Lady Ashdown struggled against her bonds. The gag cut into her mouth and the rag that had been stuffed into her mouth threatened to fall further back and choke her.
Heart pounding she listened to the men around her. A hand pushed its way down the front of her trousers and she squirmed, screaming as a finger was roughly pushed into her vagina.
“Look at her move lads, she likes a bit of rough!” the men laughed as the finger poked roughly in and out. Not again, please God not again! Unbidden and unwanted memories flooded into her mind, panic washing over her as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her.
She tried to Pull and screamed as pain exploded in her head. She literally saw stars. Her stomach pumped and vomit rose up her throat. With nowhere to go and more following, it blocked her throat.
“Shit, damn wench just Pulled!” the gag was quickly cut, and the rag yanked out of her mouth. Rolling here onto her side, the man pounded her back, as she was properly sick again.
“Well I’m not touching you in that state. You’ll keep for later. Don’t ever try to Pull again. The torque will stop you and punish you every time you try.”
She felt as though the world was spinning and then realised that she was on rough wooden boards. A wagon of some sort. She clenched her teeth and tried the tiniest of pulls. The pain was back in an instant. This time she vomited until there was nothing but bile. When she had finished a water bottle was roughly pushed into her mouth, threatening to choke her.
I can’t be here, I can’t be taken again.
*
She must have fallen asleep because the time she awoke it was to the noise of a bustling village. Men, women and children shouted greetings to her captors and a shadow passed over her. She looked up and saw that they were going through a stone tunnel at least thirty feet long. Murder holes were spaced every two feet and every five feet they passed under a raised portcullis.
They came out of the tunnel into what sounded like a very large open space. Above them floated a mix of traditional hot air spotting balloons and strange looking balloons with gargoyles hanging from them. She struggled to sit but was quickly pushed down onto the floor.
“Seneschal, we have a prize specimen for the Lord’s harem.”
A fat, greasy jowled face with close set, piggy eyes leered down at her. Rancid garlic breath puffed over her face in a warm cloud as the man spoke.
“Hard to tell with all that earth-born clothing on her. You get the usual reward, twenty minutes, no bruising, no biting and you can’t cum in her. Break those rules and our Lord will break you.”
The face withdrew, “Get her off there, and into the women’s quarters. Clean her up too, she fucking stinks.”
*
Smythe was met with what looked like the leftovers of a slaughter-house, Moody stopped by his should and together they stood admiring the carnage caused by Gubbins, easily working out what had happened.
“Reckon he must have continued across the lane and through the hedge sir. It’s pretty much a straight line to the objective.” Moody muttered, pointing at a hole that had been forced through the hedge’s foliage.
“Indeed Moody, indeed. Right let’s go before these poor chaps are missed.” He set off briskly, making sure not to step in anything too odious.
They scrambled through the hedge and jogged across the field. There was no further shooting and Smythe could feel the desperation mounting. I bloody hope Clara’s fine, I don’t think she could cope with being held by these bastards again.
Moody was just approaching another hedge when he suddenly stopped, slowly holding both arms out to the side with his rifle in one hand.
“You townies are noisier than a Hellhog with a red hot poker up its arse!” A smiling Gubbins stepped out of his hiding place, lowering the barrel of his rifle from where it had been stuck into Moody’s midriff.
“Good to see you Gubbins, good to see you. Are you with Lady Ashdown?” Asked Smythe, practically hopping from one foot to another in eager anticipation.
“No sir, I did see a couple of gargoyles being shot out of the sky and a fair few bolts of aether striking them too, but I’ve been on my own since we leaped.”
Smythe’s stomach flipped at the reply. “How many rifles man?”
“I’d take a guess at most of the Parachutists being with her sir. There was a fair old racket whilst they were shooting the flyers out of the sky.”
Thank God for that. She should be safe with those lads. Smythe blew out in relief, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders.
“Right, lead us in the direction of the shooting. If someone’s organised enough to be shooting flyers out of the air, they’ll hopefully be organised enough to get us out of here. We don’t have a hope in hell of finding that bastard Calders now, especially with more and more aether-born coming our way.”
*
Von Adin made his way with the gypsies to a small copse, the middle of which had been carefully cleared, and a form of netting strung over the top of the clearing, causing the light to dapple on the grass and brightly coloured gypsy caravans.
Children darted in and out of the caravans, calling out to each other in a mix of Shelta, Cant and English. Von Adin looked around at the high number of dogs there were. Some were clearly pets but most seemed to be fighting or guard dogs. Every adult he could see had a weapon of some sort.
