Chapter 9

Mandas held his head high as he strode into the anteroom, resplendent in the ruffles and silks which comprised his best attire. His shoes answered the general din of conversation with crisp clicks against the stone of the entryway, muted when he stepped onto the deep purple carpet. One of his gloved hands clutched a walking cane which he tapped against the floor, its length carved with flowing designs and accents that represented parts of his clan's crest. One took the form of a snake entwined about the top quarter of the staff, its eyes two glittering sapphires.

Behind him, the door opened once more, revealing the deepening twilight, and Mandas stepped aside to allow a proper and polite distance between him and the High Lord who had arrived.

Around the periphery of the chamber, high-borns stood in soft conversation, many holding crystal goblets filled with dusky red wine or amber gold brandy. When a servant approached with a tray, Mandas gave a single shake of his head without looking in the servant's direction. The servant bowed and moved on.

He was paid little heed. Most of the guests were above him and outside his circle of influence. For the moment, it was exactly what he wanted. His eyes darted about the chamber for another moment before he slipped away towards a set of three curtained doorways. Ahead of him, a High Lady disappeared into the leftmost one, and the ruby gemstone above it glowed.

The other two were unoccupied, their rubies dark. Mandas chose the middle one. Inside was a small but elegant chamber. A floor-to-ceiling mirror adorned one wall. Opposite it lay a plush chair. In a corner was a small dresser, and upon it were small tins of various aromatic dried herbs and weeds, suitable for any one of several smoking pipes which lay arranged in a small rack. Overhead, air flowed out through a gap in the stones. In another corner was a narrow doorway that led to a sanitary.

Mandas stood in the center of the chamber and rapped his cane against the floor in three sharp reports. He fell into the chair and waited.

A few moments later, the mirror shuddered and swung inward like a door, revealing a narrow passage which allowed the servants to maintain the parlor without being seen. Marris took only one step inside, his hands clinging to the edge of the mirror-door. "Please, my Lord, I could get into trouble for--"

"That is not my concern," Mandas snapped with another rap of his cane against the floor. "What is my concern is how things will go during the latter half of the Feast."

"I said I would do as you asked, and I have. No matter what you request, I will ensure Amanda will be available for you."

"I have an additional stipulation now. You are not to reveal in any way, or allow it to be revealed through your inaction, that I came anywhere near Amanda."

Marris' eyes widened. "You mean ... you mean I should keep that from Lord Norlan?"

"I mean from anyone."

"But, my Lord, I have to keep some sort of record so we can better anticipate the needs of the guests in future Feasts."

"From anyone, Marris."

"If Halno finds out I falsified--"

"That would earn an order of magnitude less trouble for you than your other dirty little secret."

Marris fell silent. The hinges of the mirror-door creaked as his fingers tightened.

Mandas stood and stepped over to Marris. Marris pulled the door towards him like a shield. "Another thing: If Amanda tells you anything about my session with her, anything at all, you will ignore it."

Marris let out an exasperated sigh. "I cannot ignore any obvious abuse of--"

Marris' head snapped to the side, his cheek stinging and red with the blow from the back of Mandas' hand. Mandas clutched Marris' tunic. "If you ever, ever again even so much as suggest I would act in a way unbecoming my status, you perverted little worm, then being known as a man-dipper will be the least of your problems."

Marris' eyes glistened. "I-I'm terribly sorry, my Lord, I didn't mean to imply anything!"

Mandas let go of Marris' tunic and shoved him back. "Like bloody hellfire you didn't. But I need you, so I cannot afford to punish you in the way you deserve. But remember that you need me if you want to remain employed. Or if you want to be employed ever again, for after I am done, I will have far more influence than Norlan could ever hope to achieve."

"Yes, my Lord, I'll do whatever you want."

Mandas' lips curled into a sly smile. "Good. Now get out of my sight."

Marris bowed his head as he pulled the mirror-door closed behind him.

Mandas let out a small sigh and observed himself before the mirror. He smoothed a wrinkle near his waist and tugged one of his gloves until it fit more snug. He squeezed his fingers around the top of the cane and sauntered out of the parlor.

Amanda stood amongst peers once more, standing in a line with her fellow slaves in their shared quarters, along with several more who had been provided by Lord Rallan. She had been prepared as the others had. Her sex had been unsealed, which now oozed and dripped with hot lust crystallized by a massive dose of the drug. Her hands clenched and unclenched behind her, arms tense as she unconsciously fought against her bonds to grant her some relief.

