Venetian finger for the act itself, and then takes it off and lays it by until next time. But in your case you will be wearing it all day, every day. So it must be light and serviceable and comfortable, and must not dig your flesh nor tarnish.’ Then Maria used her fingers, speaking more to herself than Kit. ‘The stream comes from here at the front … Venus hole farther back … anus farther back still.’ Kit, whose anatomy was largely a mystery to her, began to be acquainted with her own body. It seemed a woman had as many holes as a cheesecloth – three to contend with in this design alone.
Maria straightened and stood. ‘Cover yourself,’ she said. She rang a small silver bell and gave an incomprehensible command to the swarthy girl who appeared. The girl brought a jug of ale, which she handed to Kit, and a chamber pot which she placed on the floor by the legs of her chair. ‘Drink,’ said Maria. ‘For we must test the design.’
Kit drank thirstily – for she had had no refreshment since shipboard – while Maria worked with sticky white plaster and silver wire, shaping and moulding with her discoloured fingers. The silversmith talked as she worked. ‘We must consider how this will look in your clothes. We must consider the length and thrust of the thing – for men have two states as you must know.’ Of all the information Maria had imparted this at least she did understand, for in the short sweet months of marriage to Richard she had come to understand both states. ‘Obviously you cannot stand stiff as a poker. But there should be some protrusion in your breeches to make your disguise authentic.’
Maria made a model out of plaster, and Kit drunk quart after quart of ale to fill her bladder. Tipsy enough not to mind removing her breeches, she fitted the funnel between her thighs, and let go into a chamber pot Maria had placed for the purpose. After leaks and dribblings and alterations to the design, Maria had a model she was happy with. ‘I will now cast the real one,’ she said, lighting a blue flame and setting a crucible of silver beads upon it. In the growing dark the flame bleached Maria’s hair to silver too. ‘Can you wait?’
‘The muster is tomorrow at dawn,’ said Kit, watching, fascinated, as the silver beads became a bright puddle in the dun-grey crucible.
‘That will be time enough,’ said Maria to the crucible, not looking up. ‘You can stay here the night.’
Kit looked unsure – ‘We were directed to stay at the palace by the cathedral.’
Maria looked almost as if she could smile. ‘Your fellows of the regiment will all be in the cathouses by the harbour for the night. I’ll wager my whole shop that not one of them will stay in the palazzo. After a fortnight at sea they’ll be as sharp set as a man in a desert. And that,’ she said, looking up at Kit, ‘is how you may be quiet in your mind that none of them knows you for a woman.’
‘How may I be sure?’
‘Did anyone touch you on the ship?’
‘Two braggards pushed me over.’ Then she understood. ‘No.’
‘Then they don’t know. If they’d known, every one of them would have had you. You make such a pretty boy that I am surprised that they did not try you anyway.’
Kit was taken aback by such frankness, but saw an opportunity to further educate herself. ‘Then men do lie together like man and wife?’
‘Since time began. You know your own anatomy now; there is one hole we all share.’ Kit considered this, horrified and fascinated, while Maria dropped some more silver beads in a crucible, hesitated, then added a couple more. ‘Of course it happens. Confined space, long voyages, no women. And of course, for some men it is their preference.’
‘They prefer that? Men to women?’
‘Some do, yes. Just as some women prefer women.’
Kit looked sharply at Maria. The words seemed to have some weight, but the silversmith was concentrating on poking in a tiny drawer in her apothecary chest with one
Maria straightened and stood. ‘Cover yourself,’ she said. She rang a small silver bell and gave an incomprehensible command to the swarthy girl who appeared. The girl brought a jug of ale, which she handed to Kit, and a chamber pot which she placed on the floor by the legs of her chair. ‘Drink,’ said Maria. ‘For we must test the design.’
Kit drank thirstily – for she had had no refreshment since shipboard – while Maria worked with sticky white plaster and silver wire, shaping and moulding with her discoloured fingers. The silversmith talked as she worked. ‘We must consider how this will look in your clothes. We must consider the length and thrust of the thing – for men have two states as you must know.’ Of all the information Maria had imparted this at least she did understand, for in the short sweet months of marriage to Richard she had come to understand both states. ‘Obviously you cannot stand stiff as a poker. But there should be some protrusion in your breeches to make your disguise authentic.’
Maria made a model out of plaster, and Kit drunk quart after quart of ale to fill her bladder. Tipsy enough not to mind removing her breeches, she fitted the funnel between her thighs, and let go into a chamber pot Maria had placed for the purpose. After leaks and dribblings and alterations to the design, Maria had a model she was happy with. ‘I will now cast the real one,’ she said, lighting a blue flame and setting a crucible of silver beads upon it. In the growing dark the flame bleached Maria’s hair to silver too. ‘Can you wait?’
‘The muster is tomorrow at dawn,’ said Kit, watching, fascinated, as the silver beads became a bright puddle in the dun-grey crucible.
‘That will be time enough,’ said Maria to the crucible, not looking up. ‘You can stay here the night.’
Kit looked unsure – ‘We were directed to stay at the palace by the cathedral.’
Maria looked almost as if she could smile. ‘Your fellows of the regiment will all be in the cathouses by the harbour for the night. I’ll wager my whole shop that not one of them will stay in the palazzo. After a fortnight at sea they’ll be as sharp set as a man in a desert. And that,’ she said, looking up at Kit, ‘is how you may be quiet in your mind that none of them knows you for a woman.’
‘How may I be sure?’
‘Did anyone touch you on the ship?’
‘Two braggards pushed me over.’ Then she understood. ‘No.’
‘Then they don’t know. If they’d known, every one of them would have had you. You make such a pretty boy that I am surprised that they did not try you anyway.’
Kit was taken aback by such frankness, but saw an opportunity to further educate herself. ‘Then men do lie together like man and wife?’
‘Since time began. You know your own anatomy now; there is one hole we all share.’ Kit considered this, horrified and fascinated, while Maria dropped some more silver beads in a crucible, hesitated, then added a couple more. ‘Of course it happens. Confined space, long voyages, no women. And of course, for some men it is their preference.’
‘They prefer that? Men to women?’
‘Some do, yes. Just as some women prefer women.’
Kit looked sharply at Maria. The words seemed to have some weight, but the silversmith was concentrating on poking in a tiny drawer in her apothecary chest with one
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