Inept Adept
Chapter 5

Copyright© 2004 by Robin

Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 5 - This is a book that I have been working on for some time. Kinda stuck on the finish and may have to rewrite some of it, especially the ending. Comments are welcome on this one and even sugestions as long as it's not scrap it. Enjoy.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mind Control   Magic   Fiction   Humor  

Johan and Sebastian strolled.

The maze had died around fifty years earlier from neglect and a total lack of water but, the bare sticks of the once proud copper beeches which once formed the bush barriers hadn't quite perished in so much as leaves were a thing of the very distant past but, the timber had remained, unpruned, uncared for and resolutely staying put until decay finally put paid to them.

The bleached white brush went completely unnoticed by the two figures who traversed the cinder path, as it was quite used to.

Johan was trying to convey to his cousin that a cleansing of the scale that Bretton had recently endured would prove disastrous to Clevedon. A succession of poor harvests coupled with very efficient mismanagement, had reduced the Royal purse to almost sending out the servants with begging bowls and relying on a bit of fresh mutilation for effect and the sympathy value. Never had the Kingdom been so poor. Even the school had stopped using charcoal and bark so that the little children could have some heat by re-burning the items in a small self contained fire in the middle of the floor. The roof to the school house had been the source of the charcoal so that wasn't around any more either. The sewer rats, usually the last to leave, had gone on holiday without leaving a forwarding address.

"So you see the scale of the problem Eh? There's no way that I can just wring the necks of the Socialites as much as I would like to. Without their trickle of funds, I would be completely pot less". Johan tended to talk with his hands in an expressive way. Even more so when he got animated about a subject. The bleached beeches were getting their first pruning of sorts only fifty years too late.

"Have you considered seizing their assets just before the death rattle, just to make it official like. Sort of bequest or an investment towards their greater reward in heaven". Sebastian smiled. Just a little, worrying sight.

"Or, why don't you enforce a levy on dying, payable from either the victim's, or should I say, recently deceased's estate and, if that doesn't cover it, from the families left behind. Almost everyone has some family, even if they are well and truly distant. Just so long as they live your side of the border, you understand.

I've thought of that". Moaned Johan. "I've looked at various methods of raising capitol. I considered raising taxes. No chance. I thought of seconding parts of wealth from various merchants and the like, but they are in as much of a jamb as the coffers. Interest it seems, is linked with the F.T.S.E. (First (Floors). Treasuries. Secret. Enterprises. Inc.)(They never used the I or the second F for some reason, probably that any word with an I and two FFs was pushing the realms of credibility too far ). And that's in remission, I think that's what they called it.

"So who exactly runs the treasury"? The smile had left for foreign parts to be replace by a wicked gleam. Even more worrying in some quarters.

"Would you believe, the Treasurer". Irony went over his cousins head.

"And who is the Treasurer". The irony had missed because he had stumbled on an old root that had tried in vain to find a water supply of it's own, and was just regaining his equilibrium.

"Chap by the name of Grunt, seems honest enough, but who can tell these days. I have introduced a new audit regime and get to look at the books every week and pretty depressing reading it makes". Johan's lack of numeracy skills hadn't improved at all. The books may as well have been in Braille for all the good it did.

(Question? Does a blind person have to be taught Braille or is it something they just get a feel for?).

"How long has this Groat...". He was corrected. "Sorry Grunt... , been in charge of the money? Where did he come from"?

"I guess it's not so much where as when he came from. We needed an accountant or at least, someone who could count. Did you know, there are basically three types of people in the world, those who can count and those who can't?...".

Sebastian nearly laughed, thinking that Johan had made a joke, then realised that his cousin was being quite earnest. He resolved in the privacy of his mind, to teach the man how to count. After all, it could be profitable in the long run if both factions of the family had the ability to manipulate their respective access to public funds. Either side might be able to do a little cooking of their own. Being Royalty had it's advantages of course, like never having to pay... well... anyone, really. But, should life become just a little too hectic, or blue bloodied fingers were found in the till, then a little stash put aside should help the situation no end. Besides, why shouldn't a king get paid? Same as any job, in principle, were'nt it? The hours are long, basically from the time you left your pit to the time you returned to it and, although the food was great (and free), the lodgings left a bit to be desired. Castles, for some reason, are always cold and draughty despite any number of modifications and bits of glass you shoved into the window slits. Probably something to do with retribution by an unpaid builder. So why shouldn't they get a little reward for putting up with having to listen to the bleatings of their subjects every day and having to clog up their arteries with enough cholesterol and saturated fat to bung up the entire sewerage works of the city, let a lone their bodies. The more he thought about it, the more he like the idea.