She glanced to her left and looked at Larra. She felt some satisfaction that Larra was treated no differently. She moaned and gyrated her hips, the insides of her thighs damp, her nipples hard and erect. Another of her fellow slaves, one with dusky reddish-brown hair, twisted about with a pained look of unrequited desire on her face.

Nothing special, Amanda thought as she returned her gaze forward.

In less than another candlemark, the door opened. Several man-servants flooded into the chamber, all carrying chains. Marris was among them. He approached Amanda, but would not raise his eyes to meet hers.

Amanda observed him as he locked the chain to her collar, looking for some clue as to what else was happening, anything to break Norlan's mantra. She thought his inability to look her in the eye was a telling sign of something.

Nothing special.

No, Marris did think Amanda was special. Otherwise why did he grill her for information the other day?

Stop it, she chided herself as Marris gave the chain a gentle tug. Stop reading something into it that's not there.

Her speculation over her status was suited for times when it amounted to nothing more than a mental exercise. It helped her cope with the day-to-day monotony of being a living sex toy. But she had to stop when it could be tested by reality. The disappointment could send her into another spiral of depression.

Yet as she fell into step behind Marris, she could not quench that faint spark of anticipation.

All the man-servants had each claimed a slave, and they moved with their charges in a single file down a narrow passage. They emerged into a large, circular chamber. Curtained doorways stood at regular intervals around the circumference, about twelve in all. One was wider than the others. In the center of the room, arranged in an evenly spaced cluster, were short metal rods embedded into the stone, about a hand-span in height. Welded to each by the middle of its chain was a pair of shackles.

Each of the slaves was directed to stand with one of the rods between her feet, facing the wider doorway. Marris positioned her near the edge of the cluster to one side. He crouched at her feet and fit the shackles about her ankles, closing each one with a sharp snap.

Above the sound of other shackles closing rose the soft moans of slaves stimulated to near orgasm by the walk to the chamber. Larra was among them, and she trembled and swayed when the man-servant left her. The chain between her ankles rattled as she tried to spread her legs further apart to relieve the swollen pressure in her sex.

Marris left her. Amanda yelped when another man-servant slapped her ass. Yet another paused before her, gave her a lusty smirk, and grabbed her breasts. Amanda closed her eyes and uttered a ragged moan as he stroked her nipples hard with the pads of his thumbs until she was left quivering and straining like Larra.

"All right, that's quite enough," Amanda heard Marris' soft voice. "Everyone return to your duties, please."

The man-servant rolled his eyes. He kneaded Amanda's breasts for another moment before he relented and left.

Amanda swallowed and took several deep but shaky breaths to pull herself from the brink of climax. She looked up and saw Marris standing before his captive audience. He folded his hands before him, then dropped them to his sides, then folded them behind him. He shifted his weight and dropped his hands to his sides once more. His face was drawn, his eyes subdued.

"Um, okay," he said with a small quaver to his voice. "Some of you are new to this, so I will tell you what to expect. You'll stand here and let the guests look you over. Later, once they decide what they want, you'll be taken to one of these chambers..." He gestured at the curtained doorways. " ... and be prepared for the guests' pleasure. Obey them as you would Lord Norlan."

Amanda half expected him to say "any questions?" Of course, he didn't, but his eyes found Amanda briefly before he slipped out of the room.

Before he had to conduct one himself, Norlan saw little point to a High Feast. Now that he had been put upon to entertain both his peers and his betters with such a gathering, he saw even less point to it.

Nevertheless, Norlan played at being host. Holding his goblet of wine and carrying himself with as much regal bearing as he could muster, he made the slow walk from one end of the feast hall to the other, the tables lining the sides straining from their load of roasted meats, sweet-laden pastries, and fermented juices.

His guests were forced to acknowledge him, and he exchanged polite smiles. It confirmed what he had suspected: the High Lords quite liked their association with Norlan from a distance. They were more interested in speaking with each other rather than him. Nevertheless, he was satisfied that they deigned to allow for his existence, for it was far more than they were affording Mandas. He had the distinct pleasure in seeing Mandas treated as if he were one of the servants, to be unseen and unheard unless needed.

It would have been more pleasurable, however, had Mandas shown even the least care towards his nonperson status.

Norlan stopped by the entrance to the adjoining chamber, where musicians played for a small audience of High Lords and Ladies who danced in slow, methodical movements which matched the drab nature of the music.

