The Stone of Harmony

We arrived at the Buxom Wench Inn without further incident.

The inn itself was larger than I had expected. Built of the same red brick as nearly everything else in Haaram-Port, it stood three stories tall, with broad stairways leading to multiple entrances on the second floor. The entrance we took had the usual tiled foyer where men could exchange their shoe-boots for slippers, and where slavegirls could have their foot-wrappings or sandals removed. The foyer also had a painted wooden sign mounted on the wall, bearing the iconic Wench: Barefoot and smiling, with mugs in her hands and breasts barely contained by an orange and pink outfit. A plaque below proclaimed it the sign of the original Buxom Wench Beer Hall and Brewery. Johann van Isaac had rebuilt it into the current inn after finishing his distillery-and-laboratory complex at the edge of the city. He also, I understood, held a majority-share in a small plantation sited a few miles inland, making for a total of three places that used the Buxom Wench emblem.

I put my sheathed sword in with my luggage, as local etiquette required, and exchanged my boots for slippers. Luce and Nancy were already barefoot, but Peter took the opportunity to loosen Nancy’s bindings. He undid the ife-tie and put her ankles in a strap-hobble, with her hands still tied behind her. Once on her feet, she stood noticeably shorter than Luce. I looked over the pair of slavegirls, and decided to give in to my impulse: I unlocked the cuffs to refasten Luce’s wrists behind her, and lengthened the chain between her ankles. She was still hobbled, her steps still forced to be slave-short, but her chains now echoed Nancy’s strap-bonds.

We made our way to the reception desk, set against the right-hand wall. On the left, the hall expanded into an oversized version of a low sitting room. Foot-high tables with seating cushions were scattered about, interspersed with floor-to-ceiling pillars. These were there less to support the ceiling than to provide convenient places for securing slavegirls. In fact I saw a number of pillars being used for just that purpose. Other slavegirls sat and knelt beside their masters at the low tables.

The wall at the far end incorporated a fireplace with a burning fire. The fire wasn’t needed for heat in the tropical climate, but rather acted as an alchemical dehumidifier. It sucked the water out of the room’s air, and sent the heat and humidity up the chimney. Air-conditioning didn’t exist in this world, but the drying fires went a long way toward making interiors more comfortable.

Electric lights didn’t exist in this world either, but the room was still well lit. Windows along the walls provided most of the light in the early afternoon, but the room was filled with mirrors and chandeliers made of a glass that threw back more light than it received. When the sun went down, this alchemical glass would turn the dim light from the fire and a handful of candles into something nearly as bright.

We arrived at the reception desk just in time for the slavegirl standing behind it to sign me in before she had to quit working for the day. She handed me the key to my suite, and then her master took her away. A pair of arbi replaced her, less restful to the eyes, and probably less efficient as well. Their chief advantage was that they could continue to work twenty hours a day, eleven days a week, as long as their white vitalizing crystals were kept supplied with aqua vita. It was the typical Island-Kingdom arrangement: Arbi doing most of the work, with slavegirls being doled out a few tasks as a special treat. I made a mental note to myself to give Luce such a treat, after I finished her day-long run in continuous restraints.

I looked around, and my eye was drawn to a plaque spotlighted by one of the larger glass ornaments hanging from the ceiling. It announced, in both Cernian and Kush, that the carpets in the Buxom Wench Inn were all treated with the special dirt-eating elixir of Belzac del Boise. I nodded, knowing that my Cernian mentor was particularly proud of that elixir. It might seem like a small thing, but carpets that kept themselves clean were definitely an advance for civilization.

“Ah,” Simon said. “There’s van Isaac now.” He nodded to indicate a man as tall as I was, but beanpole thin, with the straight blonde hair and small beard-and-mustache of a stereotypical Koonlander. His slavegirl had her hands free but her upper arms elbow-hobbled behind her, and a belled anklet tinkled as she walked beside her master. She was tall for a slavegirl and thin as well, but much darker than her master, with a complexion about half-way between Luce’s light olive and Nancy’s chocolate.

I gave myself a mental shake. Even among the Imperials, the skin color of different slavegirls is a matter of pure aesthetic taste, of no more importance than hair color or eye color. I had to be the only man in this world with those sorts of racial neuroses.

