herself can order her girls beaten as punishment for some infraction, real or imagined. Unless extreme care is taken, the risk of disease as well as injury is very high.'
'Oh,' Kat said, and gulped.
'I quite understand that from the outside--although my life is ridden with sin--all this looks moderately attractive,' Francesca said more gently. 'I am also aware that the life of a courtesan looks . . . well, quite glamorous, in a tarnished sort of fashion. And it is quite possible, for a clever and careful woman, to find herself wedded to the man of her choice. You've heard the whispered gossip, no doubt, perhaps you even know of such a woman. But let me tell you now, that although I fully intend precisely that sort of fate for myself, it will require all the resources I can muster, all my energy, thought, and time, the planning of a great general, and, frankly, a certain amount of luck.'
'Ah,' said Kat; she looked both disappointed and relieved, and Francesca patted her hands and let them go.
'Such luck as you have been for me,' Francesca continued. 'A courtesan remembers her friends, Kat. I think you'll soon find that the information I can provide you once I move will be of considerable help in mending your fortunes, as you have done the things that helped me to repair mine.'
She smiled. 'If worse comes to worst, a Grand House like the one I'm moving to often requires discreet boatmen to ferry messages, as well as clients who need a certain privacy. And, what would be even better . . .'
Francesca hesitated, not wanting to bruise Kat's already damaged pride any further. But--
'Kat,' she said firmly, 'within a much shorter time than you might expect, I will be . . . well, not exactly awash in wealth, but certainly rich enough to afford--even require--my own gondolier. Having one who was herself a pretty girl--or, better still, a pretty girl cleverly disguised as a very pretty boy--would give the thing a certain cachet. Which a courtesan requires more than anything else. So if your fortunes come tumbling down, and you find yourself destitute and alone--please come to me first. Before you think of taking any, ah, desperate measures. All right?'
As she had made her suggestions, the color had faded from Kat's face. But it returned, soon enough. And her expression had become almost hopeful when Francesca came to the part about the private gondola. That gave Francesca a feeling of great relief--Kat did not have the makings of a courtesan, and she didn't want to see the girl in the situation that most of the Red Cat women were in. Kat, she knew, would not survive that life for more than a handful of years.
'Now, I know you must have deliveries, and I have an evening of work ahead of me--' She fished for the pouch of coins she owed Kat, and pressed them into her hand.
'I do,' Kat said, springing up from her seat on the bed. She paused at the door, and turned around. 'Francesca--thank you. For everything.'
'You are most welcome, dear.' Francesca gave her a knowing wink that made Kat blush all over again before she whisked out the door and was gone.
Chapter 18 ==========
The monster waited until the vessel was completely engrossed. As always, Chernobog's shadow voice aroused the pathetic creature to a frenzy of uncontrolled emotion. Every emotion--anger and fury as well as lust. The vessel was careless. And so, as he combined fury with lust, satiating himself on the servant's body while he imagined an insolent young witch in her place, he gave not a moment's thought to the effect his emotions would have on the monster's shackles.
The monster could sense the coming moment, when the vaporous cage that restrained it would soften, grow tattered. It could escape then, without either the vessel or the servant noticing its passage into the outer world.
The monster's own lust grew rapidly, as the gray mist that surrounded it began to take shape and color. Some small part of its mind urged caution--the master will be angry!--but the monster ignored it. Why should Chernobog care if the monster devoured another soul? And it could always claim that it had been commanded by the master's own servant. Had she not aroused the vessel? Had not the vessel's own fury and lust sent the monster on its way--even selected the prey?
Somewhere in what was left of what had once been a keen mind, the monster knew that Chernobog would see through the deception. But--
It no longer cared. Let the pain come, later. For the moment, the monster could think of nothing beyond the immediate prospect of feeding.
And such a magnificent feed! The monster could barely restrain itself from clawing at the cage.
Too soon, too soon. Wait until . . .
* * *