There was a high-pitched whistle, which nearly startled the life out of him. He turned to where the sound had come from and spotted the chimney-stack of a steam tractor. These were rich gypsies indeed if they could afford a steam tractor to pull their caravans and waggons. There was another whistle from the other side of the camp, then another and another. Four tractors was practically unheard of. Many earth-born Londoners had become travellers of a sort themselves but most of them had to rely on horsepower to pull their homes.
“Did I mention to you the o’Laoghaires are one of the noble houses of the people?” this was said casually but it was clear to Von Adin that o’Laoghaire was very proud of his people. There was a big smile plastered across his face and his chest was puffed out, thumbs stuck into his waistcoat.
“The man is back, it’s the man himself!” a young boy strode through the camp loudly repeating his call. Walking up to o”Laoghaire, he sketched a bow.
“Welcome back chief. We’ve fixed the tractor boiler and can go anytime we like. Are we going to see the sidhe now?” he eyes glittered with excitement as he mentioned meeting the sidhe.
“Sure, young Matrim, we’ll be seeing them soon enough. First though we have a little job to carry out. This fine gentleman,” he slapped Von Adin heartily on the shoulder, “has lost his lady and would be seeing to getting her back. Be a good lad and get the scouts out, she was taken by Slavs two miles east of here. They were wearing C’Lark’s livery. Look sharp now!”
The boy ran off, calling to others and gathering a gaggle of kids as he did so before disappearing behind one of the caravans.
*
The harem was just what Lady Ashdown had imagined it to be. Plush carpets lined the floor and sumptuous wall hangings depicted what looked like great victories and most imaginative orgies. Sometimes the two were undistinguishable. Chaise lounges and areas of soft cushions were dotted throughout the open room, each with a table laden with culinary delights.
Women of all shapes, sizes and colour filled the room. There were at least twenty of them, all wearing the bare minimum of clothing and all with a small tattoo of three heads on the front of their bare midriff.
Not again, I will not be a victim again! Her hands were suddenly free and she yelped as the blood rushed back into them.
“Go and get washed and scrubbed bitch, I like my cunts to be clean.” The leader of the Slavs pushed her towards a door she hadn’t noticed. She shuddered at his touch and walked towards the door whilst he continued to address the other ladies.
“Listen up slit-arses! This new bitch is to be cleaned up. Touch the torque and you’re dead! Hurt the bitch and the Master will hurt you back! You have ten minutes.” He clapped his hands together once, “Move!”
The girls rushed forward silently and, without a word, they dragged her into the washroom. Tiles lined the floor and ceiling and she found herself naked and drenched before she knew it. She could not find it in herself to resist the girls, as she knew what punishments lay in store for them if they did not do what the Slav had said. But him, him I’ll fight with all my being!
In no time at all she found herself back in the lounge, wearing a negligee that would have had a priest saying Hail Marys for the rest of his life as he pleasured himself. The Slav stood there, leering, wiping a hand across his face as if he were drooling. The other hand had dropped to his crotch as he rubbed his hard-on.
He pointed at her and then the floor in front of him, “Kneel there slag.” the language could not touch her, she had been here before. He was trying to break her, to hammer home the fact that she would do anything he wanted, and therefore anything the master wanted. He was waging mind war, unfortunately for him, she was very experienced at war of all kinds.
She walked over slowly, biting her lip, drooping her shoulders, dropped her head, looking at the ground and breathing heavily. Must make myself look broken, small, less of a threat. He’s an arrogant bastard, used to getting his own way. She risked a quick glance up, he was staring right at her breast as they rose with each deep breath. She shuddered as he licked his lips, sweat beading his upper lip.
“Get down, on your knees.” She knelt in front of him obeying him, still playing the broken girl; shying away as he pulled his erection from his trousers, the smell of his unwashed penis, his unwashed body, was disgusting.
“Now, be a good little slit and suck my cock before I beat the living shit out of you!” She let a sob -part fear and part fake - escape her lips. He laughed and grabbed her hair, twisting it cruelly around his fingers.
Laugh all you want you stinking piece of shit. With shaking hands she reached out and gently, timidly even, took hold of his shaft. He let out a hiss of pleasure and a little chuckle, “Bitches! I don’t think this one’s a virgin! She obviously likes cock!” He started to laugh again as she cupped his helmet with both hands.
Leaning forward she slowly opened her mouth and viciously yanked his penis straight down and back between his legs. I’ve not heard a man scream that highly before, she thought idly as she twisted both hands and pulled his cock down to the ground as hard as she could.
She rolled aside as he dropped to the floor, teeth breaking and flying out as his face smashed into the edge of a small step. Unconscious, he still twitched as blood pumped from his groin into an ever-expanding pool.