The man reached us. “Johann van Isaac,” he introduced himself with a slight bow. “And this is my Ireni.” He spoke in the Koonlander dialect of Cernian, influenced by Kush, the other official language here.

“John-Smith del Novi.” I returned a matching bow. “And this is my Luce.”

“You can call my master ‘van Isaac’ my lord,” Ireni put in. “Everyone else does.”

“Saucy slavegirl,” van Isaac told her in the same half-chiding, half-complementary tone that I used so frequently with Luce. She smiled up at him; being tall for a slavegirl made her only an average man’s height.

“But it’s true,” van Isaac continued as he looked Luce over. “I don’t much care for ‘Johann.’”

I made my own polite leer at Ireni, and took the opportunity to look Nancy over for a second time. The three slavegirls stood straight and proud as we gave them our full attention. Luce did her ‘devastating cute,’ while tall Ireni was more of a classic beauty. Her long legs had me applying the mental tag of ‘showgirl.’ Her black hair fell straight to her waist, and her breasts strained against her skimpy costume, which made them seem larger than they actually were. Her name came from the Vedic Empire, her appearance suggested a typical mixed Islander ancestry, and her accent was pure native Koonlander.

Nancy was midway between Luce and Ireni on the ‘cute’ versus ‘classic beauty’ scale, but at the extremes in terms of being short and dark-complexioned. Talking with her and Peter, during the walk to the inn, had confirmed my initial impression of her as a multi-generation native Koonlander who, like Ireni, happened to have exotic ancestors.

After a moment, van Isaac nodded toward Peter and Simon. “I take it you have already met my associates.”

“Yes,” I said. “And I’ve promised them some explanations. If there is some place where we could sit and talk?”

Van Isaac gestured toward one of the low tables, and we took seats on the cushions around it. Van Isaac unlocked Ireni’s anklet, the better to cross and tie her ankles. Peter untied Nancy’s wrists to put her in an elbow-hobble like Ireni’s, and after a moment I decided to follow suit. Leschmits Guide recommends that a master frequently change his slavegirl’s restraints. Among other things, this increases her awareness of her captivity.

“Well,” I said, once we finished re-securing our slavegirls. “I met Brother M on the way here. He gave me a pair of invitations to the Windmill House, before setting his ninja-arbi on me.” I launched into an account of the encounter and fight, ending with, “What can you tell me about him?”

“Could you describe him again, my lord?” Nancy asked.

“He’s a big guy,” I said. “An inch or two shorter than me, but broader. His legs are short for his height, and his arms and hands are heavy. His complexion and hair are like Peter’s, here: Pale skin and black hair cut short, but with dark eyes instead of gray. He’s clean-shaven with a thick jaw and a broad face.” I paused, and then added, “His features are Ularian with a dash of Sinonese, if I could put it that way.”

“That must be Lord Mamay van Koz, my lord,” Ireni said. “He claims that’s his real name, and no one wants to contradict him. There were some guesses that he was an Elemental Brother,” she nodded an acknowledgement to Nancy. “However, most of us thought he was just an Ularian or Ysbene mercenary.”

“Even if it can’t be proven,” Nancy added, “everyone knows he’s been hired by Ambassador Cedro Lord Balla. Well, almost everyone,” she added with a glance at her master.

“If you insist Lord Balla hired him,” Peter told her, “I’ll have to punish you.”

“Yes, master.” Nancy grinned, knowing it would be the sort of ‘punishment’ she’d look forward to receiving.

“Ambassador Cedro Lord Balla,” van Isaac bit off the words, “wants to stop, or at least delay, the production of your antidote here in The Koonlands. We’ve heard of the trouble you’ve been having from the other Imperial embassies, John-Smith, in the other kingdoms you’ve been visiting. Lord Balla wants to do them one better.” He made a palm-down gesture, pushing down his anger. “We should talk about that later.”

“I should head on to the auctions,” Simon said as he stood. “If you will excuse me?”

“Purchasing another girl?” Peter asked. “What will this be? Your seventh purchase since you joined us?”

