“Why did Gerard of Stone become the King of Piss and Shit?”
I sat on the docks, hidden in a cloak, hood drawn to hide my face. A white bird landed on the dock just a few feet from me, a wriggling fish in its beak. It dropped the creature, tore off its armored head, and then tossed it into the water. It swallowed the rest and took off. In the water, a grey-green fish as long as my arm swam up from the darkness, drawn to the bleeding fish head. The large fish was a Titanichthys. When it was done growing, it would be three times the length of a man.
“He’s got a good reason; he has.”
“Well, what’s that then?”
“The reason is that being around piss and shit makes you sick.”
“Set’s Tits, it does. Looking at your face in the morning makes me sick!”
A river barge was moored just thirty feet from me. Men thumped up and down its gangway, unloading stoppered clay jars. A man opened one - the smell of fermented fish was overpowering. Some workers had stopped, taking a step back while their juniors gave them dark looks and continued unloading.
“You don’t understand,” said the man who defended me. “Shit brings evil spirits, even if you do it in the river. The spirits get into our food and poison us. Gerard of Stone wants Dura to build these altars to his god, Sewer, and then Sewer will protect us.”
“We have gods,” said the other a man. He had a broken nose. “I won’t worship Sewer - I’ve never even heard of him! And, I don’t fear spirits in my rice, by Set!”
A ship appeared from around the bend. It was a large, two-masted dhow with bright red sails. Round shields were hung along its sides like an ancient war galley’s. Bound at the front for a figurehead was a struggling, naked girl.
The idling dock workers jumped and ran towards me, waving at the ship.
“Move on, man!” said Broken Nose, glaring. “We’ve work to do. This is our dock; go stare somewhere else.”
“Actually, no,” I stood. “This is my dock.”
“Ha! Hear that, boys? Who do you think you are? Tell me before I toss you in the Black!”
“Oh, you know me,” I lifted back my hood. “I’m the king of piss and shit. Could you help unload my ship?”
Their expressions were priceless.
***
“It is a shame, Gerard, that you could not join us on the voyage.”
The Giant Vulture was a sea-going, Shemite trading vessel we had found half-burned and drifting on the Black, her crew killed by marsh tribals. We repaired and crewed her. I’d made my friend and sword brother Juskar, who I’d met while adventuring in Darfur, its captain.
Juskar had taken the Vulture far upriver to the uncolonized river lands, just south of the Mist Wall, where the Black River became the Red. Out there among the infertile red earth, the drowning marshes, and the prehuman ruins, there was only one thing of value. It was the countless girls that rained down on that land from crashing Landing Beasts. Even with slave prices so low, they still sold as fast as rice.
We sat on crates and tried to keep out of the way of the unloading. Juskar sat beside me, a tall, dark-skinned Darfuri with exhausted eyes. He sipped a cup of wine like it was the best he’d ever had. “I think you would have found it a good break from the Burgher Council’s politics.”
“Oh, no doubt. They’re calling me the ‘King of Piss and Shit,’ now.”
“Really?” he frowned. “In the Council?”
“Worse, in the streets.”
He rolled his eyes.
“So you are serious? This is why you didn’t join us in the expedition?”
“People need sewer, Juskar.”
“Do you need sewers? Will they make you richer or bring more swords to your side?”
“No.”
“Then why? Don’t tell me it will save lives; I don’t care. I want to know why you care.”
I paused. Basic beliefs are only basic where they come from. Everywhere else, they are ideas whose time may never come.
“In Ebugal, I changed your life with a single coin,” I said, choosing my words with care. “I didn’t do it because I wanted your help. I did it because you mattered, whether or not you could be of value to anyone. That’s all people, Juskar. At Ebugal, I had a coin I could spare. Here, I can maybe get a sewer built. Have people’s backs, even if they’re strangers you’ll never meet. If they succeed, then everyone wins. I don’t get anything out of a sewer. But, I get a lot out of a strong and booming city-state I helped build. If that doesn’t happen, that’s okay, too. It’s good to have people’s backs -- especially when the world has ended for them.”
He paused for a moment, taking it all in. I could see that I hadn’t won him over, but also that he couldn’t think of an argument against. Finally, he had something.
“If that so, then why not give them something that they want? You know what that is, and yet you stand against it.”
My mood darkened.