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“What have you done?” She lifted her head and looked at one of the slave girls. The girl’s eyes were wide with terror, “You’ve killed him, you’ve bloody killed him and killed us at the same time!”
Shocked at the girls reaction, she was still trying to find an answer when the sound of feet came through the door. She cast about for a weapon, No knives, no forks, not wooden fucking spoons, anything! She grabbed hold of a large bronze platter and ran towards the door.
She was barely five feet away from the door when it crashed open and a Slav came through. She grabbed hold of one edge of the platter and stamped forward, driving the opposite edge into the bridge of his nose. He dropped bonelessly, tripping his companion onto her knee as she slammed it forward. He landed on all fours. Quickly she jumped onto his back, digging her heels into his groin and sticking her toes behind his legs. She wrapped her right arm around the front of his neck and snaked her left over the back, grasping her right bicep and sealing the gap. Leaning her head into her right palm, she squeezed with all her might.
Desperately he tried to roll over, hoping to make her release her hold by crushing her. She went with it, ending up on her back with him on top of her, panting in short breaths to prevent his weight from stealing her ability to breath. She arched her back and squeezed even harder. Freeing one of her feet, she drove a heel into his groin, hammering away as fast and hard as she could. All the time she was counting. She knew that with a man of her size it would take roughly a count of fifteen before he lost consciousness. He made twenty. As soon as she stopped struggling, she increased the pressure with all her might, holding on for another minute.
If he isn’t dead now, he’ll be a mental cripple for the rest of his life. She let go the limp body and pushed it off. Glancing to her left to see what had happened to the other girls she saw that they were all prostrating themselves towards the door. Shifting, she gasped in fear at the sight of what stood in the door.
*
Smythe led Gubbins and Moody along the lane. Traditional English hedges were often as high as twelve feet or more, and the ones bordering this lane were topped with trees, making the lane dark and cool.
“The trees should hide us from flyers hopefully, but were jiggered if we come across any aether-born.” He knew all too well how a fire fight in such a claustrophobic environment could eat men as if they were boiled sweets, with well-prepared defenders being able to hold off more than ten times their number with ease.
There was a whispering sound and a bevy of stilt-legs came around the corner. Seeing the humans they stopped in surprise.
Me and my fucking mouth! Smythe recovered from the surprise first and fired a short burst at the nearest stilt-legs’ leg. The rounds easily chewed through the thin bone and the stilt-leg pitched forward with a high whistle. The rest reared, trying to get to full height so that they could use their tubes to cover their enemies with stomach acid. Heads thwacked against the trees overhead and angry hoots came from their mouths as they were forced back down by the thick overhang.
Moody and Gubbins flanked Smythe, dropping to a knee in order to fire up at their enemies. The clockwork rifles cut another two stilt-legs down. The last one tried to squirt acid onto them but could not get the jet high enough to hit them. Gloopy white acid slowly ate its way through one of its wounded companions, its shrieks making Smythe wince in empathy. Smythe switched weapons, firing a maverick round into the stiltlegs’ neck, neatly decapitating it.
“Gubbins, move up, coup de grace!” Nodding, Gubbins moved from one stilt leg to another, shooting them once in the head each before turning to face Smythe.
“I’d appreciate it sir, if you didn’t call the enemy down upon us again.”
*
Von Adin watched with undisguised curiosity as the Gypsy camp packed up. Quickly the teamsters hitched up to five caravans to each tractor, whilst the tenants dropped louvered iron hatches down over the windows. Each train had a rear caravan which was covered in armour and which had a crude turret and firing slits on all sides. The children of each caravan were ushered into these mini fortresses by harried looking women with no small amount of wailing and dire threats of no tea if they did not hurry up.
“We’re not too popular in these parts, our lands are further to the east, by the coast, but there’s a Grand Council of the Sidhe and we need to be there. Mostly for the Craic mind you!” o’Laoghaire laughed at that, holding on to his belly.
“Crack?” Von Adin was just about getting the hang of the man’s accent, but every time he thought he fully understood, o’Laoghaire would throw another word that he did not understand into the conversation.
o’Laoghaire laughed again, even louder, “Craic. The Sidhe have the best ceilidhs there are! Then again they did invent them so I’d expect that! Come.” He led Von Adin to the lead tractor and into the largest caravan.
“Welcome to my home. Here, break bread with me.” He passed a loaf of hard, dark-brown rye bread. Von Adin broke it in half keeping one and passing the other back to o’Laoghaire. There was a small cup of salt on the table and they both dipped the bread into it before taking a bite.