That would have been seven or eight triweeks ago, according to my correspondence with van Isaac. Peter and Simon had both joined him just before he had won the Crown charter to produce antidote in The Koonlands.

“Only my sixth. I’m picky, not profligate.” Simon shrugged, but there was a gleam in his eyes. “When I find my true love-slave, I will be sure to let you know.”

After Simon had left, van Isaac said, “So tell me, John-Smith. What sort of seaman are you? The kind who is ready to carouse as soon as he arrives in port? Or the kind who needs a day to recover, first?”

“My master is a terrible seaman, my lord,” Luce answered for me.

“Hush,” I told her. “Saucy slavegirl. Even if you are right.” I turned back to van Isaac. “I’m a terrible seaman, but I recover quickly once I get back on land.”

“The kind who needs a shore meal and a bath, but who is then ready to carouse among ten thousand she-devils?” Peter suggested.

“Exactly.” I grinned.

Van Isaac gave me a skeptical glance, and I wondered just how bedraggled I looked. “We’re holding a reception this evening for Duke Theomund,” he said. I saw Peter go suddenly blank. Luce noticed too, according to my Ear. “He’s been staying here at the Buxom Wench, until his hôtel is ready, and he’s moving out tomorrow morning. When he heard of your arrival, he asked for me to extend an invitation to you. And to your Luce as well.”

“Duke Theomund is here?” I asked, surprised. He was one of the great nobles of the Ularian Empire, and I expected him to be there, not here in The Koonlands.

“He has holdings here, in The Koonlands,” Peter said, his voice oddly flat. “He’s chosen this year to visit them. Unfortunately.”

“He brought his Ladies here,” van Isaac said, giving Peter a sharp glance. “They’ll be attending the reception as well. It’s unusual, but even before your arrival, Duke Theomund did specifically request that the normal protocol be set aside for this reception.”

My eyebrows jumped at that, and I could hear Luce’s curiosity burning hot. The normal protocol for a party that mixed Islanders and Imperials was for one side or the other to avoid bringing their slavegirls. Either Islander girls would be present, in which case the Imperial men would come alone, or else the Imperials would have their slavegirls there – or their Ladies, in the case of Ularians – with the Islander men coming alone. A reception with both Imperial and Islander girls present was not just ‘unusual’ but almost unheard of.

“I would be honored to attend,” I said at last. “Once I’ve had that bite to eat and that bath that Peter mentioned.”

“A bite to eat we can manage.” Van Isaac looked me over again. “But we’ll give you a tonic, first.”

“Aqua vita first,” Peter agreed, after giving me a look-over similar to van Isaac’s. “It will keep you from sleeping in your bath and soaking in your bed.” Nancy nodded in vigorous agreement. So did Luce. I gave her a squeeze in response.

“And then a glass of Regal Orange,” van Isaac added. He signaled one of the serving arbi, and it quickly brought us three beakers of water, six glasses, and a bottle labeled with the trademark slavegirl of the Buxom Wench Distillery.

“Your own product?” I asked van Isaac. He nodded with a smile. “Excellent,” I said, with a smile of my own.

Peter took the opportunity to order a platter from the arbi. “A large platter,” he said, and Nancy gave a second vigorous nod. My master’s Ear could hear Luce’s appetite and agreement, so I followed suit. Besides, I was feeling hungry myself.

I heard van Isaac mutter, “That’s not just a bite,” low enough that only Ireni and I could hear. She pressed against him and he gave her a squeeze while ordering a small platter for himself and his slave.

While awaiting the arbi’s return, we men prepared our aqua vita. I stuck my finger with the pricker-stirrer and let a drop of blood fall into the water. After stirring it in, I touched a drop of the liquid to the tiny wound. Even now, after hundreds of times, I was fascinated to see the cut on my finger instantly heal. Aqua vita was the simplest alchemical preparation imaginable, and yet it was also one of the most powerful ones. It could be used as a simple pick-me-up, but it also healed wounds, cured most diseases, and even slowed aging to a crawl. Its chief limitation was that its healing powers would only work for the man who prepared it. It would heal his own body, and it would heal the bodies of any creatures he owned. Including, in particular, any slavegirl he owned. Which is fortunate for those slavegirls, since aqua vita prepared from their female blood is too weak to be of practical use.

