Scene VI: Confusius Maximus
The Sapari Tavern, Sapari
The 1st Day of the 4th Moon, 1536 P.V.
Allyra arrived at the Sapari Tavern just before midday. The rustic public house was quiet with just a few men sitting along the chipped, wooden bar, which ran the length of the tavern, and a few families seated quietly in the wooden booths opposite. The drink of choice, mulled cider, spread a potent ambience about the lounge to accompany the sounds of the men talking shit and laughing far too loudly. Wafts of smoke from Ashurrel leaf and cigars also stifled and stunk out the inn. Overall, the environment was a feast for the soul if the soul enjoys immense suffocation.
The owners, John and Jaeli Montgomery, were out for the day, so Allyra approached the barmaid, Charmaine. Charmaine was a small blonde lady with ridiculously large curves that seemed to have had an argument with her saucy red dress. The dress complained constantly about the poor fitting, and on occasion the laces would bust open of their own accord giving everyone an eyeful of Charmaine’s portly breasts. This embarrassed Charmaine and she would quickly try to force her flesh back into the upper corset of the gown. The men at the bar did not object to the floor show, although they often asked how she could possibly breathe. Charmaine would laugh, blow them a kiss, and continue to wear the wayward garment regardless of it inhibiting her lung capacity.
Allyra squished between two old, balding men, who’s cigars needed flicking, and addressed Charmaine directly,
‘Char, has Lord Fontacue checked in?’
Charmaine, who was bored with the bar room banter looked up from her game of Solitaire,
‘‘Ello Lyra, take a seat. I will be with you in a minute.’
Allyra looked up and down the bar, and picked a depressed, three-legged stool at the far end, which offered quick and subtle access to the stairs, so that she could meet her mark without everyone pointing out what a trollop she was.
Charmaine abandoned her punters and slowly followed Allyra to the far end of the bar. Once Allyra had sat down, a difficulty given the tightness of her shiny black leather catsuit, Charmaine leaned across the bar,
‘I need to speak to you,’ she whispered, then yelled, ‘WHAT can I get you?’ To divert the unwanted attention of any nosey punters.
The men did not look up as they were too engrossed in their discussion about whether the monster of the Twin Lakes, of which there was only one lake, could travel via land to the Getsug Sea. The conversation was largely redundant as the mythical beast was known to be a freshwater monster, not a saltwater monster.
Allyra twiddled her thumbs nervously. In spite of her bravado, she was always nervous before meeting a mark due to some of the strange requirements often suggested in exchange for information. Lord Fuckwad, for example, liked to dress in a romper suit and be burped like a baby. Lord Lucien Nerison, who had once petitioned for Allyra’s hand in marriage and been rejected by her father, Tempus, insisted on the pair of them rolling around in a bath of mud whilst popping balloons, and Lord Fontacue enjoyed something he called water sports, only it did not involve the sea.
Allyra avoided alcohol before meeting a mark as she did not wish to pass out and wake up wearing a diaper and floating through the sky tied to helium balloons. She was an open-minded sex addict but floating about The Deep looking like an idiot was not in her remit.
‘Water please,’ Allyra said, ‘I woke up in the sea again. The salt is making me dry.’
Charmaine nodded,
‘Fair enough.’ She grabbed a rather grubby glass from the shelf, tipped out an errant and sadly lost slug, and poured some yellowing water into it from an even dirtier jug.
Allyra pulled her hair from her neck and tucked it back behind her ears as she had a tendency to dribble. Her dark eyes frowned at the odd looking liquid, but she had drunk worse and was thirsty. The first mouthful was a bit harsh, so she held her nose and swallowed quickly allowing the rest to glob down her throat. Charmaine faked dealing cards to her friend and continued to whisper,
‘Lord Fontacue didn’t come in. Someone else did in his place, and he is… Lyra you are in danger.’
‘I know that’ Allyra whispered, ‘I’m being sent to the Immortalis soon, so death… Danger. Goes without saying.’
Charmaine shook her head,
‘There are worse things than death. After your ‘meeting’ with… Just come and find me at The Dokeshi Carnival. I need to talk to you about Nicolas.’
‘Nicolas?’ Allyra raised an eyebrow, ‘Nicolas DeSilva?’
‘Yes, THAT Nicolas. The Electi have been lying to you. They made a pact…’
As she spoke a tall man entered the bar. He wore a red and black suit covered with diamonds, a top hat, and a monocle, and to anyone who knew anything about the Immortalis, looked a little bit like Nicolas.
Charmaine stopped talking instantly and changed the subject,
‘Room three. Up you go. Hope your meeting goes well.’
‘But’ Allyra began.
Charmaine side-eyed the dazzling figure standing perfectly still by the door,
‘Just go NOW and get your meeting over with.’
Allyra slipped off the stool and hopped up the wide wooden stairs, hoping to gain some valuable intelligence about the Immortalis. She was very well aware that the Electi had no intention of providing such information and had more heed, as priests often do, on alcohol and sex.
Room three was not the third door along the musky, scarlet carpeted corridor. Not from either end. Initially room numbers had not been used but this resulted in sexual liaisons and dalliances where there ought not to have been sexual liaisons and dalliances and caused a great deal of newsworthy scandal.