"... he turned up at the right time and applied for the position before it was advertised. Handy that I suppose."

"How would you like to go to school Johan?" Sebastian thought that now's as good a time as any, strike while the irons hot and all that... then realised that, perhaps he had broached the subject in an insensitive manner if the blood red face that swung into view was any indication. "What I mean is..." His brain began to look for straws. "... with your ability to think rationally..." This wasn't working and the straws were waterlogged. "What I'm trying to say is... Look, let's face it. You can't count to save you're life can you?" The direct approach always works he reasoned.

He was wrong.

Steam began to leak from Johan's ears and rise in little curlicues through his mop of hair.

Sebastian tried to rescue the situation. "How many fingers am I holding up?" He raised a hand with the thumb an little finger holding each other down.

"Are you trying to be funny... ?" Johan's fingers were feeling around at about the right place for a pommel of a sword to be. The newly forged relationship between him and his kin was still quite new and, if the conversation didn't make a quick exit via the next turn off, the formation of further ties might just have a sudden and very tragic end with lots of blood from severed veins in the region of a royal neck and head. His sword hung over the fire place in the great (that's a laugh) hall. "... cos, if you are I should think carefully about the punch line if I was you. I'm trained in the ancient form of hara-kiri and could kill you with just my little finger while both my hands were tied behind my back and both feet tied together." No idle threat this, but, it would mean that he'd have to fall right while Sebastian laid at just the right angle. Still accidents could happen, couldn't they.

"Let me start again. With all due respect, your counting skills are not quite as they could be...""He held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "... not your fault of course and I'm not saying you're stupid... far from it, but, let's face it, who was here to teach you when your formative years were spent learning how to kill, maim and mutilate people. How to handle weapons, kick horses and generally, kick arse. No scholars were around to show the niceties of arithmetic and the like and, even if there had been, you would probably ended up using them for target practice, same as I did."

Mollified a little, Johan began to see that this was the case, although he thought he had hidden his in-numeracy quite well up to date. After all, who expected you to keep a count of all the heads you had removed or lashes that were being given especially as the order had a completely random number attached to it and a hundred might as well be a lot or a little if you hadn't the first idea how to count up to one or beyond. It might have been noticed when missives from neighbouring dominions where thrust under his nose by foreign emissaries but, fortunately for him, protocol decreed that these would be quickly whipped away by his flunky to be read, digested and then related back to him, usually heavily censored, or if the mood took him, the messenger lost his head where he stood. It was all relative, and from whom the message came from.

"Something in what you say I suppose" he grudgingly gave a little ground on the point. "But, who, in their right mind would take on the job of teaching me when all they could expect in return is their genitals handed back to them while still warm. In truth, I have little patience with letters or numbers or even anyone who can demonstrate that ability and therefore show me up? I'll be honest with you shall I and I've never told anybody this." He gave more ground while his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as he looked around for possible eavesdroppers. "I can't read a word nor recognise a number if it faced me in the field with a bloody great iron tipped lance."

"I'd never have guessed." Sebastian knew he had him.

"I can best anyone in combat, I can kill just about anything that breathes and tournaments are little more than a simple work out for me." Few had the courage to show just how off the mark his skill was, thinking to bolster his opinion of himself and keep their balancing and thinking equipment in it's right place. Some spectacular battles had been fought in the tilting fields, spectacular that is in the manner that his opponents could take a dive. Privately, marks out of six were awarded by the show of two boards ranging from 0 and 1 to 6 and 0. The player with the best score got free medical treatment for their bruises and cuts.

"I suppose I could teach you the rudimentary points. You see, I've had to learn myself. Since it became apparent that the kingdom was being leached by my so called ministers, I have really learned. There's no way I'm going to be duped like that again. But, thinking about it, it might be better if you could find another to teach you, someone you can trust because I really don't have time, what with running my own show and all that. If you can understand the complexities of accounting, you'd be amazed at just how much you can get away with. Do you want to be in this situation for the rest of your life? Think what you could do away from here with a large lump of money, you could spend the rest of your life on a beach with loads of women falling over themselves to be rubbing in the cooking oil on your back as you sip cold drinks. Think of it as an extended holiday.