I poured a share of my aqua vita into Luce’s glass, drank a portion straight from the beaker, and refilled my hipflask. A minute later, the platter arrived, with bits of meat cooked on little skewers, various raw vegetables, and a spicy dip. At a sign from Peter, Nancy poured the orange liquor, moving carefully because of her elbow-hobble. All six of us then toasted the Crown of The Koonlands. Since we were at a low table, we men raised our glasses high but we did not stand. Our slavegirls held their glasses in front of themselves, but did not raise them. Even if they hadn’t been elbow-hobbled, it still would have been contrary to etiquette for them to do so.

I sensed the Crown of The Koonlands for a moment, hundreds of miles away with King Logan and the royal court. It sensed me in return, looking at me with its gem-eyes. It was a strange feeling, but not an unfamiliar one. The Crown of Cern had looked at me often enough in the same way. More recently, the Crowns of the other Island Kingdoms had looked at me so during my travels.

The Crowns were alchemical constructs, modeled after the older Stone of Harmony. Like the Stone, the Crowns possessed an inhuman intelligence. They served as co-rulers of their Kingdoms, along with the kings who wore them. Normally they communicated only with their kings, or with the designated heirs of their kingdoms. For some reason, however, they also found it easy to communicate with me. My working theory is that my voracious reading of science fiction, in my Past, is responsible for this.

The contact snapped. It didn’t close in the usual way, as the Crown turned its attention elsewhere, but rather as if a barrier had suddenly come between us. I frowned, puzzled. The others were looking at me oddly, and I decided to keep quiet about my experience. I wanted those odd looks to go away, rather than to be intensified.

Luce wasn’t as shy as I was. “My master is weird,” she boasted to the two other slavegirls. “He can think of the Crowns–”

“Your master is hungry,” I interrupted her, picking up a skewer of roasted vosk. “And so are you.” She didn’t try to deny it, knowing that my Ear could tell. I held a bite for her, and she ate it.

“Ah, bath-shackles!” I said.

They were good-quality bath-shackles too, I noted with approval. Like most metal restraints in the Island Kingdoms, the bronze cuffs were highly polished and then alchemically cerated. This treatment makes the metal feel soft, like wax, against a girl’s skin without reducing their strength. As with slaver’s rope, they wouldn’t bruise Luce, no matter how hard she struggled against them. But cereation did not always go well with anti-corrosion elixirs, and so the best bath-shackles were made of a special bronze alloy, one that had an inherent resistance to corrosion.

The Kingdom of Cern used tubs as private baths. Here in The Koonlands, they used showers instead, saving the tubs for larger communal baths that resembled the hot tubs of my Past. Both shower and bathtubs had good mundane plumbing for their drains, but used alchemical apportation to get water into their local reservoirs and alchemical crystals set in the reservoirs to heat that water.

I had already thrown a splash of aqua vita onto the heating crystals for this shower. Now I beckoned to Luce and she hopped forward, nude. I had released her from the elbow hobble so as to be able to remove her slave tunic. I had also bound her ankles with one of the straps that Koonlanders favored instead of slavers’ rope.

One pair of the bath-shackles went around her wrists, holding her arms above her head as she stood under the shower. The second pair went around her ankles, after I removed the strap there. The bronze cuffs made a satisfying click as I turned the key. I stood and embraced Luce, and she pressed against me. My hand ran down her spine, enjoying the feel of her bare skin.

She was too short for me to ravish there in the shower unless I set her on a stool. Besides, I wanted to take my time with her, later. On the bed, by preference. While the bed here was slightly different from the one in my own hôtel in Cern, it still followed the common Islander design. Instead of being square or rectangular, the mattress was an irregular oval set on a low platform. Four bedchains were secured to the platform, with each chain having provisions for adjusting its length. Slavegirls are always bound in bed, but normally only two shackles are used at any given time. One shackle secures the captive’s wrist, and the other secures her opposite ankle. The chains have plenty of slack, more than enough to let her to lie comfortably on the bed, but not enough to let her leave it.

“May I scrub you, master?” Luce asked in a too-innocent tone. I chuckled. It was a private joke between us, going back to the day I’d acquired her. She always asked that question, and half the time I’d answer “yes.”