“May the hospitality shown strengthen our friendship,” o’Laoghaire tilted his head and looked at Von Adin.
“And may the bonds of friendship never be broken.” Von Adin smiled at the surprise on o’Laoghaire’s face, slapping the table with glee, it felt great to be getting one over on the gypsy for a change, “I have dealt with Romani, it seems that they have similar greetings to yours.”
“Ha! Romani! In the Black Forest no doubt! Many of them have come through the aether gate in Berlin and migrated to that dark, dark place. Too many of them have Dark Fey blood for my liking but the others are nice enough. Wouldn’t marry one though!” he found this last to be hilariously funny and roared with laughter.
The reason why became clear when a woman entered from the back of the caravan, “And why would that be you cheeky knacker!” she too was laughing and she looked over at Von Adin, “This layabout langer grabbed me as soon as he saw me, fair knocked me out for a kiss he did. My father nearly called blood feud until he realised that the future King of Gypsies wanted to marry me. Don’t you hush me man!” She slapped o’Laoghaire’s hands down.
o’Laoghaire sighed, “I might be King, but what sort of King am I when I can’t even control my own wife? Now, let’s talk about now much money your Queen is going to pay us for our help.” He rubbed his hands in eager anticipation, liking nothing more than a good haggling session.
*
The Vampyre standing in the doorway was clearly a Great Lord, a member of the most powerful caste in Vampyre society. A thick black outline surrounded him, writhing like a snake made from oil. Droplets of the shadow fell from his fingers to the floor, slipping along the floor to re-join the shadow on his feet.
“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from killing any more of my Slavs, dear lady. I assure you that none will try to hurt you any further.” His milky white eyes creased around the corners and his mouth turned up into a genuine smile. “We have business you and I. You are clearly from beyond the Curtain and, since the Parachutists don’t allow women into their ranks, you must either work for the Government or be on your way to a play of some sort.”
“Why the fuck would I want to do business with a soul-stealing blood-sucker like you?” She practically spat the words, every fibre in her body wanted to fight the Vampyre. Every fibre in her body wanted to fuck the Vampyre. Not make love, fuck. That was the effect their aura had on mortals.
Even now, after all they did to me, a true Vampyre can still rule me. She thought as she desperately tried to bring her emotions and body under control.
The Vampyre laughed, a deep baritone that set her very soul vibrating, that made her teeth tickle, that made her wet with desire. He slowly licked his lips, baring his shark-like teeth.
“You have spirit. You also have a mouth like a fucking sewer and I would appreciate it if you moderate your tone!” The last word came out as a shout, blasting her from her feet, sending her flying into a pile of cushions.
“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, we have business. That torque around your neck is there to stop you from Pulling aether. You still have your free will, as my dead men show.
“I must apologise for that, they didn’t know that you were from beyond the Curtain and I was not informed of a new hand maiden in time.” He paused, obviously waiting for her to accept the apology. She lay on the cushions and glared, not willing to give an inch. When the silence had stretched on for far too long he sighed and continued. “Regardless. That torque is not like the ones that have found their way into your lands. Those torques are used solely to punish our own. They were not designed to bend all and sundry to our will. They were not designed to be used by earth-born humans to raise their armies and bind aether-born against their wishes!”
“How can I trust you? Your men violated my person on the way here, that man tried to make me do an unspeakable thing and yet you talk of trust and business! Show me I can trust you.” She was actually proud that she was able to keep herself on the cushions, when she wanted nothing more than to offer herself to him.
He stared at her, his aura growing, the dripping getting faster and faster. Without moving he appeared to lean towards and over her. Fear spiked through her body, her breath coming in short, sharp gasp.
“Very well.” The room chilled for a brief second and the torque dropped away from her neck, neatly severed. Relief flooded through her, she actually dared to think that he was sincere, that she might actually be able to get away with her life, body and soul intact.
“Pull, see that I have removed your bonds. Do not Pull too heavily however, I will defend myself without hesitation.” He stood, arms low and outstretched, palms towards her and smile a slow, languorous smile.
She Pulled gently, just enough to see that she could, and looked at him, Oh my God that feels so good.
Sitting up she released the aether and looked him square in the eyes, “Fine, what do you have to offer?”
“I will give you the name of your enemy and in return I truly ask for nothing. By removing him, you remove a valuable tool of my enemies.” C’Lark folded his arm, appearing to relax now that she was ready to talk.
“We already know who it is. We came here in pursuit of him. So, you have nothing to offer. Let me go.” She was proud at how strong her voice was, just knowing that she could Pull was a balm itself, cooling her fear, making it more manageable.