Hyperborean settlements had patron deities, a fingerprint of ancient Mesopotamian influence. Dura’s one was Great Cthulhu. His cult was small and declining, even before the Event. Darfuri immigrants wanted us to switch to Yog - which would slight the more numerous Shemites. The Shemites wanted Set, which would anger the rural Dagonites who had a very different god - and attitude - to giant water snakes. The Armaneans wanted Azathoth, but they were now Dura’s poor underclass - but also its largest class.
“Because it doesn’t make sense, Juskar.”
“No, my friend. It doesn’t make sense to you.”
“Fogrim has still not arrived,” I changed the subject. Fogrim was our sword brother, and we have taken slaves together at Red Water. He was my first friend in this world - and my biggest critic. “I had hoped to see his sails before the Vulture’s.”
“Are you worried about pirates?”
“I’m a businessman, Juskar. I’m always worried about pirates.”
“It will take more than a few river buccaneers to stop that man. He is the greatest warrior I have ever seen. He thrives in war.”
“Yet he craves peace.”
“I’m not so sure, Brother. If pirates have delayed him, it will be at his leisure, not theirs. He is bringing you a woman, yes? That hot little Bharaji?”
“Layla, yes. But we agreed on that a whole year ago. Who knows what has happened? She might have died.”
Iron Age cultures are not known for life expectancy. What chances did any given slave girl have then, in the aftermath of an apocalypse? Fogrim was not sentimental about livestock. If Layla had died, he would have eaten her. I hoped he was not bringing me her teeth on a string as a good luck charm.
The last of the cargo above deck was hauled away. The crew on deck stopped and looked meaningfully at Juskar.
“Before the men go below,” he stood, “why don’t you come see what belongs to you?”
***
We went down into the hold. I opened its hatchway: hot, humid, suffocating air hit me. Inside it was pitch dark. I heard some moans and the clink of chains.
“They’re quiet.”
“Here,” Juskar handed me an oil lamp. “They are silent unless spoken to. We have managed to teach them that much.”
We went in.
The hold was filled with girls. They lay on their bellies, naked, ankles and wrists shackled behind their backs. Those who could stared at me, their eyes glinting in the firelight. They looked away as I returned the attention.
“We tried to sort them in lots,” said Juskar. “But there are too many kinds, this time.”
“All from one Landing?”
“Yes.”
I went to a row of six brunettes and redheads all pale, their shoulders and faces, freckled. I stroked one’s hair, and she lifted her head up, brown eyes pleading.
“Please, help!” she said in English; her accent was Irish. “They took my sister away!”
“What year is it?” I demanded.
“Your lordship?” said the redhead, eyes wide. The others exchanged glances, surprised to hear English spoken.
“I said what year is it?”
“1847!”
1847. The height of the Potato Famine.
“You are lucky to be here, Slave,” I said and moved on.
The hold had been modified with floor-to-ceiling pallet wracks - like the large storage shelves of a warehouse. The wracks had three levels. Each was packed with slaves.
“How many did you capture?” I stopped at a pale blonde; little stone bead charms were still woven into her hair. She was an Ancient North Eurasian; a Paleolithic people from Ice Age Siberia. She glared at me with ice blue eyes as I ran my hand through her yellow-white hair and pulled out the beads, dropping them to the floor and kicking them away. “There’s easily well over a hundred.”
“One hundred and eighty-three,” said Juskar. “Minus the men’s favorites, and two I want to show you.”
“Two?”
“It is easier if you see them. What of these? Shall I send for assessors?”
“No. I’ve changed my mind. I want them all trained.”
“All? You won’t sell any?”
“While you’ve been away, the most popular girls have been Landing Beast meat,” I squeezed a breast that called out to me. Its owner squealed into her gag and jerked. “They’re exotic. And there’s a rumor - that I may have spent good money to spread - that they bring good luck. These girls will make our brothels stand out.”
“Did more brothels open?”
“More everything opened, Juskar. There’s a reason we need sewers, not gods.”
Above us, I could hear the shuffling of the crew gathered outside the hatch.
“I won’t hold the men up any longer. You had two girls you wanted to show me?”
“Yes, I have kept them separate.”
I followed him out of the hold. About twenty men stood on the steps waiting, all carrying whips and goads. They smiled as I passed, then streamed into the hold. Whips smacked against flesh, and the screaming began. Unloading untrained girls was always messy.
***
The captain’s quarters were large for a ship the size of Giant Vulture. That was Shemite design; they enjoyed the finer things in life. A writing desk was in one corner. A map of the river had been unscrolled over it and pinned into place. Beside it was a paperweight - a human skull with the forehead caved in (it hadn’t been there when the Vulture had left on its trip). Beside the table on a wooden rack were Juskar’s weapons and armor. A brace of dried scalps hung off the edge of the rack.
