Chapter Forty

Brotus sighed as he looked at the broad, luxurious bed in front of him. “That I should live to see this… this… this.” He emphasized after seeking and failing to find a word to exactly say what he wanted to. The bed was rich in every respect, with four carved dark brown spires rising from the corners and engraved with the shapes of great stallions running together all the way to the peaks. The blankets were a thick purple and gold, freshly made and tightly drawn like they’d been custom made to fit the bed itself, nothing crudely cut to size.

The thick blanket called out to the merchant apprentice, and stepping toward it he placed a shaking hand over the thick fabric, his mouth opened just a little as his breath quickened. ‘Is this a dream?’ He wondered, and bit down, hard, on the soft plump flesh of his lower lip.

The pain lanced through his body, his eyes widening just a little more as he confirmed that no, it was not a dream. The thick blanket was not just ‘fabric’ alone. As he pressed his hand down and it sank into the soft mattress, tears sprang to his eyes and blurred his vision of the dream come true before him. This blanket was two clothes sewn together and stuffed with something. ‘Cotton? Wool?’ He wasn’t sure, but it was easily the thickest blanket he’d ever had.

While life with master Corwin Amber was never something that left him starving or in want beyond his own unfulfilled ambitions, the life of an apprentice was never especially easy. Hours of learning, counting, and general study of everything from the geography of nations and cities and what was produced where, to the writing systems used in neighboring Kingdoms. Not to mention the hard labor.

Here in front of him, beside him, all around him from floor to ceiling, was the fulfillment of Brotus’s childhood dreams.

‘A bed of my own. And not just any bed, a glorious beautiful thing of wealth and a symbol of my triumph… a taste of the life I want to live.’ Brotus thought and opening his arms out at his side, he closed his teary eyes and let himself fall forward fully clothed onto the mattress.

The mattress too, was a joy in its differences from what he knew. The common quarters shared by apprentices had little enough in the way of luxury. Per the rules of the guild there were both minimum and maximum standards that kept the guild members from competing over the finest apprentices. As such, the apprentices of most merchants lived in a single building with a common bed stuffed with straw, leaves, and other things that would be slightly more comfortable than just flooring.

This however, sank with his body weight as soon as he hit it and his sharp young ears detected the tiniest ‘squeak’ within. ‘Springs’ He recognized.

Brotus rolled over on his back and stared up at the dark wooden ceiling, then to the left and right. A wardrobe the size of three of himself standing shoulder to shoulder and half again as tall as he was, sat over in one corner.

Against the far wall sat a chest with a polished silver lock etched with enchanted markings. ‘Runes.’ He recognized them immediately and without thinking, Brotus categorized it. ‘Made only by the dwarves in the mountains far to the east of here. Expensive to say the least.’

Near to the chest was a table sizable enough for four to sit at comfortably, with thick scarlet cushions on the seats and a golden cloth hanging over the round table.

Even the chamber pot in the corner of the room screamed ‘wealth’ being made of porcelain and shaped specifically to catch waste. A far cry from the common bucket in the House of Learning used by the aspiring merchant boys.

One thing he did not recognize. A white silk rope hung by the bed. He stretched out his meaty hand for it and found it just out of reach.

He grunted and tried to stretch his fingertips out to catch the dangling tassels which hung below the knot. “Ugh, ah… oh… c’mon… I don’t want to move. I just found that sweet spot!” Brotus gasped and wiggled his body a little into the mattress.

“Oh, who cares what it does anyway?” He asked himself and relaxed his body, surrendering to the knowledge that he would just never know what the rope that rose into a small hole in the ceiling actually did.

“If only I could just have a servant handy to pull it for me.” Brotus grumbled and began to kick one foot against the heel of his boot, trying to inch it off his feet rather than raise himself up from the comfort he felt throughout his whole body in that moment.

“Fuck it.” He cursed as he realized he really did want to know what the rope was for. He inched himself over away from that perfect comfort position until his fingers could bat at the rope like a cat at a dangling string, then when he managed it, he grabbed and pulled.

It came down easily enough, giving his calloused fingers a better grip, and he let it out, then pulled, then let it out, then pulled again.

