(eng) Mick Farren - Flame of Evil 01 by Kindling

Author:Kindling [Kindling]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

FIVE

JESAMINE

Jesamine sprawled on the bed with yet another schnapps in her hand as Cordelia dug further into the costume trunk. They had already amused themselves by painting each other’s faces, and now they were selecting their finery for a harlot’s masquerade. Cordelia pulled out an item that Jesamine had not seen or worn in a long time. Cordelia wrapped it experimentally around her waist but then had trouble with the three buckles that fastened it in the back. “This is excruciatingly tight.”

Jesamine’s speech was a little slurred. “It’s supposed to be excruciatingly tight. It’s designed to nip your waist in and leave you unable to breathe.”

“Will you help me with it?”

“Come here.”

Cordelia sat down on the bed and turned so her back was to Jesamine, who rolled over and then leaned forward to fasten the first of the three buckles. “The times I wore that for the loathsome Phaall, it brought out all of his least-pleasant impulses.”

“Is Phaall really that loathsome?”

“He isn’t the worst, and he isn’t a Mamaluke, but otherwise he’s a pig.”

Cordelia giggled. She had drunk almost as much schnapps as Jesamine. “That’s the best that can be said about him? He isn’t a Mamaluke?”

“That can sometimes say a lot in this place.” Jesamine started on the second buckle. “Breathe all the way out, girl, and suck your stomach in hard. I told you it was supposed to be tight.”

The garment in question could be viewed as either a narrow waist synch or a wide belt. It was made from soft purple leather, decorated with spirals of tiny gilt rivets, and stiffened with panels of a less flexible hide. As Jesamine had so far read her, Cordelia appeared to have decidedly imperious tastes when dressing for the boudoir. She had already selected a pair of pale gold silk stockings and was now counterpointing it with the purple leather. Jesamine knew she wasn’t only of Albany—something that, as yet, she had very wisely not admitted—but she was also highborn of Albany. Of this, Jesamine was in no doubt. Cordelia’s efforts at anonymity had been good, and would have passed any casual inspection, but, over the few hours they had spent together, and as the schnapps took hold, she had revealed her origins in any number of minor but significant trifles of accent, mannerism, and attitude, all the small signs that it was impossible to conceal over a protracted period. Even in her current and extremely precarious situation, she managed to maintain a certain inherent authority, and from the way she sat, right there and then, she betrayed that she was very accustomed to having someone help her to dress. This Cordelia was an Albany lady, no mistake about that, but also an adventurous spirit, or how else would she have been riding around in an airship that by all accounts was on a secret and dangerous mission? By any logical criteria, Jesamine should have taken an immediate dislike to the woman, but instead she felt a strong affinity for her, which really made no sense, but was there anyway.

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