Eric Flint - The Shadow of the Lion

She paused thoughtfully. "You may believe the rewards are great, and… they are. Or can be, at least. I will, in the course of a year, earn as much as a good ship's captain, and that is my share?the Madame will earn as much from my labors as I do. But to get to this point, I have had to strip my soul down to the bones, and be more ruthlessly honest with myself than anyone other than a priest should ever be forced to be. I must look in the mirror every day, and rather than admire my own beauty, search ruthlessly for any flaw. I must keep my body in a state of perfection. I must lie gracefully and believably to my customers?I must be able to read them so well that I seem to read their thoughts. Every day I face the possibility that a customer will injure or even kill me, and if he does, no punishment will come to him. Lately there is also the threat that the star of the Servants of the Trinity will be so on the ascendant that they will dictate Venetian morality?they will be looking for women to make into examples, and they will take the ones who stand out. Now?consider what I am, what my accomplishments are, and ask yourself?are you my match? Can you do what I do every day? If not?you'll find yourself here, in a House like this one. The risks are greater, here; the likelihood of a customer committing some outrage higher. The Schoppies are frequent visitors, and demand pleasure as the price of leaving us alone. The servants are spies, and the Madame herself can order her girls beaten as punishment for some infraction, real or imagined. Unless extreme care is taken, the risk of disease as well as injury is very high."

"Oh," Kat said, and gulped.

"I quite understand that from the outside?although my life is ridden with sin?all this looks moderately attractive," Francesca said more gently. "I am also aware that the life of a courtesan looks… well, quite glamorous, in a tarnished sort of fashion. And it is quite possible, for a clever and careful woman, to find herself wedded to the man of her choice. You've heard the whispered gossip, no doubt, perhaps you even know of such a woman. But let me tell you now, that although I fully intend precisely that sort of fate for myself, it will require all the resources I can muster, all my energy, thought, and time, the planning of a great general, and, frankly, a certain amount of luck."

"Ah," said Kat; she looked both disappointed and relieved, and Francesca patted her hands and let them go.

"Such luck as you have been for me," Francesca continued. "A courtesan remembers her friends, Kat. I think you'll soon find that the information I can provide you once I move will be of considerable help in mending your fortunes, as you have done the things that helped me to repair mine."

She smiled. "If worse comes to worst, a Grand House like the one I'm moving to often requires discreet boatmen to ferry messages, as well as clients who need a certain privacy. And, what would be even better…"

Francesca hesitated, not wanting to bruise Kat's already damaged pride any further. But?

"Kat," she said firmly, "within a much shorter time than you might expect, I will be… well, not exactly awash in wealth, but certainly rich enough to afford?even require?my own gondolier. Having one who was herself a pretty girl?or, better still, a pretty girl cleverly disguised as a very pretty boy?would give the thing a certain cachet. Which a courtesan requires more than anything else. So if your fortunes come tumbling down, and you find yourself destitute and alone?please come to me first. Before you think of taking any, ah, desperate measures. All right?"

As she had made her suggestions, the color had faded from Kat's face. But it returned, soon enough. And her expression had become almost hopeful when Francesca came to the part about the private gondola. That gave Francesca a feeling of great relief?Kat did not have the makings of a courtesan, and she didn't want to see the girl in the situation that most of the Red Cat women were in. Kat, she knew, would not survive that life for more than a handful of years.

"Now, I know you must have deliveries, and I have an evening of work ahead of me?" She fished for the pouch of coins she owed Kat, and pressed them into her hand.

"I do," Kat said, springing up from her seat on the bed. She paused at the door, and turned around. "Francesca?thank you. For everything."

"You are most welcome, dear." Francesca gave her a knowing wink that made Kat blush all over again before she whisked out the door and was gone.

The monster waited until the vessel was completely engrossed. As always, Chernobog's shadow voice aroused the pathetic creature to a frenzy of uncontrolled emotion. Every emotion?anger and fury as well as lust. The vessel was careless. And so, as he combined fury with lust, satiating himself on the servant's body while he imagined an insolent young witch in her place, he gave not a moment's thought to the effect his emotions would have on the monster's shackles.

The monster could sense the coming moment, when the vaporous cage that restrained it would soften, grow tattered. It could escape then, without either the vessel or the servant noticing its passage into the outer world.

The monster's own lust grew rapidly, as the gray mist that surrounded it began to take shape and color. Some small part of its mind urged caution?the master will be angry!?but the monster ignored it. Why should Chernobog care if the monster devoured another soul? And it could always claim that it had been commanded by the master's own servant. Had she not aroused the vessel? Had not the vessel's own fury and lust sent the monster on its way?even selected the prey?

Somewhere in what was left of what had once been a keen mind, the monster knew that Chernobog would see through the deception. But?

It no longer cared. Let the pain come, later. For the moment, the monster could think of nothing beyond the immediate prospect of feeding.

And such a magnificent feed! The monster could barely restrain itself from clawing at the cage.

Too soon, too soon. Wait until…

The gray mist faded and faded. Finally?it was enough.

The monster glided through and found itself, once again, in the outer world. The small room was dark; more of a crypt than a room, with the casket at the center. Once it had been a small chapel, but no longer. It was devoted to a different creed now?as the bones and infant skulls and arcane symbols on the walls attested.

The monster ignored its surroundings. It was not really part of any faith, and found the trappings meaningless. Instead, moving slowly, it opened the door that led to the room beyond. The door was neither locked nor bolted. There was no reason for it to be, since the larger room beyond was given over to the privacy of Chernobog's servant. It was a spare and austere room, lit only by a single candle.

The monster crept through the room toward another door on the opposite side. Behind that door was the bedchamber where the master's voice slept. Slept, and, every night, aroused the vessel.

The door to the bedchamber was not only unlocked, it was ajar. The room beyond was dark. Before entering, the monster listened for the sounds it was hoping to hear. Yes. The vessel was grunting his lust atop the master's voice, in the bed against the far wall; the monster could hear the voice responding with soft cries of faked passion.

The sounds meant nothing to the monster. It had a different lust to satisfy.

Silently, stealthily, so as not to disturb the rutters, the monster crept on all fours through the bedchamber. Another austere room, it was, well designed to disguise the servant's true nature. The monster's thin lips peeled back in jeering scorn, seeing the crucifix attached to one of the walls. Normally it would avoid such a holy symbol, but this one was meaningless. The servant had long ago, as she had with all the paraphernalia of her supposed faith, defiled the crucifix in such as way as to make it harmless. Still, the monster did not come any closer than necessary to the holy symbol as it glided toward the pile of discarded clothing on the floor.