“What happened there?” I pointed to the scalps.
“A marsh tribe,” he smiled, reminiscing. “They attacked our camp but didn’t know the Vulture was nearby. We sailed back and drove them off. Did you know their women also fight?” he picked one of the scalps. It had long, dark brown hair.
“Did you catch any?”
“It was too dangerous. Maybe next time.”
The bed was built into the corner. Beside it by the wall was a heap of straw. Three iron rings had been fixed in the ceiling deck, right over the straw. Sitting in the straw were two naked girls, their backs to the wall, each with her wrists chained over her heads to one of the rings. One was a tanned Anatolian. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders. She looked down, red cane marks on her thighs, belly, and breasts. A bowl of water had been placed just too far for her to reach with her foot. She glared at us when she thought we weren’t looking. Her eyes were dark from sleep deprivation.
Beside her was a tall, elegant, dark-skinned beauty with silky, black hair that fell down her back. Around her throat was an intricate, bronze ring collar, designed to look like a green-eyed snake swallowing its tail. She wore red leather anklets trimmed with white feathers. Her belly was swollen. She smiled when she saw me.
“Master Gerard!”
“You look well, Ashtala.”
I had gifted Ashtala to Juskar after the great battle of Aymund. Her father had taken his lands from him, making him a beggar. Now, Juskar was prosperous, respected - and owned that man’s daughter.
“I have been bred,” said the beauty.
“Oh, I can see that.” I looked to Juskar. “May I?”
“Of course!” he nodded.
I went to the Darfuri slave girl and got down on one knee. The other girl shrank back, but she needn’t have bothered. I stroked Ashtala’s belly. She sat up straight, presenting it.
“How long before she pups?”
“Another four months.”
“You should have kept her on the grounds! An expedition is no place for a breeder.”
“I know. But I wanted to keep this breeder close.”
I stood and patted Ashtala on the head. The last time she’d became pregnant, I had owned her - and I had ended it. It was a dangerous time, and I had had no interest in breeding slaves, then.
These two were chained by the bed, but there was a third slave. She knelt before Juskar, her head down, her wrists crossed in front of her as if for binding. She was a petite, pale redhead with freckles on her face and shoulders. Her hair was in a long ponytail. She wore a crude, iron collar. There were a few red cane marks on her behind and her back. Her breasts were quite large for her slim physique, perky and rising and falling with her breath.
“Wine, Slave,” said Juskar.
“Yes, Master,” she said in Low Hyperborean with an Irish accent. We watched as she crawled to a side table, poured some wine, and crawled back, holding the cup in both hands. Her movements were slow and careful as if she was in an exam.
“Offer it to him, Slave.”
She turned to face me.
“Wine, Master?” her hands were shaking.
I took the cup.
“We have her sister,” I said. “The one I spoke to earlier. Do you want her, too?”
“No. I have enough women,” he pointed around the room, “and I have two slaves ashore. If you gave me the sister, I would just sell her.”
“What of that one?” I pointed to the Anatolian girl. She stared ahead, pretending she did not notice we were speaking of her.
“I have starved her and kept her from sleeping for a day,” he said. “I will not let her drink water till the evening, and then only if she begs.”
“Has she?” I asked. “Begged?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But she can beg some more. She will break this evening.”
“You are certain?”
“Quite. I will be feeding Ashtala, and the red-headed one, meat. The smell will be too much for her.
In the center of the room were two iron cages, both covered in heavy, black sheets.
“Why are they covered?”
“It is easier to manage them that way.”
“Now I’m really curious.”
He pulled the sheet off one cage.
Inside was a mixed race, dark-haired slave girl. Her thigh was marked with a long-healed brand. Her collar was a crude, heavy device of black, cast iron. She looked up at us with large, brown eyes for a moment, as if peering to see if we were actually there or not. Then, she looked past us, eyes focusing on something beyond the room.
“Look at her eyes.”
I did.
“Have you noticed yet?” he folded his arms. “Take a moment.”
“She’s not blinking, is she?”
“She’s not blinking. She also doesn’t know we’re here,” he opened the cage door. He took the slave by her arms and dragged her out. She did not protest or make a sound.
“Watch this,” he picked his cane off the table. Both the Anatolian and the Irish girl shrank back. He struck the dark-haired girl across the shoulders - she did not react. “See?”
“Pass me that,” I took the cane.
