LE LION VERT, 2022
I looked from Fany to Thea and shifted on the divan. The thick smoke hung in the air like a mist giving the scene an ominous and almost mythic feeling.
“Charmed, I’m sure,” I said. I was torn between being polite and angry at Fany’s ill manners.
“You really shouldn’t be associating with vipers,” said Fany, “if I were you, I’d keep away from this one.”
“I appreciate your counsel, Mademoiselle Deveraux, but I am sure I can sort out the kinds of people I want to be associated with.”
Thea leaned towards me. “Fany is Charles-Francois’s daughter.”
“His real daughter, not some jumped-up pauper clawing at his purse strings. If you have any money — Nikolai — I’m sure she’ll get her little scaly hands on it soon enough, I know Fulvia’s invited you to the solstice celebration. I just wanted to ensure you don’t intend to ruin our fun by trying to compete.”
“Don’t worry, Fany; I’m not interested in your silly fashion show.”
“That’s just the sort of thing a very ugly girl says.”
Thea jumped to her feet and pressed into Fany’s chest. Fany was quite tall in her heeled boots, and Thea was short.
“You’ve made your point Fany, now leave before I make it easier for you to wear your corsets. Without any lungs, you won’t have to worry about breathing.”
Fany laughed. “You don’t scare me, snakelette; we both know you can’t cast offensive spells in the Green Lion.”
“There’s a kitchen; I’m sure I could work something out. The rules don’t apply to old-fashioned vivisection.”
Fany winced.
She regained her composure.
“What a sad, ugly little creature you are, Thea. I wonder what Fulvia would say if she heard you.”
Thea’s shoulders didn’t exactly slump, but they weren’t quite as tense and ready for action.
Fany’s eyes sharpened. She went for the kill. “You were always going to lose to me. I don’t care about your Elder Law. You’re just an ugly little orphan that no one wants around. My father didn’t love you; he just pitied you. We all pity you.” With that, Fany turned and sauntered off.
“She’s a delightful sort,” I said.
“She’s a cunt.”
I was trying my best to be comforting to my new friend. I wasn’t sure what Fany meant about Fulvia. Perhaps Thea had something of a sapphic liaison with her?
I didn’t pity Thea, but I did feel empathy for her. She was the only connection I had made that evening which developed in a positive direction. I quite liked her and didn’t want to detonate this interaction as I did with Fulvia. I wouldn’t get another chance and didn’t want to languish in obscurity and poverty. I couldn’t return to England to my aunt or mother; that bridge had burned far too bright.
On the other hand, she wasn’t exactly well-liked. Nor was she wealthy. The well-to-do of this area had been somewhat of a letdown or, at the very least, had been a sobering surprise. They were all pettier than I imagined. Behind all the smiles and polite manners, most of them seemed very mean.
Philipe left the party and joined us, throwing himself on the seat next to me with no introduction to Thea. He had no connection to the Serpentines, but regardless of that, I found it rude.
“So what say you, Boz?” he asked as he placed one foot over the other and laced his fingers behind his head. “I fulfilled my end of it, introducing you around.”
“Mademoiselle Umbra,” I said, “may I present Philipe des Cèdres, my current roommate at the university.”
Thea had regained her seat and took a long drag from the hookah. “Pleasure.”
Philipe made a casual salute in her direction. “Well, to the wenching man!”
“Wenching?” asked Thea.
I rouged a bit. I had agreed to help Philipe wench, that is, seduce the waitresses in exchange for him introducing me to the Green Lion, and he had fulfilled his end of the bargain. I detested using my powers to help Philipe; it always made me feel as if I weren’t a gentleman. I know that’s a paradoxical thing for a satyr to feel.
“Yes.” I paused. I didn’t want to be rude or presumptuous. There was, after all, no reason to assume she wouldn’t want to wench a bit as well.
I worried the invitation might greatly offend her. I had made a bargain with Philipe, though. Bargains with sorcerers, no matter how small, carry with them robust seals. Violating them consistently leads to some nasty consequences and disfavour with the Gods.
Thea moved to the edge of her seat. “Can I watch?” she asked, “I mean, as a cryptothaumatologist, strictly academic.”
Philipe leaned into my ear and whispered. “Umm, you get the ugly one; I want something with a bit more cushion on her.” I was sure Philipe’s brutish behaviour would backfire on me somehow. I was as sure of that as I was unsure that Thea wasn’t judging me or seeing how I would behave. I didn’t want to insult her by refusing, but I didn’t want to disgust her if it all turned out more sordid than she liked.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Thea was watching us both intently and smoked the hookah in short sips. I focused and let my powers emanate. I kept it as local as I could; I didn’t want the whole room to erupt in a frenzied orgy, though, from how Thea was studying me, she might find it decidedly fascinating. Academically, of course. I am not sure how I felt being her object of arcane study.
A satyr’s powers work differently for each woman. Ones that were proud of their sexuality often became demure and submissive. Women who were withdrawn became wanton and aggressive; it all had to do with whether or not they put on airs as to who they really were.
Most women became approachable. It didn’t matter if they liked tall men, ethnic men, or only women. If you walked straight up and asked her to accompany you to a room, she would find it a capital idea regardless of her quotidian leanings.
I nodded to Philipe, and he stood up and played a game of Eeny-meeny-miny-moe. He intentionally selected from only the wenches. My powers would work on a sorcerer, of course. However, they were likely to take umbrage at being seduced this way. Angry sorcerers were dangerous people. Especially the fairer sort.
Philipe chose the elegant Drow in the corset with gazelle legs. I was irritated by his choice. I found her beautiful and charming. I don’t imagine he did it on purpose, but I regretted agreeing to help him even more.