"What's a beach? And why would I put cooking oil on my self?"

He realised that the job could be very much larger than perhaps he had first thought.

"You've not be around much have you?" He plumped up his chest in a man of the world sort of way. In truth, his experience of the world as a whole had come from reading a holiday brochure of some far off country in a moment of idleness that showed endless sandy beaches almost completely covered with topless bathing beauties with at lot less body hair than the current fashion at court decreed. The scene had triggered a longing to be elsewhere and the knowledge that a large part of his retinue had been able to expend illicit funds on a regular basis doing just that fuelled a jealous longing as wide as one of the beaches advertised. The thrall of being in charge, of being the most important had become less enthralling as the realisation of just how much a prisoner the position meant. Sovereignty didn't just go on holiday, his country's enemies saw to that while they had a ball sitting just outside of bowshot range waiting for the slightest chink to appear in his amour.

His mind had been occupied by two thought's, one just described, the other had been formulating the beginnings of a plan which involved the manipulation of two sets of incomes and a partner who would have to be schooled pretty quickly and then educated in the darker side of mathematics and dexterity with book cuisine.

"I might know of the very chap to teach you all you need to know. He's expendable, who isn't, but, for the moment, he'll do nicely. I'll get on it right away. Just promise not to disembowel him until I say, Okay."

Johan could see that it might be of some advantage being able to decipher the squiggles scratched on bits of parchment, paper and human skin. He could also see the positive side of hiding his new found literacy from the very few who knew otherwise, it might be quite possible that in catching one or more of his trusted advisers in a little backhand dealing his greatest pleasure of relieving a body of the burden of holding a head in place might just be exercised with justification.

"I agree. I promise not to hurt who ever it is until you say and I will do my damnedest to learn. How's that." He felt better already.

"Splendid". He almost clapped Johan on the back but the picture of smoke seeping from his cousin's ears had a salutary effect and he lowered his hand as nonchalantly as he could.

Later.

Dinner had been a grand affair and righteously stuffed, the two cousins expectedly waited for the entertainment to begin.

(By grand, I mean that no expense had been spared. From an impoverished point of view, it had been grand. At least the menu included meat, questionable source perhaps, but, meat none the less).

The exotic dancers came tumbling into the centre of the hall which had been laid out for optimum vantage by putting the benches in a U shape. Thin, multi-coloured veils hid the more interesting parts of the dancers anatomy but, not quite enough to completely cover them in the acrobatic twists, spins and turns that made up the steps of what seemed an extraordinarily complex routine accompanied by the court musicians who played as if their very lives depended on a great performance, which probably was the case.

After two frenetic portrayals of battles long since committed to mythology, the female dancers were joined by two almost black men dressed in no more than loin cloths. Their skin shone from various scented oils that wafted over the audience as the dancers passed leaving a hypnotic glaze to the eyes of those closest. The music slowed and became rather base, heavy rhythms underlaid the steady drum beat marking time. The two sets of dancers, waif like girls and dark, muscular men, met in the middle and began to writhe, twisting their bodies in impossible arcs and turns around each other. The white skin stark against the oiled bodies. The beat of the music slowed even more, matching a heartbeat and almost whispering into everyone's ear of forbidden passion and pleasure beyond belief.

The figures had sunk to the floor, simulating sexual movements with thrusts of hips and glimpses of naked thighs. The rhythm gradually picked up tempo as the dancers increased their movements. Eventually, the music reach a crescendo while the drum master's arms became a blur, creating a tymphonic thrum just below pain to the head. The dancers screamed and fell away from each other in what they tried to impart to the audience, ecstasy so total leading to fatigue.

They were good in their act, the diners sat spell bound for a minute while senses tried to catch up with all that their eyes had seen. It was quite probable that some inroads into repopulating the kingdom would be the finale to this night.

Tom was getting stage fright in the worst way. Shivering in the wings, so to speak and drooling from the corners of his mouth. He had come up with a reasonable trick, having accidentally found the bright flash caused by dropping magnesium on a naked flame. It had taken two days for the spot in front of his eyes to go. He was going to do a disappearing act, literally, which would also give him a little breathing space in which to catch up with his studies.

The dancers filed past him, the perfume of the oils hit his nose and sent his brain into a flat spin. He missed the jugglers who followed and almost missed his entrance coming as it should by a loud stage whisper from the juggling act, one of whom had pulled a brazier of red hot coals into the arena of gawking faces peering a little glazed over the edge of tables still littered with food and wine.