One Lady stood alone, fanning herself. She spotted Norlan and offered a small smile, a bow of her head, and a slow sweep of her arm before her. She was offering herself as his dance partner. Even from that distance, Norlan could see the tightness in her face. She was offering herself either out of duty or because she wished to wheedle some favor from him.

Norlan returned the gesture with a bow of his head and a sweep of an arm towards his body, signaling his polite refusal. He held the goblet further aloft as a means of explanation. She pressed her lips together and snapped her fan out once more, waving it against her face in a hurried manner. Norlan surmised it had been the latter reason.

His eyes tracked towards the curtained doorway which led to the slave viewing chamber. A High Lord stood in quiet conversation with his fellow near the door. He appeared about to turn away, spotted Norlan, and remained where he was.

Norlan averted his eyes, paused, and looked back. The High Lord was gone, the curtain falling back into place in his wake. His conversation partner now revealed himself to be High Lord Ardon.

Norlan bowed his head and turned away.

"Ah, one moment, my dear Lord Ambassador," Ardon's voice rang out.

Norlan continued a few steps away from the entrance to the dance chamber before he turned around. Ardon carried a goblet as well, and from the way his cheeks glowed, it was not his first. Nor his second. "What may I do for you, my Lord?" Norlan said in an even voice.

"You can tell me why you are not mingling with your guests is what you can do for me," said Ardon, his voice somewhere between amusement and admonishment.

Norlan glanced around him. "My guests appear to be mingling quite well on their own."

"That is not what I meant."

"Then for what purpose, my Lord? So they may beset me for favors I have yet to be able to grant?"

Ardon uttered a long, windy sigh. "Next you will be telling me your initial reports were impeccably accurate in that there is little for the High Lords to leverage from the Oceanus fleet."

"I never said that in my report."

"It is implied. No ill-gotten goods. No admission of any crimes, save for their obvious one. No attempts to bargain."

Norlan smiled tightly. "Must we use such a joyous occasion to talk of politics?"

Ardon look a long drink from his goblet. "There is never a time when politics are not discussed. The High Lords can make the King's use of the sanitary a political issue if we wish!"

A few guests glanced his way. A High Lady wrinkled her nose, then thrust it into the air as she passed. "Really, my Lord, you're making quite a scene," said Norlan in a neutral voice.

"Ah, perhaps! And they will all forget about it by tomorrow, as is proper. That, my dear Lord Ambassador, is one of the joys of being a High Lord. Perhaps you should consider it."

Norlan controlled his response, letting it manifest as little more than a strained sigh through his nose. He knew that Ambassadors could elevate themselves to High Lordship with the right connections. And the right bribes.

Norlan's gaze drifted past Ardon. Another two High Lords had slipped into the viewing chamber. Now Mandas hovered near the entrance as well, engaged in conversation with a Lady. It was largely one-sided, as the Lady offered little more than a curt nod of her head and a glance about her as if seeking better prospects. "As you have made it pointedly clear, my Lord, I have nothing with which to bargain in that regard."

Ardon noticed Norlan's gaze. He turned around and snorted. "So Mandas showed himself after all."

"Yes, so it seems," said Norlan in a dry voice. "It is hoped he will keep most of his boorishness to himself."

"He fairly exudes it," Ardon declared. "The air will be thick with it before long. I do not envy you, Norlan, being forced to work with him."

Norlan peered into his goblet. "It has not been quite as bad as that."

Ardon's gaze swung back towards Norlan. "Are you quite serious?"

Norlan looked up. His gaze narrowed on Mandas again. "Yes, I am serious. And it worries me."

Ardon frowned and lifted his goblet. "I may have had a few of these already, but no so many that I cannot demand what in hellfire you're talking about!"

Norlan sighed as a few more guests glanced their way in annoyance. He took the High Lord's elbow and escorted him away from the feast table. "Please, my Lord, keep your voice down. Mandas is not acting quite as I had expected. He appears as if he is attempting to be -- dare I say it -- competent, even if in his own dull-witted manner."

Ardon smirked. "You know what they say, Norlan. Even a stopped clock is correct twice a day."

Norlan glanced towards the entrance to the viewing chamber. Mandas turned away from the High Lady and walked inside with little regard to who saw him. "Perhaps you are right, my Lord," said Norlan. "He may simply be a handy vessel for my misgivings about the situation. And I will remind you it was the High Lords that worried if the King would use Mandas to escalate the situation into something more than it is."