C’Lark laughed and turned to the doorway, “Is this the man you came for?” he gestured and two Slavs dragged a blood-covered Calders in between them. They dropped him to the floor at her feet.
She recoiled as she realised that his eyes had been gouged out and every tooth in his mouth roughly broken.
“We found a geas on his mind. It was strong, so strong that even I could not use aether on him. He proved to be able to withstand pain remarkably well –even for a human, but everyone breaks in the end. It was just a matter of finding the right thing to smash, crush, rip or remove. The man behind all of this trouble is not him, although he has been instrumental in setting it up and running it. No, the man you want is Lord Miles.”
Her face contorted Lady Ashdown Pulled deeply on aether, so deeply that snow sprang from the air. “You shitting, lying, soul sucker”
C’Lark moved so fast that she literally did not see him move. He slapped her across the face, hard enough to send her spinning away from him, pain exploded behind her eyes and she screwed them up in agony. Coming to a sliding stop, she crashed into a chaise lounge and cried out as the corner dug into her hip.
“Be still woman! I tell the truth! Ask him yourself!” More aether than she had ever seen in her life surrounded C’Lark, realising that he would be able to turn her into a pile of smoking ash at will, she decided it would be best to play along for the moment.
She limped over to where Calders lay and knelt down, carefully avoiding the blood that was leaking out of him, “Calders, is he speaking the truth. Is Lord Miles, the man I’m looking for, is he Torquemasta?”
His mouth moved silently for a second or two before he finally gasped out “Yes! Please, don’t let them hurt me anymore please!” He reached out towards her with bloody, broken fingers, trying to grasp her, trying to find succor in any way possible. He wailed in pain as she took hold of his fingers and snapped them backwards.
“Don’t you fucking dare touch me, you traitor!” She felt her lips peeling back from her teeth in sheer rage, “The only reason you live is because I am tasked with taking you back with me!” She twisted one more time, drawing another scream from him, before dropping the hand.
Clutching it to his chest he rocked, misery washing off him in almost visible waves.
Looking at C’Lark she smiled, “Fine, I believe you. Where do we go from here?”
He opened his mouth as if to answer when was a dim explosion and shouts echoed down the corridor. C’Lark titled his head as if listening. “It appears that we are under attack from Gypsies. A somewhat large Prussian objected to us having you as our guest. Would you be so kind as to ask them to stop damaging my property?”
*
Smythe took a pinch of snuff, eschewing his binoculars in favour of the rush he got from the fine powder. Once his vision had settled he could not quite believe his eyes. A brightly coloured cavalcade of caravans had disgorged a force of just as brightly coloured gypsies who had proceeded to attack a fortress that looked as if it had been transported brick by brick from Transylvania.
Trying to make sense of the seen he forced his eyes to focus even further, cursing as pin-pricks of pain threatened to make him stop. He watched a stream of aether lanced out to explode against the gates. Another stream followed it shortly after and Smythe laughed as he saw that it came from Von Adin.
“That bloody Prussian’s with the gypsies! I suppose better join them.” He set off at a distance-eating jog, overjoyed that at least one of his friends was alive and more than kicking.
By the time they had got close enough to hail the attackers the fighting had stopped. A diminutive figure stood talking to Von Adin, a bundle of clothes at their feet, and an awe-inspiring Vampyre next to them.
Clara! She’s bloody well alive! Alive! Relief flooded through his body, I’m going soft on the girl so help me if I’m not!
*
“By Jove it’s good to see you alive!” this was the third time that Smythe had said that and Lady Ashdown smiled as she realised that each time he had said it, he had looked directly at her.
They were in o’Laoghaire’s caravan, partaking of his potcheen and she found herself struggling against the weariness that threatened to overwhelm her. By the way that others’ eye were half-lidded they she could tell they were just as tired as she was.
Moody was sitting in the corner, stone faced and silent. He politely refused any of the potent liquor, “Thank you sir, but those Slav bastards wiped me friends out to the man, and I swear on all that’s Holy, that that piece of traitorous shit will get safely to the other side of the Curtain if it’s the last thing I bloody well do!”
She leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee, “Well said Moody, well said.” As she did so she sent a small pulse of reinvigorating aether into him. The poor man deserves all the help he can get.
She looked over at o’Laoghaire as he threw back another shot, “Thank you for agreeing to transport us to the border, despite C’Lark informing us that Lord Miles’ allies will be after us.”
He laughed, “No matter me lady, our caravan might make a tasty target, but we’ve got more than enough muscle to make even looking at the wrong way a fecking bad idea. Rest now, all of ye, we’ll get you to your Professor safe, sure and if we don’t.”