Tom bounced into the centre, majestically waving his arms beneath his midnight coloured cape decorated with crescent moons and stars in silver thread. The effect was astounding. Not one muscle moved. Not even a twitch. His entrance, expansive as it was, went unseen by the staring, blank faces that looked on him. The room fell to a deathly quiet, almost a totally perfect silence, broken only by the spitting crackle of logs on the great fire at the end of the hall.

It took Tom only a split second to realise that his audience were suffering from a drug induced stupor and that this was his out for now. Tom vanished via a side exit, tucking the vial of magnesium back into an inside pocket as he went. Sanctuary could be found in a bolt hole that he had prepared for just such an occasion. A small room in the lower section of the citadel, surrounded by the scum and dredges of Clevedon, home from home.


Agetha had also found a temporary home, yet another one of those rooms that are not usually freely found in a similar area to that which Tom currently resided in.

Finding a place in Clevedon wasn't too much of a problem now that a large proportion of the inhabitants had either left or suddenly been removed to rather damper and deeper accommodations complete with running water (down the walls), and resident meals if you could catch them. It was only fair to consume the rats because for sure, they were going to eat you in turn.

The garret that Agetha had persuaded the owner that he would be more than willing to rent free of charge for an unlimited time, overlooked the poorer end of the market. The vendors calls to each other and, less frequently, passing trade woke Matilda from her afternoon nap. She sat up in the poorly disguised pallet and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"I'm hungry".

"Hush now, I'll get something for us to eat in a little while, I just need to finish spying out the lay of the land". Agetha turned from the window to look at her darling. She was just as overawed by the sheer size of the city and by the amount of people that frequented it. The diverse styles of dress, cultures and colours had all but fused her brain. Uncertainty was a new concept to Agetha and she almost enjoyed the little rushes of adrenaline making her heart pitter patter every time some unexpected fascination took her attention.

They had been in the city for two days now and each waking moment held a new surprise, a new experience, taste, smell. Whole vistas of goods never before seen had been tried and examined by the combined talents of mother and child. Telepathic conversations conveying wonderment whizzed back and forth between them. In this strange environment, Agetha was just a much a child as Matilda. They giggled and flounced around the market, laughing and screaming in sheer joy.

But, all good things come to an end and Agetha knew she would have to meet the King, after all, It was he that had summoned her. So, she thought, I might as well go and find out what He wants.

"But, I'm still hungry". Moaned Matilda. "Cant we get something to eat".

Agetha looked over her child. A wave of love passed through and was silently tossed towards Matilda who as previously described wasn't a beautiful little girl, even less so in the mornings when sleep had just left and her clothes, never quite clean for long, told of dream ridden battles between sheets and skin. Scarred, they usually gave up trying to drape and just scrunched up in an untidy roll around her midriff.

"Okay, what do you fancy? Some Eggs and bacon sound all right"? *

Breakfast over, Agetha decided to make her presence known at the palace and wait for King Johan to call for her. The letter lurked in the bottom of her bag and would provide a pass into the Royal residence.

An hour or so later found them discussing the finer points of greetings with one of the same guards who had stopped them at the gate a few days before.

"Where's your girlfriend Bob, or is it George, and which one takes the pork"?

Astute as Matilda had become, the inference meant nothing to her and she lost interest in the conversation preferring to scan the bit of the inner courtyard that was visible around the side of the guard.

*Clevedon's answer to fast food. To obtain the required ingredients, you first had to chase and catch it.

"I don't know how you did that lady, we got in real trouble for that one, being on duty out of uniform is a serious offence, but naked is just about the worst crime a soldier could be charged with. The Sergeant, after he stopped splitting his sides, put us on forty eight hour duty with no pay or breaks".

"But that was over three days ago".

"He can't count, it might be a week or a month or what ever, Bob has already fallen, he couldn't stay awake any longer, I just hope the Sergeant don't come around and find him 'cause that will finish his career for good an all. We're good soldiers really and if we lost our posts... well God alone knows what we'll become, we don't know nuffink else see".

George sniffed and shuffled his stance somewhat lethargically as if to prove his story of woe and gain a sympathy vote.

"Look, just let me pass and if I see this sergeant I'll make it all okay again, okay. In the mean time stand by for this. Agetha did another of those expansive, but, quite unnecessary waves of her hands about two inches away from George's nose.

 
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