Colin Tabor - The Fall of Ossard

The lounge was a social place, a space for fine liquor and smoking, and a place at the moment half full. Looking around, I was astounded by the faces I saw. I’d never met any of these people first hand, but I knew of more than half of them. Predominantly, they were of the establishment, and all here to socialise and do business. As we passed, conversations stopped and heads turned; the passage of Ossard’s latest mints always demanded attention.

We left the lounge through double doors that opened onto a hall servicing half a dozen different rooms, and at its end we entered a long and light space; the Sunroom.

The radiance and beauty of the Sunroom can only be described as otherworldly. All the woodwork had been painted white, with an absolutely decadent amount of glass fitted into one wall and part of the roof. A floor of white marble spread before us sporting clusters of chairs, all wooden and whitewashed, with matching cushions. An assortment of lush potted plants, huge and outrageous, worked to break up the brilliant space. Groups of patrons sat back enjoying the room’s light and ambience.

Midway along its glass wall stood another set of double doors, these also panelled in glass. Doormen opened the doors without a word, allowing our passage, and in a moment we went from the splendour of the Sunroom to the blooming glory of the Rose Garden.

The Rose Garden spread as a courtyard that ran the width of the building, making it perhaps sixty paces long and forty deep. At one end stood the glass and wood of the Sunroom, but facing it was a waist-high stonewall, also whitewashed in keeping. The cliff fell away beyond that, plunging to the sound a hundred paces below. The view was spectacular, and only challenged by the magnificence of the collection of blooms that lay within its walls. It was superb.

The area had been carefully planted to mature with an assortment of flowers. Jasmine climbed the tall, whitewashed sidewalls, and in some places the glass of the Sunroom. The rest of the plantings were made up of thick clusters of manicured roses, all perfectly pruned and magnificent in colour. Beneath them spread the soil of their beds, lying dark and moist, to peek from under a frosting of spent petals. The beds lay strung about to create between them large spaces amidst the paving for tables and chairs. All in all, with a variety of vibrant colours and luscious perfumes, the Rose Garden was a wonder.

All of it, its layout, colours, plantings, and the way it mixed with the sky’s blue saw me sigh, yet it lacked something…

Alas, where was Pedro Liberigo!

Our uniformed host led us towards the cliff wall, to a table being prepared by more blue-coated staff. In a moment we were seated, the ladies first, each with our chairs politely pushed in behind us amidst words of welcome.

The other patrons ranged as a mix of Ossard’s wealthy, but weighted with youth. The majority were male and Heletian, though there was also a smattering of Flets and women.

Many of the young men turned our way, some even getting to their feet and walking to the cliff wall to take in the view – a contrivance to enable them a closer look at the city’s latest mints. At this my thoughts of competing with Horseface and Heifer came back to haunt me: They ignored the other girls, I was the sole focus of attention.

Me, simple miss Plainface!

My cousin ordered drinks, something cool to soothe the bite of the sun. They arrived in beautiful glasses, iced, coloured with fruits, and all of it mixed with watered-down rum.

Not long after, the gifted drinks began to arrive.

The majority came to me. The first took me by surprise, the second saw me abuzz with proud pleasure, while those that followed set me to wonder if I’d drown in such generosities. Nonetheless, as the uniformed servers whispered in my ear whom each was from, I offered a coached smile of thanks, while everything was monitored by my chaperoning cousin.

My mother had warned me to watch what was served, and never to take more than a sip from each. In particular, it was not unknown for men to send drink after drink to Mint Ladies in an effort to win their befuddled favour.

The afternoon passed, and the staff began to move through the garden and light coloured lamps. It was then, after losing count of the drinks I’d accepted, that I began to feel quite flush and full and knew with certainty that I needed to get to a privy.

I left our table accompanied by my cousin’s wife, she leading the way. In trying to follow her I found myself delayed by a group of well-watered merchants, they weren’t quick to pass or part as they took their time admiring the evening’s favourite mint. I blushed at their leers as I rushed after Isabella.

The privy lay just off a small ladies’ lounge. After tending myself, it was in the lounge that Isabella and I freshened up, spoke of the afternoon, and giggled as we compared our dresses. It was then, as she referred to one of my fellow mints as Horseface, that I nearly died of laughter. Still, the next moment saw me breathless because of my undergarments tight laces.

Isabella saw my discomfort. “Whatever’s wrong?”

“My lacings are too tight, it’s rubbing me raw.”

Before I knew it, she’d whisked me away to a side room to open the back of my dress.

“The knot’s tighter than a Burvois merchant’s purse!” she cried.

I realised then that her drinks hadn’t been watered down.

She managed to open my dress and began fiddling about with my undergarment’s laces, all the while straining and cursing. The pressure being put on my chest and sides left me breathless. Worried, I gasped, “Just leave it, my mother can see to it later.”

“Nearly there…”

“Really, it’s not that bad.”

“Almost…”

In the next moment, as she strained, our voices were silenced by the angry growl of ripping fabric.

I cried out.

She whispered, “Oh my!”

“What’s happened?”

“It’s the stitching on your unders’, the laces have come off!”

“Oh!”

“I’ll just leave them and do up your dress. No one will ever know.”

I held still as she fastened it. “Please, don’t do it too tight, at least let my dress survive the evening!” Already I knew the rest of the night would be a problem, without being restrained my breasts would be bouncing about like two drunken sailors in a brawl.

Isabella finished and appeared in front of me, laughing as she offered a glass flask that appeared from somewhere amidst the folds of her dress. “Take a sip, it’ll help you forget about it.”

I sulked, “Perhaps I should go home…”

“Go home? This night will mark out the rest of your life, and look at your competition; Horseface and Hog-hips!”

I laughed as I reached for it, and then took a long swig.

Isabella smiled as she grabbed it back.

My dress felt fuller now that my breasts weren’t so restrained. I asked, “Do I look proper?”

A seedy smile came across her face. “You look very pretty.”

We left, heading back to the Rose Garden.

Again Isabella and I became separated amidst the noise and crush of the crowd. I knew where to find her, so I wasn’t concerned – besides I was preoccupied with trying not to stumble.

The drinks were taking their toll, and in that they weren’t alone: My mother’s lotus mixed with everything to make me feel quite hot and restless. My mind wandered from thoughts of husbands to lustful dreams, and even back to the big stevedore who’d exposed himself on the port road.

I was losing control.

The room buzzed with music, conversation, and laughter. Ahead, I caught a glimpse of Isabella as she reached the Sunroom. I’d catch up with her soon.

It was then that I heard a man speak from behind, his tone soft but commanding, “My lady?”