But… “Not this time,” I told her. “You’ve been a saucy slavegirl, and I’m going to punish you for that.” It was all I could do to keep my face straight.

“Yes, master.” Luce lowered her gaze with a mournful look. My Ear, by contrast, told me that she could hardly wait for her ‘punishment’ to begin, while the tips of her breasts perking up gave another hint of her true feelings.

I pulled the cord, bringing down a flood of warm water on us both, then set it back so as to reduce the drench to a light drizzle. My hands then turned to lathering Luce as she stood there, unable to do anything but cheerfully squirm under my touch. I took a half step back, the better to admire her and to soap myself down.

Luce pulled at her chains and grinned back at me. Being naked and helpless before her master suited her very well. Not perfectly, because it was an imperfect world, as she would tell me again if I suffered another of my bouts of guilt. When the alternative was to have her mind diminished to an animal level, leaving her unable even to speak, she found belonging to a kindhearted master to be a pretty good deal. Even more important, from her point of view, was the fact I listened to her, both with my Ear and with my physical hearing.

Even without my Ear, I could see the gleam of genius in Luce’s eyes. That was good. “I have questions for you,” I told her. “Now that you’ve had more time to think about it, what do you make of this whole tangle?”

“Which part, master?”

“Let’s start with Goswami Amrish. All I can think to do about him is watch and wait for him to arrive here. And to hope that the loss of his fortune will make him vulnerable.”

“I can’t think of a better plan either, master,” Luce admitted unhappily. “And if he did succeed in stealing the Stone from Mylonite, then he could get his fortune back. Duke Theomund, for one, would pay a fortune for it. Then Goswami Amrish could make another attempt against you.”

“So did Amrish succeed in stealing the Stone?” I asked.

“I can’t tell, master,” Luce said. “I don’t even want to guess. All I can tell you is that Goswami Amrish should arrive here in four to seven days, based on the weather, with only one chance in ten, or less, that he’ll decide to go elsewhere.”

I applied a little more soap as an excuse to use my Ear, and heard just how unhappy she was about her conclusions. I couldn’t dispute those conclusions, but I could try to cheer her up.

“Not one chance in ten point four five nine?” I teased.

She smiled back at me. “One chance in ten point five two three seven two, master. That’s very precise even if it isn’t accurate.”

“All right,” I said. “Now what do you make of our encounter with Brother M?”

Luce kept her smile. “He’s Lord Mamay van Koz, master. He’ll insist on that name. To be fair, he’s gotten away with it until we arrived. Nancy did guess that he was an Elemental Brother, but she’d admit that it was only a guess.”

“But is Ambassador Cedro Lord Balla really his employer, or it that too obvious?” I asked, applying more soap and rubbing it down her sides.

“Mmm, thank you master,” Luce said. “I think Lord Balla really is Brother M’s employer. The only thing against it, really, is that it is so obvious: Lord Balla wants everyone to know that he’s employing Brother M. A bigger puzzle for me is why the Windmill House? Lord Balla will want to milk money from this, even if he has other goals as well, and a gentlemen’s club isn’t the best choice for that.”

I wash more of myself as I considered the point. Gentlemen’s clubs in the Island Kingdoms ranged from low dives to fairly posh. A club would own a number of slavegirls – mostly ‘oiled’ girls recovering from diminishment – who were technically the property of the club members. A man could go there to eat, drink, roister, and enjoy the company of slavegirls other than his own personal one. The best clubs were institutions, as were the worst ones, in their own notorious way. But Luce, as usual, was right. Founding a new club wouldn’t be the best choice if Ambassador Lord Balla wanted to milk money from this.

“Tell me what you know about Lord Balla,” I commanded. I knew that he was the Ularian Ambassador to The Koonlands, and that was the limit of my knowledge. Luce, on the other hand, had been studying up on him before we had set out to The Koonlands, just as she’d studied up on various other important persons during our travels.