Nothing happened.

“Really? I gave up perfect comfort for nothing?” Brotus asked himself and let go of the rope, it fell back against the wall again and he briefly considered moving back to his original spot.

But it seemed that comfort followed him to his new position, and now moving was an unpleasant prospect.

He lay there quietly for a few minutes just staring at nothing. “When he retires or dies, I can have all this… all of it. All the time.” Brotus chuckled as the smile came over his face, “Fools, all those fools who quit, they’ll never live like this. Not if they work for a hundred years.”

Then came the knock at the door to his room.

“You called for service, good master?” A woman’s muffled voice came through the door.

‘I did?’ Brotus asked himself. Then it hit him. ‘Oh. So that is what the rope is for!’ He realized and sat up in a panic to avoid sounding like a rube or a yokel. “Yes!” He called out in a scratchy pitch he hoped didn’t sound too panicked. He cleared his throat and said in a deeper voice, “Come in.”

The door clicked as the woman entered, she wore a customary maid outfit of black and white with ruffled sides and a deep pouch in her apron where she held various tools of her trade, a feather duster, a clean cloth, and other materials of worth to her.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

She was a young woman in her late teens or early twenties with dark hair done in a tight bun, and she curtseyed in a manner that revealed abundant practice. “What the master of the room wills, he shall receive, name your needs and I will do my best to meet them.”

“Anything?” He asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

“Within the limits of my training and power, yes, my lord.” She replied.

“So… if I want food brought to me and the kitchen is closed?” Brotus asked.

“For the occupant of these suites, master, the kitchens are never closed.” She answered.

“So if I want something picked up from some other shop after everything else is closed?” He asked.

“We might have to charge you a fee to bribe them to open and get it for you, but we will do it. If that is what you wish, that is.” The maid answered again, still keeping her perfect curtsey and her head bowed to him as she spoke.

“Then if I want-” Brotus tried to think of something utterly outlandish, just to test the limits of his newfound, albeit temporary power.

The maid however, mistook his reticence to mean something more. “While it is not my function to do such things for our guests, if it pleases you, My Lord, we can summon the finest courtesans in the city here within one hour’s time, male or female, with options limited only by the provendors of the flesh trade.”

Brotus turned a deep red in the face.

“That’s not what I-” He stopped. “Wait, really?” He asked. ‘So much for not sounding like a rube or a yokel.’ He groaned, and again the maid misunderstood.

“I see, yes, I’ll have someone brought to you promptly, My Lord. Just what is the master’s preference?” She asked, and Brotus’s blush faded as he thought it over.

“I… I guess… an experienced woman, older. Uh…” He struggled to find a word for large breasts, and the maid demonstrated her expertise in dealing with guests by asking…

“Should she be larger than I, My Lord?” She asked.

Brotus’s blush returned, but he nodded. “Y-Yes please.” He replied to the servant and was relieved to see that there was no judgment on her face, if anything she seemed practiced in her total indifference.

“I will see to it, would the master care for some food, or perhaps a bottle of mushroom wine, it’s guaranteed to provide him adequate vigor for his evening.” The maid promised, and again he had to struggle to force a nod.

“I will see to it at once, I will fetch the finest in the city for the man who holds the finest room in our establishment.” She promised, and then straightened up.

Brotus didn’t really see her go, though he caught a glimpse of her shadows on the floor that the various lit candles along the wall cast out against her. “She knew you had about as much experience with women as that chair over there.” He snorted. “Idiot. Well done being oh so impressive.”

There had never been much opportunity to gain that experience. Working as a merchant’s apprentice was exhausting to both body and mind. Even though it wasn’t completely unpaid, with the doors locked on the House of Learning after a certain hour, there was little time, little money, and little energy to even think of doing anything with anyone.

Though a handful of the boys paired off out of loneliness and desperation, Brotus himself had never been one of those to do so.

‘Now it turns out I’m finally going to use it!’ It was a gleeful thought to the young man and he had to resist the urge to find release early, though his rod began to ready itself at the mere anticipation of what was now inevitable.