"And is he?"

"I thought he might be, until I checked for myself something he told me after I had met with the Fleet Admiral." Norlan's lips curled into a small frown, and he took a sip of his wine. "It turns out there may be some merit to his theory that Oceanus is after only a single person on the fleet."

"That is a ludicrous notion," Lord Ardon declared. "Why go through all this trouble for one man?"

Norlan looked towards the doorway to the viewing chamber. "Yes, why indeed."

Amanda had no idea what to expect or what she was supposed to do, so when the first of Norlan's guests entered the chamber, she could only stare at him.

He was a middle-aged gentleman, with some faint streaks of gray through his otherwise slicked-down dark brown hair. His skin had a faint olive cast to it, as if he hailed from what would have been the Mediterranean on Earth. The gentleman approached the group of slaves, his lips curling into a tiny but lascivious smile as his eyes slid over the ample display of naked flesh.

He paced the length of the first row of slaves, pausing before the next to last, a young blonde. He slid a hand down her side and was rewarded by a visible shudder and a moan. His fingers probed her folds until the slave panted in rising pleasure. Just as the slave pants became pre-orgasmic whimpers, he relented and withdrew his hand.

The gentleman examined his glistening fingertips, then held them before the slave's face. Without hesitation, the girl leaned forward and wrapped her lips around his fingers, her cheeks dimpling and her tongue lashing. She drew back, his fingers emerging with a faint wet pop. She licked her lips and smiled.

He continued down the next row. He stopped by the slave two down from Amanda and fondled her breasts, his thick fingers squeezing them like putty. The slave gasped and sighed in delight. Finally, he stopped before Amanda.

Amanda drew herself as straight as possible and spread her feet as far as the shackles would allow. She arched her back and thrust her breasts forward. He tilted his head as he examined them, eyes flicking between her two nipples before descending to her sex.

He stepped to one side. Amanda closed her eyes and let out a relieved breath, thinking he was done with her. The next moment, she uttered a yelp as his hand slapped her backside.

Her eyes flew open, wide and staring. He slapped her again and again, falling into a regular staccato cadence of loud blows with his meaty hand. He stopped at the tenth blow, but Amanda flinched as if expecting an eleventh. She panted hard, her pussy drowning in moist heat, the sting of punishment becoming lustful pleasure, her sex half-risen to climax.

When she looked at him again, her eyes silently begged for sexual release. Instead, he simply gave her a nod, a small grin, and moved on to the next.

Two more gentlemen entered. Unlike the first, these two refused to remain silent, chatting away about the slave trade.

"Ah, but that one was nothing like the honey-haired beauty I had sold the season before last!" boomed one of the gentleman, a rotund fellow with a jovial face. He stepped up to a slave with light brown hair, a sample of which he picked up in his fingers. "Something like this, but with lighter accents."

His companion, a slimmer man with a balding pate, gave a single careful nod of his head. "But was she as buxom?"

"More so than this." He cupped a breast and lifted it. "Hardly any heft to this one! But here..." He moved on to the blonde who the first had molested. He cupped both breasts and lifted them. The girl gasped and writhed. "This is more like it. Something that has weight, body, presence." He let them drop and wagged a finger at his companion. "Presence, my friend, that is what it is all about."

His companion offered a tiny smirk. "I always did say you take this too seriously."

The portly fellow waved a hand in dismissal. "Feh! A slave should be enjoyed like a fine feast. Everything is important." He stood before Larra. "Take this one for instance. Older girl, lots of experience, I wager." He clasped her hips. "Full figure as well. Quite mature. Quite ripe, you might say."

Amanda closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, cords standing out on her neck for a moment. It's like we're pieces of meat to them, she thought.

"And what about this one?"

Amanda's eyes snapped open to see the face of the balding man hovering a hand-span from her.

His companion nearly bowled over his friend in his eagerness to stand before Amanda. She managed not to shy away when his hand reached for her, his fingers brushing through her raven locks. "Oh, the wondrous hair on this one!" he boomed. "So luxuriant and soft, like fine silk. And..." He leaned forward and peered. "Oh, my, the eyes!"

Amanda blinked and stared.

"The eyes?" said his companion.

"Yes, come here, look for yourself! See? See?"

The older gentleman narrowed his eyes. "What is it I am seeing?"