Luce said, “Master, you’ll have to get others to brief you, about Ambassador Cedro Lord Balla’s recent activities. What I can tell you is that he’s been the Ularian ambassador here for over seventy years, master, but he’s still short of his third century. He had a plum assignment in Ysbene before coming here, as First Secretary in the Ularian embassy, and everyone expected him to land an Ambassadorship of his own for his next posting. Not to one of the other Empires, or to the Kingdom of Cern, but to the tier below that.”

“Keep talking,” I told Luce as I applied my hands to her.

“Yes master.” She closed her eyes. “While Lord Balla was in Ysbene, he found and purchased his Rose. She’s a branded girl, rather than a ‘proper’ Ularian Lady. So everyone expected that he would leave her in Ysbene, when he returned to Ular, and acquire the wardship of a Lady to take with him to his new posting.”

“But he didn’t,” I said.

Luce opened her eyes to look into mine. “No master, he didn’t. Lord Balla kept his Rose, and that destroyed his prospects for advancement. He did receive a posting here to The Koonlands, where his enemies in the Ularian court expected him to sit and rot – or possibly to resign from the Imperial service as a failure. So instead of trying to seek further advancement, he decided to amass a fortune for himself. He’s been milking his position here for all it’s worth, and he has earned the nickname of ‘Greedy Lord Balla’ because of that. He made a sharp deal against Lord van Isaac a few years after he arrived here, and it’s obvious that there have been more recent clashes. Not just about Lord Balla’s official opposition to the antidote, either.”

“I’ll have to ask van Isaac about that,” I thought aloud. “And I should ask someone other than van Isaac brief me on Lord Balla, as well.”

“Mmm,” Luce agreed.

I indulged myself with another embrace. Luce’s body felt deliciously different when it was soap-slick and squirmy like this. She twisted, not to pull away, but to rub more of her skin against mine.

“You like this,” I whispered.

“I love this, master.” She kicked, a tiny kick limited by the chains on her ankles. “I’m able to think.”

“All right.” I grinned at her. “Now think about Duke Theomund. You’ve been studying him, too.”

“Yes, master,” she said, sobering somewhat.

I said, “I know he’s a crusty conservative, that he’s a major nobleman in the Ularian Empire, and that he has a famous feud with Mylonite – everyone knows about that. But what is he doing here in The Koonlands?”

“Duke Theomund owns one or two plantations in The Koonlands, master, depending on how you count them: Sapphire Quay and Upland Oaks. They’re among the largest plantations here, and they’re located about a day’s sail down the coast.” Luce gave me a look, making sure I understood that ‘about a day’ on a sailing vessel could vary wildly depending on the weather. “He also owns a warehouse right here in Haaram-Port,” she went on, “but he has let that get run-down. He’s visited The Koonlands several times before, over the decades. He’s never stayed for much more than a year, each time, but he’s always brought his Ladies with him. His ducal rank entitles him to three guardianships, and so he has three Ularian Ladies.”

“All right,” I said. “What else?”

“He’s a skilled adept, master,” Luce said. “He has to be, as a nobleman. He has the usual Imperial opposition to black alchemy, but he’s is reported to be skilled at red alchemy.” My Ear heard an internal shudder as she said this.

“He’ll be strongly opposed to antidote-brewing,” Luce continued. “That should go without saying, master. But he’s also been strongly opposed to smuggling. Especially girl-smuggling, even when girl-smuggling worked in favor of the Four Empires. Now that the antidote is shifting girl-smuggling to working in favor of the Island Kingdoms, he is getting to say ‘I told you so’ to other Imperials.”

“Very good,” I said. “And now for your punishment.”

I pulled the shower-cord, hard. Warm water poured down, drenching us both and rinsing away the soap. Luce sputtered and giggled. The deluge ended, and two of my arbi stepped forward, bearing fluffy white towels to dry us. After that, clothes awaited us – but I was tempted to take a detour. At some point I wanted to use all four bedchains to secure Luce spread-eagle to the bed. But not now. Later, when I had time to properly and thoroughly ravish her (and to get ravished back, by her). What I’d do now is tie her tight with some of those Koonlander straps. Wrists and ankles, arms and legs, I would make her into a helpless package. Then I would hold her, and give her gentle kisses, and listen to her cuddled bliss. We’d still have time to dress for Duke Theomund’s reception, after that.

The Stone of Harmony, Chapter 2