Read Online The Anvil of the World by Kage Baker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kage Baker
Ads: Link
not necessarily one and the same. How I crave the sight of a real lady! The delicate ankles. The gauzy underthings. The cosmetics--" He had to pause to wipe saliva from the corner of his mouth.
"Ladies," said Smith to the Housekeeper. "Well--We're carrying cargo for Lady Seven Butterflies."
"Seven Butterflies!" The Housekeeper was ecstatic. "What a charming name. Is she delicate and fair, as it suggests?"
"I guess so," said Smith, remembering the mask with its black tongue. "I couldn't see her very well for her costume. But it was a pretty costume." He was distracted as Balnshik entered the high hall, evidently fresh from the bath. Her damp shirt clung to her breasts, which stood up proudly, as she carried on her head an elaborate construction of wood and canvas, with both hands up to steady it.
Behind her Lord Ermenwyr strutted, with his wet hair curling over the lace collar of his long nightshirt. He wore embroidered slippers and a matching nightcap, and carried a bedroll. His long smoking tube was still clenched between his teeth.
Balnshik selected a suitably remote section of the hall and set down her burden. In a moment she had it all unfolded and standing: a camp cot of ingenious design, complete with its own attached insect tent of gauzy netting, surmounted by a gilded cherub blowing a tiny trumpet. At least, it looked like a cherub. Was that a tiny tail it sported? Lord Ermenwyr passed her the bedroll and as Balnshik leaned between the curtains to arrange it on the cot, he wandered over to the fire.
"Good evening, all," he said, puffing out a great rift of purple weedsmoke that mingled a moment with Mrs. Smith's white amberleaf fumes, turning a sickly lavender before vanishing up the draft of the fire hood. "Splendid baths, Housekeeper. Not quite deep enough to have satisfying sex in, but all the hot water one could ask for."
"And this young man would be?" inquired the Housekeeper, mildly affronted.
"This is Lord Ermenwyr of the House Kingfisher," Smith explained, and the Housekeeper leaped to his feet.
"My lord! Honor, honor, all possible honor to your house! Delighted to receive you at Red House. Please, here's a cushion, sit by the fire. A drink for the lord," he shouted to the bar.
"Er--he's very young," said Smith. "And an invalid besides. I don't think beer would be a good idea."
"Oh, if he's an invalid, he must try our acorn beer," said the Housekeeper earnestly, settling Lord Ermenwyr in his own chair and arranging pillows around him. "It's got plenty of health-giving qualities. Very tonic. And, begging your pardon, Caravan Master, but any fellow with a beard is surely old enough for strong waters."
"Of course I am," said Ermenwyr complacently. "Pray, Caravan Master, don't trouble yourself. Is this the famous acorn beer?" He accepted a cup from the slavey who had hastened up to present it to him. "Thank you so much. To your good health, Housekeeper," he said, and drank.
Smith cringed inwardly, watching as Lord Ermenwyr's eyes popped wide. He swallowed, bared his teeth, turned the grimace into a fearsome smile and said, "How original. I wonder--could I purchase a barrel of this stuff? It'd make a perfect gift for my older brothers."
Tears of joy formed in the Housekeeper's eyes. "Oh! The honor you do us! My lord, it's in short supply, but for you--"
"Name your price," said Lord Ermenwyr.
"Please, accept it as a gift! And grant only that I may claim the honor of your patronage," gushed the Housekeeper. Lord Ermenwyr frowned at that, and some of the glittering nastiness went out of his eyes.
"You have my patronage," he said seriously. "There. See that a barrel is packed with my trunks before we leave."
The Housekeeper twittered so that Smith was afraid he was going to flap his arms and fly into the rafters. Mrs. Smith watched the scene in disbelief until Burnbright came wandering up forlornly.
"I can't find my bedroll," she said. "I think one of those strangers took it. Come help me
"Ladies," said Smith to the Housekeeper. "Well--We're carrying cargo for Lady Seven Butterflies."
"Seven Butterflies!" The Housekeeper was ecstatic. "What a charming name. Is she delicate and fair, as it suggests?"
"I guess so," said Smith, remembering the mask with its black tongue. "I couldn't see her very well for her costume. But it was a pretty costume." He was distracted as Balnshik entered the high hall, evidently fresh from the bath. Her damp shirt clung to her breasts, which stood up proudly, as she carried on her head an elaborate construction of wood and canvas, with both hands up to steady it.
Behind her Lord Ermenwyr strutted, with his wet hair curling over the lace collar of his long nightshirt. He wore embroidered slippers and a matching nightcap, and carried a bedroll. His long smoking tube was still clenched between his teeth.
Balnshik selected a suitably remote section of the hall and set down her burden. In a moment she had it all unfolded and standing: a camp cot of ingenious design, complete with its own attached insect tent of gauzy netting, surmounted by a gilded cherub blowing a tiny trumpet. At least, it looked like a cherub. Was that a tiny tail it sported? Lord Ermenwyr passed her the bedroll and as Balnshik leaned between the curtains to arrange it on the cot, he wandered over to the fire.
"Good evening, all," he said, puffing out a great rift of purple weedsmoke that mingled a moment with Mrs. Smith's white amberleaf fumes, turning a sickly lavender before vanishing up the draft of the fire hood. "Splendid baths, Housekeeper. Not quite deep enough to have satisfying sex in, but all the hot water one could ask for."
"And this young man would be?" inquired the Housekeeper, mildly affronted.
"This is Lord Ermenwyr of the House Kingfisher," Smith explained, and the Housekeeper leaped to his feet.
"My lord! Honor, honor, all possible honor to your house! Delighted to receive you at Red House. Please, here's a cushion, sit by the fire. A drink for the lord," he shouted to the bar.
"Er--he's very young," said Smith. "And an invalid besides. I don't think beer would be a good idea."
"Oh, if he's an invalid, he must try our acorn beer," said the Housekeeper earnestly, settling Lord Ermenwyr in his own chair and arranging pillows around him. "It's got plenty of health-giving qualities. Very tonic. And, begging your pardon, Caravan Master, but any fellow with a beard is surely old enough for strong waters."
"Of course I am," said Ermenwyr complacently. "Pray, Caravan Master, don't trouble yourself. Is this the famous acorn beer?" He accepted a cup from the slavey who had hastened up to present it to him. "Thank you so much. To your good health, Housekeeper," he said, and drank.
Smith cringed inwardly, watching as Lord Ermenwyr's eyes popped wide. He swallowed, bared his teeth, turned the grimace into a fearsome smile and said, "How original. I wonder--could I purchase a barrel of this stuff? It'd make a perfect gift for my older brothers."
Tears of joy formed in the Housekeeper's eyes. "Oh! The honor you do us! My lord, it's in short supply, but for you--"
"Name your price," said Lord Ermenwyr.
"Please, accept it as a gift! And grant only that I may claim the honor of your patronage," gushed the Housekeeper. Lord Ermenwyr frowned at that, and some of the glittering nastiness went out of his eyes.
"You have my patronage," he said seriously. "There. See that a barrel is packed with my trunks before we leave."
The Housekeeper twittered so that Smith was afraid he was going to flap his arms and fly into the rafters. Mrs. Smith watched the scene in disbelief until Burnbright came wandering up forlornly.
"I can't find my bedroll," she said. "I think one of those strangers took it. Come help me
Similar Books
