IT WAS late afternoon when they at last spotted a dingy old ramshackle farmhouse and some rude huts or barns, about a mile off in a little dell—scarcely enough to call the place a ‘farm’. And, ominously, there appeared to be a thin curl of smoke rising from it. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life.
“That’s the spot. You’d best wait here,” said Michael. “Although I expect the Wild Country folk to be safe, there may be Waknuk people around. Stragglers from the pursuit. Keep hidden: don’t worry—I’ll remember the spot exactly. I hope to be no more than an hour. If I do meet Waknuk men, I’ll try to head them off somehow.”
Sophie knew how to hide, of course: she’d been more or less in hiding ever since childhood. With amazing agility, considering her recent injuries which were now almost healed, she swung herself up into a large tree and nestled there, amongst the branches of the crown. No-one who didn’t know she was there could have spotted her.
Michael was as good as his word. Within the hour he was back at the tree and handing Sophie down.
“The place seems to be completely deserted—and that’s a barn on fire, practically burnt to the ground now. But the farmhouse itself appears to be untouched. I can’t account for that: there were people here when we passed by: we didn’t threaten them, and we didn’t torch anything. Perhaps a following group, less scrupulous, took exception to whatever the barn was storing: something deviational, no doubt. And maybe the people of the farm fled before them. At least we can get some rest there.”
“But what if the people return?” asked Sophie. “I mean the owners?”
“It’s highly unlikely they’ll return tonight. They’ll want to be sure the Waknuk raiders are clear of the area first. And it’ll be safer for them in daylight. Come on.”
Half an hour later they were at the farmhouse, such as it was. It was now dark outside. They tethered the horse to a nearby tree under which some grass was growing, and tried the door. It was unlocked. Inside, it was already pitch-dark, but groping around, Michael found a candle and soon had a bright light burning. They found themselves in a surprisingly clean and spacious kitchen. There was a range with a couple of copper kettles, burnished pans hanging from hooks around the walls, and several hams hung from a string over the range. In the middle was a large, rough-hewn table and some chairs.
They noticed a back door to the kitchen. Pushing that open, they found themselves in a small but cosy bedroom with two beds pushed side-by-side, and a wardrobe which they eagerly opened to reveal several sets of clothes—men’s and women’s too—on hangers. Michael was overjoyed at this discovery.
“New clothes for you at last! And shoes! You can’t go into the Waknuk district dressed like that—” for Sophie still had nothing on but the ragged skirt and blouse which she had been wearing all the way from the Fringes. The blouse without the obligatory Cross. “And I could do with some clean clothes too—”
“But surely we can’t just take them,” Sophie protested. “That’d be stealing.”
“Sophie, listen. This whole country is now in a state of war. Our duty is to save ourselves. If that means taking clothes, we’ll take clothes. I also mean to take some of that ham—we’re practically out of food. And what about your feet? You still have no shoes!”
Sophie saw the sense in that, of course. But she was also dog-tired. “I can’t possibly choose clothes in this light. Let’s wait till morning.” With that, she flung herself on one of the beds and was almost instantly fast asleep.
Michael searched around for a few minutes longer: he noticed a small back door which opened onto a yard with a well: the kitchen and the bedroom appeared to be the only rooms in the house. But Sophie was right. Best wait until morning. Lying down on the other bed, he too soon fell fast asleep.
Michael woke just as the sun was rising. He sat up and looked around him. Sophie was still fast asleep in the other bed, still in her stained and torn blouse and skirt, and very dirty. He looked at her intently. Her features coarsened of course by years of hardship and affliction in the Fringes, there was still a sort of elemental beauty about her. Her tangled black hair, her brown skin, the shape of her body, the swell of her hips… Michael felt himself being strangely drawn to her. No! He must keep such thoughts close to his chest. Quickly he turned away.
