remember a stranger. It was like perspective: the closer it was, the more obvious the change. They would have to take Morely far away to make him anonymous, for he was known throughout this region. If she could track the motions of travelers, maybe she could find him.

How could she track travelers? She needed to find a contact, someone who knew how to do it. A trader, perhaps, in a big town or city. Meanwhile, she had to make her living while remaining uncommitted. She knew how to do that, though she did not relish the prospect.

She spent a lonely night. In the morning she closed up the house and set off with her meager belongings and the cloak. She had hidden Morely’s gold where only he was likely to find it, should he return. She took only enough to get her where she had to go. She would never steal from him.

In due course she arrived in the shining capital city. Naturally it had a rotten underbelly. This was where she could be anonymous yet in touch.

At dusk the streetwalkers came out. Kerena approached one. Her Seeing demurred; this was not a good contact. She veered away and went on along the street. Her Seeing did not inform her whether another person was of good or ill character, only whether association would benefit her.

The third streetwalker was good. Kerena addressed her. “I am new here. Where is the best house?”

The woman eyed her appraisingly. “You look young and clean. Do you have experience?”

“Only with one man.”

“Ideal. Come with me.”

Kerena started to. Jolie came alert. The tracks were diverging.

Jolie skipped back to the time before the approach.
Not this one,
she thought firmly.

Kerena hesitated. Her seeing was divided; it indicated that this woman was good, yet that she was not.

She’s agood woman, but there’s a better one ahead,
Jolie thought strongly.

Reluctantly, Kerena passed the woman by.

Several women farther along she found another
good
one. She spoke to her. The dialogue was similar to the first, and they walked together.

The two tracks remained converged. Jolie relaxed. She had gotten them through another crisis point. This time had been more of a challenge, because now it was apparent that Kerena’s Seeing was not identical to the alignment.

The woman led her to the back entrance to an ordinary-seeming house jammed in amidst many. A forbidding woman appeared. “Here is a prospect,” the streetwalker said, holding out her hand.

The madam sized Kerena up with a single glance. She put a piece of silver into the streetwalker’s hand, and the woman vanished. “You’ll start with Blake. He’ll decide your value. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Wait here.” The madam deposited Kerena in a small waiting room and departed.

“Oh, you’re new.” The speaker was a sweet-faced girl barely older than Kerena.

“New,” Kerena agreed. “I am Rena.”

“I’m Molly. Let’s be friends.”

There was a certain charm about the girl’s straightforwardness. Her Seeing suggested it was honest. “All right. Is this a good place to be?”

“Oh, sure. They don’t cheat you here, and if a client roughs you up, they’ll do something about it. But you do have to perform.”

“I expect to.” She had never wanted to practice her studied wiles on any man but Morely, but now she would have to. She knew he would approve, ironically.

“Do your very best with Blake; his report counts.”

“I will try.” They talked further, and Kerena learned that Molly was a local girl whose family could not support her, so had sold her to the brothel. She was in the process of earning out her stake. In time she would make it, and be free, because this house was honest.

The madam reappeared. “Molly-take the lord to your chamber now.”

The girl jumped up. “Fare well, Rena,” she said as she went to intercept her client. “I’ll see you again soon.”

“Come with me,” the madam said to Kerena. “Blake is ready.”

Blake was a gruff swarthy man who turned out to be surprisingly competent as a sexual partner. He stripped her and tried her in several positions, which she accommodated immediately. He did not climax; this was not pleasure but business. “Fair face. Good young body,” he remarked. He had not even removed his clothing, baring only his business member. “Age?”

“I’m fourteen.”

He lay back on the bed. “Seduce me.”

Kerena smiled at him, then put her face to his and kissed him linger-ingly on the mouth. Then she unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his hairy chest. She took his hands and set them on her breasts. She took down his trousers and kissed his member, bringing it erect. “I want you,” she whispered. “Take me.” It was all an act, as he knew; the question was how appealing it would seem to a client.

He clasped her, put her face down on the bed, and straddled her from behind. He plunged into her, stroking until he climaxed. Then he got off her, turned her over, and smiled. “You’re good. Pretty, plush, malleable, skilled. You made me enjoy it.”

“Thank you.”

“Dress. You’re done here.”

The madam reappeared. She had probably been watching. Blake gave her an emphatic thumbs-up.

“You’ll get our top room,” the madam said. “That’s an avenue to outside work with wealthy clients. Treat them well and you will do well. We take half your earnings in-house, none out-house. We provide your costumes, food, private bed during your time off. No sadism; if anyone hurts you, yell for Blake and be sure it won’t happen again. What’s your name?”

“Rena.”

They were at the assigned room. It was well appointed, with curtains, cushions, a couch, and pictures on the wall. It was obviously meant to make a wealthy or high class man feel comfortable. There was a covered potty discreetly in an alcove. “Put this on,” the madam said, taking a glittering dress off a hook. “We have a high class clientele. Your first client is a lord of the king’s court.” She winked. “Low-level, but with money. We call them all lords. Lord X, anonymous, though we know who they are. Make them feel big. Never hurry them; if they stay overtime, they pay more. If they want to talk, listen attentively, but keep their secrets. Discretion is invaluable. If they like you, word will spread. Some of our girls have married their clients and become ladies. We keep their secret; they will never be blackmailed. Keep that in mind.”

Kerena barely had time to clean up after Blake and don the glittery dress, which had no underclothing, before Lord X appeared. He looked like a fop, but he was extremely potent, having at her three times in half an hour.

Kerena suffered a wave of doubt. What was she doing here? This was not her proper way of life!

The thought caused the tracks to blur.
But you want to question the men about their travels,
Jolie thought.
This is the way to meet many men, and to get them to talk

Kerena nodded internally. She was not one to make commitments, then renege. She would stay the course.

The blurring ceased. Alignment had been maintained.

Kerena got a break Molly found her and guided her to the kitchen for bread and jam. “We have to eat when we can; the clients always come first.”

“So I gather.”

Another girl was there, older and somewhat worn. “How come you got the best room, new bitch?” she demanded of Kerena.

“Shut up, Nix,” Molly snapped. “You know Blake decided, and new is what the old clients like, for the novelty.”

Nix shut up, effectively refuted. Molly’s friendship was already paying off.

That day she accommodated three lords, then got to eat with several other girls, and sleep. Molly helped her throughout, introducing her, defending her, showing her around. It would have been far less comfortable without the friendly girl. It wasn’t much of a life, but it would do until something better offered.