As it happened, there was little need to resist for very long, there was a knock on his door and Brotus made sure to clear his throat before his cracked voice made him sound stupid or nervous a second time. “Enter.” He tried to sound lordly, and the door opened.

In walked a tall, even statuesque elven woman, her ears were cut short, and her skin was very pale from lack of exposure to the sun. She had lean limbs that were almost completely bare. The only garment she wore was a simple silver cord around her waist, with a red cloth hanging down in the front and back which reached her knees, it moved around when she walked, mocking the concept of modesty.

Her breasts were concealed only by a single set of layered red cloths that overlapped like shingles over the top and hid nothing below her nipples. She had golden blonde hair that hung down to her waist and deep hazel eyes set in a fine boned face with high cheekbones and classic narrow nose emblematic of her race.

“My Lord. I am Par’fellen.” She said and held up a basket which she’d been carrying in her right hand. “Would it please the lord of this room to enjoy a cup of wine with his servant first, or should she help him with his clothes and we do that later?” She flashed a ruby smile at him and tilted her chin up to expose the collar of iron around her neck. “Anything you wish, I will do. I am yours.” She said.

Brotus was at a loss for words as he stared at the elven prostitute, it was a long held doctrine of the temples that nonhumans had no place but in the service of man either, either in physical labor or in making fields fertile with their corpses. But until that moment, Brotus had never given thought to what that meant.

“C-C-Come over here… help me with my belt.” He said, and the rest of the night became a blur from her very first step after setting aside the wine.

Ahmarantha’s eyes darted around the encampment while the embodiment of terror walked behind him, her ice blue eyes were the most fearsome he had ever seen on any human, and it was all he could do to keep moving forward without breaking into a run.

For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, Corwin at least, seemed alright, while he was alert for any deception from the human, the fact that the man who said to call him ‘Uncle’ got him away from the hotel was at least some small credit in his favor, at least in Ahmarantha’s eyes.

The bound elves lay against one another back to back, or over one another’s thighs on the ground, none really moved much, though a few were looking around at the tents and watchful humans that moved between them.

But when they saw the unbound elven boy approaching in front of their captor, whispered elven voices went up in their soft, lilting way and even those who had lost seemingly all connection to the wider world were now coming back to it with the arrival of someone unexpected.

Their bodies shifted around as they tried to move to see him as he came within a dozen paces of them.

The human woman crossed her arms in front of her armored chest. “Go on.” She said to Ahmarantha when he didn’t immediately address them.

“I-I am Ahmarantha, I was working in that city over there,” he pointed toward Laylan’s walls and then went on, “the merchant who hired all these humans, sent me to talk to you.” The young boy then took the confused elves through everything that had been said, and they looked past him to Speranzi.

“It’s true.” She confirmed. “As long as you are his, not only will you be fed, starting tonight, but my soldiers will defend you. That is my oath as a paladin. Justice depends on nothing less than that. As far as anything else? I will not protect you from your crimes. But I will protect you from anything else. Monsters, vampires, brigands, you will be safe from all of those no matter what.” Speranzi promised.

“So, what will it be? Will you work for Corwin Amber for the time being, drive his carts and handle his goods, or not? He was adamant that you won’t be forced to work if you choose not to. But if you do nothing, you can expect nothing.” She cautioned them, and they looked in a long quiet way of almost ‘silent communication’ with Ahmarantha and each other before they bowed their heads.

“Feed us tonight to prove you tell the truth, and we will obey. We will work for master Corwin Amber.” The same bold male of the captives said, speaking for them all.

Speranzi’s hand fell to Ahmarantha’s shoulder. “Come with me, boy. I will show you where the food is. You will give them two loaves and a lump of cheese each, along with some water from a common skin. But I warn you,” she squeezed his shoulder a little tighter, “for their sake, do not give in to any pleas to untie them. That will not end well. My soldiers, I would imagine, are still sore about the attack earlier and likely on edge. I cannot guarantee their safety if anyone does anything… rash.” She said, and the boy bowed his head.

The warning, such as it was, was to her, more for the bound captives than for him, and after a few moments of quiet contemplation of all that might go wrong? It was, Speranzi felt, enough.

And about that, she was not wrong.