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
Trying not to disturb her, he got up and tiptoed into the kitchen. Searching around, he found a loaf of bread still reasonably fresh, a sack of potatoes and another sack containing what appeared to be oats. He filled a bowl and went out to where the horse was grazing. It seemed in good spirits and well-rested, and gratefully accepted the oats as well as a bucket of water. Michael decided that they ought to rest up at the farm for the rest of the day and another night—it would do them all good. Going back into the kitchen, he searched out a bar of soap and then busied himself with lighting the range and putting two kettles on to boil. He had found a large washtub in the back yard which looked as if it could serve as a bath—they both needed one! He filled the tub from the well and was just topping-up with boiling water from the kettles, when Sophie appeared from the bedroom, rubbing her eyes. As soon as she noticed the tub and felt the already-lukewarm water, she grinned at him.
“Good thinking, Michael. I’ve been dying for a nice warm bath for ages…”
Was she remembering her former life, with her parents, before they were caught?
“All right, Sophie. You go first,” said Michael, turning to go back into the bedroom.
“Don’t be silly, Michael. There’s plenty of room for us both,” and without another word, she untied the bandage that was still wrapped around her arm, stripped off her blouse and skirt, and clambered into the tub.
Michael was dumbfounded. This was all new to him: he had never seen a grown woman naked before, and only once had he seen a woman’s breasts—and that had been when he’d dressed Sophie’s shoulder wound some days before. He tried to avert his eyes from the tub, but found he could not. Sophie was still grinning at him coquettishly, and there was a hint of a vague thought-shape coming from her: involuntarily, no doubt, but a real thought-shape all the same. The meaning was indistinct, but was there a suggestion of “I want you”?
Whatever her thoughts—such thoughts as he was able to read—were telling him, it was clear that Sophie sensed his uneasiness. In words, she was reassuring, although she spoke rather fast, as if she wanted to quickly get over a kind of recitation: “Come on Michael—don’t be shy—in the Fringes we do this all the time—go together to the river on washing day—most of us had only one set of clothes—we’d all strip off—men and women together—after washing clothes we’d all join in for a swim—we’re used to it.” Then after pausing for breath, “come on, get your clothes off.” Saying that, she lowered herself deeper into the tub, so that only her head and shoulders were visible.
Did Michael really believe this dubious reassurance? Or was Sophie making it up: a somewhat odd way of countering his shyness perhaps? Why was she telling him this story? He could easily have guessed some of it: certainly, considering the treatment that was meted out to human Deviations, there could be no procreative activity—probably little or no sexuality either—amongst Fringe dwellers. Maybe they were relaxed about nudity and didn’t have a taboo—unlike people from the more ‘civilised’ and puritan settings of Waknuk and similar places, where even for a woman to reveal her ‘cleavage’ was considered an outrage.
But could Sophie have any sexual feelings? Michael could now pick up Sophie’s emotions quite clearly, although they were not yet formed into articulate ‘messages’ such as the other thought-shapers could send. And her emotions told a different story. A sense of desire, of craving, of sensuality. How could that be, coming from one such as her?
Michael’s thoughts were in a turmoil, and he thought of backing away at this point, with some sort of muttered excuse. He felt a profound sense of loyalty to Rachel, although their hurriedly and openly exchanged thought-shapes had not talked of ‘love’. But his body would not let him retreat from Sophie’s temptation. He he could not resist being drawn towards the tub. If he went forward, would he be betraying Rachel forever?
Michael could not answer that question in his own mind, so he had to suppress the thought for now. He slowly peeled off his clothes. Once stripped, and cupping himself with his hands as best he could, he advanced towards the tub.
He could now see the entire Sophie once more. Certainly, washed and tidied up, he could see that she could easily become an extremely beautiful girl. Another thought was coming from her mind now: very vaguely, the message seemed to be “I owe you everything.” Did everything include this?
Whether it did or not, he could no longer hold back. He slowly climbed into the bath alongside her.
Now Sophie’s manner became more urgent. “Take your hand away, silly!” she ordered. Michael could not resist. She looked down for a moment, seeing how much he wanted her now, then clamped her mouth over his, wrapped her legs around his hips…