Hugh Cook - The Wicked and the Witless

The first toast was indeed in honour of Lod. So was the third – and the seventh. Sarazin did not usually drink very much, but tonight was a special occasion, and Lod had been long and deeply honoured by the time Sarazin and his drinking companions stumbled from the tavern. Arm in arm, they staggered through the streets, singing: 'I took a little magic pill Which made my dragon scream; I raped a golden daffodil In a pool of curdled cream.'

While they were singing thus, a palankeen drew up beside them. The chairmen halted, and a voice from behind the palankeen's screen said (with a whisper of perfume): 'Are you Sarazin Sky?' Sarazin, leaning heavily on one of his comrades, said: 'Who is it who wants to know?' Theodora,' came the answer. The ruling goddess of love.'

Sarazin untangled himself from his comrade, who slid helplessly to the ground. 'Let me see your face,' said Sarazin to the palankeen.

'Get in,' said the perfume-whispering voice, 'and you shall see all that and more. Yes, you shall see all.'

The palankeen lurched as Sarazin got in. Within a bafflement of shadows he found what seemed to be a veiled woman. She giggled as he grappled with her perfumed flesh.

'Not so fast,' she said. 'Only goats and peasants lech in haste.' 'Oh,' said Sarazin.

Even drunk he did not want to behave like a peasant. He tried his drunken best to behave himself: and succeeded so well that he fell asleep. He woke to find muscular doormen carrying him into a house. They dumped him into an enormous bed where he wallowed, dazed by drink and fatigue, while his new-found mistress stripped herself by the light of a lamp so dim it was scarcely more than a living shadow.

He submerged himself in her heat as she fondled herself to his flesh, fold by fold and crease by crease. He was drowning, billowing, lumbered, laden. Lost amidst flesh enfolding. He was failing. Then, urging him, she cried: "My stallion! Most Favoured Blood, most noble prince!' Prince. Yes. Lordly in conquest. The thought excited him.

'Govern me,' she whispered, her voice husky. 'Govern me, rule me, beloved.'

Urged by that voice, nourished by an ooze of lips, teased by fingers sly and well-practised, Sarazin found himself hard as a hero. Thrusting and striving, he abandoned himself to his lust. Then finished, subsided and slept.

He floundered long through hippopotamus dreams, clagged and digested, rolled up with lard then toasted by fatlight. Woke bleary by darkness to find hands and lips at work, breasts jiggling, a voice giggling, teasing his manhood, flattering his thighs. "My prince.. .' He managed. Then, weary beyond dreams, he slept.

At dawn, Sarazin woke to find himself in bed with an elephant-rivalling woman on the wrong side of fifty. She was big and fat and grey and frowsty. Teeth brown, except where they were black. A nose like a potato, stubbed with purple warts.

As he cringed from her rolls of lard-soft skin, she burped, farted, then seized him. Her strength was enormous. He held his breath as she slobbered him.

"Wonderful,' she crooned. You were wonderful, beauti- ful, sweet. A frabjous night.' Who are you?' said Sarazin. 'Theodora, as I told you,' she said.

After a little hard questioning, he learnt that she was Theodora Turbothot. Mistress Turbothot, in fact, patron of the Seventh College of the Inner Circle of the Fish-Star Astrologers. That rang a bell! Yes: the Fish-Star sect was quartered not far from Madam Ix's premises. Ix was a friend of Sosostris. Who had let Sarazin see her precious book of prophecy for nothing.

'Someone followed me when I left Madam Sosostris last night,' said Sarazin. 'Did they?' said Theodora. 'How very strange!' Then she giggled.

That giggle made Sarazin – at last! – remember their first meeting. He had gone to see Sosostris some days ago, but the gateman had demanded an outrageous fee just to let him inside. He had hung around outside. And this dreadful overaged creature, her face then masked by a veil, had called him 'darling boy' and had begged his name. Which he, thinking nothing of it, had given.

Sarazin could see the dreadful truth now – or part of it, at least. Madam Sosostris had procured him for this dread- ful creature. He had been watched, spied on, manoeuvred, trapped, tricked, used, abused. Raped, in a word!

He threw back the bedclothes, intending to make his escape. But Theodora grabbed him by the neck. They wrestled, and, to his shame, she got the better of him. 'Ease up!' cried Sarazin, panting. You'll break my arm.'

She relaxed her grip. All she kept in her possession was the smallest finger of his left hand. But the sly pressure she put on the digit warned him not to struggle. 'Darling,' she said. 'Do it to me again.' Who are you to command me?' said Sarazin.

Well, once,' she said, slyly, 'I was a princess. The sister of an empress.'

Sarazin tried to persuade himself that Mistress Turbothot was indeed a princess. He tried to rouse his flesh to its duty. He tried: but failed. But she giggled, and let him go. Hurriedly, he dressed, and tried to make his escape. But found the front door blocked by a stocky little man who said: 'I am Troldot Turbothot. Who the hell are you?' 'Never mind,' said Sarazin. 'I'm just leaving.'

He tried to barge past the man. But Troldot 'Heavy Fist' Turbothot was a formidable wrestler, and Sarazin ended up flat on his back.

'Guards!' shouted Turbothot. 'Help me with this rub- bish!' Then, as guards came rushing to his assistance, he raised his voice and shouted: Theodora, you shameless hussy! You've gone too far this time!' The only answer he got was a giggle.

Sarazin was held by Troldot Turbothot's guards until the Watch could be summoned. Then he was dragged away and thrown into prison. The charge: debauching another man's wife. The maximum penalty: death.

At the time of Sarazin's arrest, Selzirk's judicial system was in such a mess that he could easily have languished in a rat-ridden dungeon for three to four years before his case came to trial. Then his chances of dying before trial would have been high, for tuberculosis and other diseases equally as lethal flourished in the crowded cells.

Fortunately, since a number of judges were among those hoping to be made king of Androlmarphos, Farfalla was able to pull strings, with spectacular results: Sarazin's case came to trial after he had been in jail for only twenty- three days.

Plovey of the Regency attended the trial as a spectator. Farfalla, also in attendance, wondered if that murderous master of conspiracy had arranged for the Turbothot woman to ensnare her son. She would not have put it past him.

Then, as Sarazin's lawyer arrived in court, Farfalla saw Plovey's face fall. Immediately she felt better about the extravagant amounts of money she was paying to retain Childermass Imbleprig to defend her son. Imbleprig was the best – which was what Sean Sarazin needed! Bribery had bought Farfalla details of the prosecution's evidence. Thus she knew that Mistress Turbothot was prepared to swear that Sarazin had indeed debauched her.

Imbleprig had prepared an elaborate defence. Medical evidence to prove Sarazin an invalid, a victim of fevers and epilepsy, and likely so debilitated as to be impotent. A publican who would happily testify that Sarazin had been incapably drunk on the night of the alleged crime. Experts willing to testify that alcohol in quantity was incompatible with lust. And Sarazin's drinking companions had been found, and, suitably bribed, were ready to say on oath that they had left him unconscious in the gutters of Jone.

The defence would claim, then, that Sarazin had been medically incapable of performing when Mistress Turbothot picked him up off the street, and that she must therefore be fantasising. If that failed, and Sarazin was found guilty, then Imbleprig would appeal on grounds of temporary insanity.