I?’ Kit picked up one of the objects, astonished. As she turned the thing over in her hand seeing her face reflected crazily in its contours, she was flabbergasted. The thing was almost exactly what she’d imagined she needed. It was a long silver tube enclosed at one end and rounded like a male member. Below the tube hung two globes, and complicated soft leather straps were threaded through silver eyelets to attach the thing to the lower body. But surely she must be mistaken – no one could need what she had in mind. ‘What is it?’
‘Here they call it a Venetian finger.’
‘A what?’
‘A staff of love,’ said Maria. ‘A quillety, a faucetin, a dandilolly. It has many names for many nations. It straps on, so you can pleasure your man. That is what you meant, is it not? That is what you came for?’
‘No. That is … No. That is not what I wanted at all.’
‘See here,’ said Maria van Lommen, pressing her green hands together as if in prayer. ‘I am not your priest. I am not here to take your confession. You can dress as a soldier-boy and play your bed-games, whatever pleases you. I sell you anything, no judgement. It is good disguise, I grant you. But let us not waste time. I knew you for a woman as soon as you walked through my door.’
Kit smiled shakily at the silversmith. The discovery she most feared had come, and not at all from the quarter she’d imagined.
‘Be at your ease,’ said Maria. ‘I am not going to give you away. Why would I? Come though to the workshop, and explain to me exactly what you need.’
The workshop was a well-lit room with a long workbench littered with alien tools and compounds in small copper dishes. Crucibles and limbecs suspended above the bench connected by crazy pipes, and half-finished lumps of silver twisted into miraculous shapes, as if they were being birthed from the metal. The whole room had an odd, tangy smell, despite the casements being thrust fully open in the warm evening.
Kit talked as Maria drew on some parchment with a piece of charcoal. ‘I need an appendage that gives me the male appearance through my clothes, but I need to piss through it convincingly – as a foot soldier I will be on the road with three score men for a time, with no privacy whatsoever, and must not reveal myself. That is …’ A thought stopped her tongue.
‘That is …?’ prompted Maria gently.
‘That is if I have not revealed myself already.’
‘How could you have?’
‘Well, you knew me at once.’
Maria spread her strange hands. ‘But I am a woman. Believe me, for most men, once a person’s sex is established, that is the end of the matter. Generals of armies, admirals of navies, prime ministers and kings, priests and bishops they may be, but few of them are as perceptive as you might think. Most of them see the moon and call it a shilling.’ She rooted in a little drawer and brought out a handful of silver beads, then turned back to Kit.
‘None of my current models will fit your purpose,’ mused Maria, a pinprick of unquiet, excited fire igniting her tranquil grey eyes for the first time. ‘This will truly be a challenge. For unlike my pleasure pricks you will need a hollow member with a hole in the tip. The thing should have a pipe inside, so your urine can flow, and the pipe should turn up at the tip so that the piss arcs convincingly. But the whole apparatus must be as wide as the span of a hand, to catch your flow like a funnel.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘Yes,’ said Maria without hesitation. ‘Get undressed. There are certain measurements which must be taken. You permit me?’
Kit swallowed. ‘Yes.’
She removed her breeches fully for the first time in two weeks, conscious of the spicy smell of body odour. But Maria seemed unconcerned as she measured the distance between the top of Kit’s thighs and the distance from her buttocks to the front of her treasure pouch. ‘In the normal way the fit is not important, for the woman wears a
‘Here they call it a Venetian finger.’
‘A what?’
‘A staff of love,’ said Maria. ‘A quillety, a faucetin, a dandilolly. It has many names for many nations. It straps on, so you can pleasure your man. That is what you meant, is it not? That is what you came for?’
‘No. That is … No. That is not what I wanted at all.’
‘See here,’ said Maria van Lommen, pressing her green hands together as if in prayer. ‘I am not your priest. I am not here to take your confession. You can dress as a soldier-boy and play your bed-games, whatever pleases you. I sell you anything, no judgement. It is good disguise, I grant you. But let us not waste time. I knew you for a woman as soon as you walked through my door.’
Kit smiled shakily at the silversmith. The discovery she most feared had come, and not at all from the quarter she’d imagined.
‘Be at your ease,’ said Maria. ‘I am not going to give you away. Why would I? Come though to the workshop, and explain to me exactly what you need.’
The workshop was a well-lit room with a long workbench littered with alien tools and compounds in small copper dishes. Crucibles and limbecs suspended above the bench connected by crazy pipes, and half-finished lumps of silver twisted into miraculous shapes, as if they were being birthed from the metal. The whole room had an odd, tangy smell, despite the casements being thrust fully open in the warm evening.
Kit talked as Maria drew on some parchment with a piece of charcoal. ‘I need an appendage that gives me the male appearance through my clothes, but I need to piss through it convincingly – as a foot soldier I will be on the road with three score men for a time, with no privacy whatsoever, and must not reveal myself. That is …’ A thought stopped her tongue.
‘That is …?’ prompted Maria gently.
‘That is if I have not revealed myself already.’
‘How could you have?’
‘Well, you knew me at once.’
Maria spread her strange hands. ‘But I am a woman. Believe me, for most men, once a person’s sex is established, that is the end of the matter. Generals of armies, admirals of navies, prime ministers and kings, priests and bishops they may be, but few of them are as perceptive as you might think. Most of them see the moon and call it a shilling.’ She rooted in a little drawer and brought out a handful of silver beads, then turned back to Kit.
‘None of my current models will fit your purpose,’ mused Maria, a pinprick of unquiet, excited fire igniting her tranquil grey eyes for the first time. ‘This will truly be a challenge. For unlike my pleasure pricks you will need a hollow member with a hole in the tip. The thing should have a pipe inside, so your urine can flow, and the pipe should turn up at the tip so that the piss arcs convincingly. But the whole apparatus must be as wide as the span of a hand, to catch your flow like a funnel.’
‘Can you do it?’
‘Yes,’ said Maria without hesitation. ‘Get undressed. There are certain measurements which must be taken. You permit me?’
Kit swallowed. ‘Yes.’
She removed her breeches fully for the first time in two weeks, conscious of the spicy smell of body odour. But Maria seemed unconcerned as she measured the distance between the top of Kit’s thighs and the distance from her buttocks to the front of her treasure pouch. ‘In the normal way the fit is not important, for the woman wears a
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