Thea and I followed behind him and kept our distance. He was neither smooth nor seductive. Not because he was intentionally being a cad but from laziness. The effect of my power on the girl made his fumbling irrelevant.
There was something sad about it. He lived in the shadow of his father, the Count of Mirar. The Count was legendary for his libertine seductions of socially connected women. I didn’t think the Count needed to rely on the artifice of a satyr to get laid. Philipe was terribly jealous of his father’s abilities but jealous in the way a spoiled son would be, with no appreciation of the art or the sacrifice to attain that notoriety.
“I don’t feel anything,” said Thea.
“It doesn’t work like that; you can’t feel it. You think having sex with a perfect stranger is exactly what you’re looking for.”
“I thought I would feel different,” she said, “or I hoped I would feel something.”
The Dwarf wench, the one in golden armour with red hair, stood before the stairs with plump little fists on her hips. She looked up at the wench and Philipe.
“Maeva, where do you think you’re going?”
“Oh, with Master Philipe, isn’t he just perfect!”
“You’re on shift Maeva; you can’t — just —”
Thea leaned in close to my ear, which wasn’t necessary as I could hear a whisper across the room if I wanted to.
“Does it not work on Dwarves?”
“I’ve never tried it, really, maybe not. But then it doesn’t make you forget everything; it just makes you approachable and certain to agree. I suppose it’s like being very drunk.”
Thea slipped in front of Philipe and Maeva to talk with the Dwarf.
“Hildag,” she said and then proceeded to speak the strange and guttural sounds of Dwarvish, which I won’t bother to write out. I’ve no gift for languages, but I suspect Thea spoke it well, as they both sounded similar to my ears. She and the imp were animated in their discussion. Hildag, which I assume was the Dwarf’s name, even laughed a few times.
“Very well, Master Philipe,” Hildag said, with her fists still on her hips, “just this once, but she is to be back here in one hour, or I will hunt you down and cut off your balls and stuff them into the next meat pie Maeva serves.” She extended her hand. Philipe looked to me, then to Thea. I could see he didn’t want to make this bargain.
“One hour,” he said and shook the Dwarf’s tiny hand.
Thea looked at me and raised an eyebrow. We followed Philipe and Maeva up the broad stairs. There was no railing, just walls to either side. There was a landing where the stairs reversed direction. I had to admit Maeva was exquisite from this angle, and I saw that Thea was also watching the hypnotic sway of her hips.
“I’ve never seen a dwarf castrate a human,” Thea said as we walked. “This night is looking up.”
I laughed. Of course, she was a Serpentine; I doubted she would be squeamish if Philipe failed to live up to his bargain with the Dwarf. Perhaps she would even be happy about that outcome.
“So long as I don’t have to eat the pie,” I said.
“It would be more fun to make him eat it.” Her bland matter-of-fact manner could be intimidating. “Do we have to watch?”
“No, I just have to remain nearby. Otherwise, the magic is — well gone.”
“Ah so, you said it was an area of effect.”
“I’d say something like five or six meters I’m trying to keep it small.”
“So, how big can you make it?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never tried to push it. A small house, maybe? I don’t practice enough.”
“Why?”
I rouged a little. She was curious. It was unsettling. “I suppose I don’t like enjoying women that way. Well, not anymore. I prefer something mutual.”
“Do you think it’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, really, it just seems easy, and once it wears off, they want to forget you.”
“And you don’t want to be forgotten?”
“No, I guess that’s my fear, not being memorable.”
Philipe and Maeva pushed through a door in the hallway, and I politely shut it. Thea and I leaned against the opposite wall and listened to the thudding and groaning. My powers also intensified the experience for all parties. Some women became addicted to it and sought out satyrs. It was not a good thing for either party. They become obsessed and frenzied. They lost all humanity, as well as hygiene. It was rare, though.
The upper floor of The Green Lion was panelled with cedar wood and smelled intensely of it. Like the boards had been cut the day before. The walls were lined with tapestries. Some half covered the others; they were so thickly arranged. Hunting scenes with dashing hinds, menageries with stylised animals. The one across the hall from us had the appearance of an African safari, but the animals were all wrong.
There were things akin to an elephant, only they had six legs and a dozen trunks. There was a flying octopus with great membranous wings. There was a towering gorilla with eight eyes battling a three-headed rhinoceros. Everything in the image looked to be eating or hunting everything else. There was a half baboon, half serpent, intertwined with an enormous crocodile that seemed like an insect. I mean to say that it had the shape of a crocodile but had an exoskeleton. There were great fleas, large black shapes with disgusting faces feeding on a pack of sabre-toothed dire wolves. I know there isn’t such a thing, only that is what they appeared to be.
“He doesn’t take long,” I said after we had waited about ten minutes. I was slightly embarrassed that I knew that about Philipe, proving that I had done this for him before.
“Heh,” she said, “he doesn’t seem the type to savour his monstrosity.”
“Yeah — there’s that too. I don’t like that part.”
“Nikolai Bozerenski, The Gentleman Satyr.”
I rouged. “You seem awfully comfortable with what’s happening.” I’m not sure why I said it that way. Our world doesn’t care much for morality in the mundane sense. We take what we want. The primary guard against crime is the Law of Retaliation. Whatever you do to someone, they can do to you if they have the power. If they don’t, well, there’s nothing to do but submit.
“I made my peace with nature years ago,” she said. It was a statement pregnant with implications. “No one baulks when a tiger eats a lamb.”
“I imagine the lamb would.”
“I’m not a lamb — and I never want to be one again.”
There was a loud thud in the room. I could hear Philipe desperately shouting. I looked at Thea. She looked at me. The door flung open. Philipe was utterly naked. His flaccid penis swung free, but he was curiously still wearing his boots. There was spittle down his chin and claw marks on his chest. He was shaking.
“Oh fuck, Boz, I think she died.”