I grabbed the dark-haired girl by the ankle and held her leg up. She fell back, then rose up on her elbows. She stared out the porthole, then slowly looked up as if tracking something moving across the sky.
I struck the sole of her foot. The Irish girl winced and looked away. Yet, the dark-haired girl made no reaction.
I had seen this before.
“I told you not to sail Red River beyond the ruined bridge.”
“We didn’t! She’s not even from Red River.”
“What you do mean?”
“I mean, she’s not from a Landing Beast - we took her just six days out - from Dura.”
“That’s - That’s just not possible.”
“There are wooden statues going up, all along the Black,” said Juskar. “Large ones. Some are very large. They are of Father Dagon, Gerard. Farmers are putting girls out on offering crosses. Look,” he squatted and turned her over, on to her side. “Her thigh is unbranded. I don’t think she’s even a slave, Gerard. I think she’s a farmer’s daughter.”
I got down on one knee and took the girl by her chin, turning her head to face me. She looked past me like I was a bit of smoke obscuring something more real.
“We saw her on an offering cross, one morning. There was blood on the two crosses beside her, and on in the mud. Of the other two girls there was no sign. She was like this,” he tapped her forehead. “And has been, since.”
“Do you know what this is?” I said at last.
“I’ve never seen it, Gerard. It’s not my place to pass guesses as facts.”
“When I worked a slaver’s camp on the Red River almost two years ago, that’s when I saw this last. A Deep One has bred her. Didn’t the farmer come out to try to stop you?”
“We didn’t wait for that to happen. Also, what could he have done? It was a small farm.”
“Have her sent to the brothel physician. She needs to be mismated at once. Whatever is in her,” I looked at her belly, “is trouble.”
We stood and looked down at her. The girl became mesmerized by a crack in the wood.
“Will her mind come back?” asked Juskar. “She could tell us what happened.”
“We know what happened, and I don’t know she’ll ever get her mind back. Or if that would even be a good thing for anyone. I want her kept safe in case it does, but for now, all we can take from this is that the Deep Ones have indeed come to our waters. I will tell the Council.”
“You think they will listen?” he pushed the girl back into her cage and locked it. She sat cross-legged, smiling as if listening to the whispers of an angel in her ear. “You think they will care? Some are Dagonites, Gerard. They will welcome this news - if they do not already know it.”
“The Burgher Council needs to be told, and the matter needs to be discussed,” I shook my head. “Let’s see what they say, first. So, what’s in the second cage?”
“Trouble,” he went to it and pulled its sheet off.
Kneeling inside, gripping the bars, was something quite impossible these days - a girl with a tan. She was tall and slender, her hair a light brown, almost blonde. It fell down her shoulders all the way to brush the floor of the cage. Her long legs fidgeted in the cramped confines. They were well-toned, the ankles nicely defined. Her oval face had an almost angelic beauty to it - marred by the death glare she was giving us. Dark brown eyes darted from me to Juskar, and then back to me.
“She’s magnificent!” I stepped forward. “Such a beauty!”
“I almost culled her,” he crossed his arms and frowned. “This bitch has no fear. She spits, bites, and punches. Her yelling upsets the others. She must think she is a princess. Perhaps she is.”
“Is that why you separated her?” I stood before the cage and ran my fingers along the top bars. She jerked away, her eyes becoming hateful slits that fixed on me.
“No. I separated her because sometimes she uses words like yours. I think she is one of your people.”
“Oh?” my heart fell at that.
“You are not pleased by this? A shame. If we’d fed her to the others, it would have been an easier trip.”
I looked down at the girl. She looked about 20 or 21. Her whole life had prepared her for a life of her decisions. Now, all that mattered was what a few men might think. I was one of them.
“They do not adapt well,” I said. “In my time, many think the world belongs to them. They cannot even imagine falling slave.”
“That is unfortunate for her. What do you want done with her? If it is as you say, then we should perhaps not waste our time and cut her throat and be done with this.”
I squatted down in front of the tanned brunette.
“Do you speak English?” I ventured.
She seemed surprised, something like hope appearing in her eyes for the shortest instant. She remained silent.
“It seems you do. It makes no difference to me if you don’t speak; I’ll give you to him, and you’ll soon learn all the words you’ll need.”
“Yes!” she snapped. Her accent sounded European. More Western than Eastern. “I speak English!”
“Where are you from?”
“Where are you from, creep!” definitely Western Europe.
“Are you German? Austrian?”
“I am Danish.”
“And what is the year, Danish?”
She laughed at me.
“What year is it?”
“The worst year!” she spat.
“What year is that? Well? What year is that? What year is the wors-”
“2020!”
The worst? Perhaps there had been another housing market crash or something.
“Why are you keeping me here - like this?” she tried to obscure her breasts. They were perky, well-formed. The aureoles were very light. “I won’t become some Saudi sheikh’s harem girl! I’ll bite off his penis, and then I’ll come for you!” she snarled.
Juskar drew his whip.
“It irks me,” he tested the flails, tugging at them, “to see her use her mouth like this. I will teach her how to better -”
“No, no,” I held up my hand. “It is fine. This is, well, this is normal.”
“Will she become like Amber?”
I regarded the Dane from the year 2020. Her eyes darted between us, studying our exchange.
“She’s very different from Amber. I would say maybe.”
“Maybe? Your whip has broken so many girls, Gerard. I have never heard you say ‘maybe.’”
“What’s going on?” she grabbed the cage bars, her knuckles going white around them. “Just what are you bastards saying about me?”
“What do you think has happened to you?” I said. “What do you think all this is, Danish?”
“This is insane! You have - you’ve kidnapped me!” she would say the word she meant. That word was unthinkable. “You have kidnapped all of us!” she regarded the other girls, her eyes settling on Ashtala. The Darfuri girl put a hand over her belly in a protective reflex. “What have you monsters done to her?” her expression became pained. “What’s wrong with you?” she hurled her words at the other girls. “What are you doing? Fight them! Don’t just let them do this!”
The Irish girl looked down and away. Ashtala looked at me, her expression confused.
“Come,” I said to the Irish slave girl in Low Hyperborean.
“Yes, Master,” she crawled to me.
I put my foot in front of her, between her parted knees. She lowered her head, tossed her hair to the side, and kissed my foot. The green eyes looked up at me for direction.
I stared right back at her.
She broke from my gaze and kissed my foot again. She kept on doing it. The soft, smacking sounds of her lips were the only sound in the cabin.
“Oh God,” the Danish girl’s lip curled in contempt. She stared at the Irish slave, unable to look away.
“She has never seen a slave girl kiss a man’s feet before!” said Juskar, incredulous.
“But see how she can’t to look away,” I said, smiling. “Part of her is drawn to what she’s seeing. A very deep part of her; this is good to know.”
“But will it be enough? Will you be able to break her?”
“I suppose I’m going to find out. May I use this one?” I gestured to the redhead at my feet.
“Of course. Treat her as if she were your own.”
“Thank you.”
I stroked the Irish slave’s hair and motioned for her to stop. She sat back on her heels, hands on her thighs, head down. I cupped my hand under her chin and made her look up at me. I smiled.
She gave me a shy smile back, trembling.
“Danish,” I said without taking my eyes off the Irish girl, “do you think you are in the same world anymore?”
“No,” she said after a pause. “Where am I?”
“Somewhere you will never be able to return from. A world where men can keep girls in cages. Do you know why we’re doing that to you?”
She said nothing.
I pressed with my fingers, forcing the Irish girl to open her mouth. With my other hand, I removed my belt and pulled out my penis. The Dane gasped and turned her head away - then stared right back as if watching footage of a car crash she knew was quite, quite real.
The Irish girl crossed her wrists behind her back for binding. I secured them with my belt, pulling tight till the leather bit into her little wrists. She closed her mouth over my penis and began rocking her head, her red hair tossing gently. Even for a few weeks in the collar, she performed with care and confidence: Juskar was a demanding master. Her tongue fondled my cock. She giggled and smiled up at me, mouth full, eyes glinting.
I held her by her hair and collar, pressing her to me when I came. I pulled out and wiped my penis on her face. She caught it again between her lips, rolled back the foreskin using her tongue, and sucked and licked me clean.
“That’s why,” I said. “This is your future. I’ve been doing this to girls like you for two years now. This is how you end up. Its hard to imagine it now, but one day, you will even grateful to owned by me. I feed my slaves well.”
“Ha! Don’t count on it, you worthless shit! You want to know what I’m going to do when I get out of this fucking cage?”
“No.”
“I’m going to get all these girls to rise up! Every one of us!”
It was my turn to laugh.
“You think that’s funny? You said it yourself. This is a different world! That’s why they let you do this to them. I’m not from this world, asshole. I don’t follow your fucking rules. I’m going to light the spark and get all these women to kill you in your fucking beds! Do you understand? This all ends with me!”