The scandal was picked up by one Nicolai-Silas Gideon Alaric Bartholomew-Crispin (with a hyphen) Ledgerly. Nicolai-Ledgerly published all the sordid details in a pamphlet entitled, Tickturdery in Sapari, the 1st Moon of 1531 Special Edition and distributed said pamphlet to every household in The Deep. Ledgerly, who did not believe in censorship, made sure that every name, connection, and sordid detail was conveyed in full and provided accompanying sketches for clarification purposes. This caused a massive surge in divorce cases and embarrassed just about everyone.
As such, in the 2nd Moon of 1531 P.V. the landlords, John and Jaeli Montgomery, contracted one Jonas Citpo of Togaduine to number the doors. They could have done it themselves, but Lord Fuckwad’s wife had insisted to Lord Fuckwad that employment should be more inclusive. Lord Fuckwad, who had to live with Lady Fuckwad, wrote to Count Tepes regarding the matter. Tepes wrote to Theaten, and Theaten, who could not make head nor tail of the letter, sent the matter directly to Nicolas.
Nicolas thought diversity in employment was a wonderful idea and sent Jonas Citpo, a blind and deaf farmer that resided near Corax, to Sapari. Nicolas was so taken with the idea of inclusivity in employment that he insisted that all public and private signs were to be constructed by Jonas, without any assistance or supportive aid. Anyone who objected would be considered rude and subsequently stoned to death in the town square stocks. Nicolas could not abide exclusivity as he considered everyone equally worthless. The numbers in the tavern were, therefore, sitting wherever they pleased. This issue was nowhere near as problematic as the horde of tourists who had been driving their carriages around in circles, following inaccurate road signs and diversions, for the better part of five years.
Allyra knocked on the door.
‘Enter,’ the voice from within growled. She turned the handle only to find the door locked,
‘Can you unlock the door please?’ Allyra asked, knocking again.
‘If you can answer a question to demonstrate your cognitive abilities.’
‘Why?’
A deafening silence followed, and Allyra knocked again.
‘Yes?’ Came the reply.
‘Open the door.’
‘If you can answer the most taxing question and prove yourself worthy, I shall endeavour to release the great portcullis.’
‘This is stupid,’ Allyra mumbled.
‘Wrong answer!’ The voice boomed, ‘Do you want to try another?’
‘Another what?’
‘Another question.’
‘You didn’t give me a question in the first place, so how can you give me another question?’
‘This too is incorrect. I can always give you more but never less!’
‘You can give less! You can give someone less attention than someone else. You can give someone less mead than someone else.’ Allyra argued to no avail.
‘You may only enter if you answer a question!’ The voice replied, aggressively.
Allyra sighed wilfully loudly and leaned against the door,
‘Fine, ask a question.’
A short silence followed, then the voice returned,
‘What waves, then abates, then waves, then abates, then waves, then…?’
Allyra considered the question very briefly then yelled through the chunk of wood,
‘I presume you mean the sea, but it ebbs and flows.’
‘Next question,’ the voice continued, ‘what is the distance between two points?’
‘Which two points?’ Allyra asked, not really expecting a sensible response.
‘Any two!’
Allyra rolled her eyes,
‘Do you want sex or not?’
Another short silence followed, then the click of the lock rang out. Allyra turned the handle, pushed the door, and entered.
The room was sparse comprising of a small double bed with yellow and black plaid sheets, a bedside table hugging an oil lamp, and a tiny window.
Allyra’s suitor sat on the bed wearing a black and green suit that covered his entire body, and a mask that covered his entire head. Both suit and mask were embossed with gold question marks. Allyra bit her cheek so as not to laugh,
‘Did you come from a fancy dress party?’
‘No, Madam, I came from Togaduine,’ the being replied in a gruff voice with a hint of an accent Allyra could not place.
‘Where, may I ask, is Lord Fontacue?’
The man laid back on the bed and folded his arms behind his head,
‘Which question would you like me to answer first?’
‘What?’ Allyra asked, releasing an exacerbated breath.
The bizarre costumed being raised one leg,
‘You asked if you may ask, and then you asked about the whereabouts of Lord Fontacue, which question shall I answer?’
‘Where is Lord Fontacue?’ Allyra snapped, her patience waning.
The leg lowered and a silly speech began,
‘Lord Fontacue, alas, is with us no more. He was riding his donkey, Jackass, late at night. A great rider he was, for riding was not his problem. No. The meteor was the problem. It ricocheted from the sky after a tiresome journey and fell squarely on Lord Fontacue’s head. Sadly, neither Lord Fontacue, nor his steed, nor the milkmaid he was intending to ride made it. A tale of such bittersweet sorrow. Of course, Mrs Fontacue is quite pleased with the insurance payouts. It puts me in mind of the story of the old wars between the snakes and the bees. Terrible thing. Would you like me to tell you about it?’
Allyra plonked herself on the bed next to her strange companion,
‘No!’
‘‘Twas the long hot summer somewhere in the depths of the eighth century that the wasps were overcome by loneliness. A sad time. So many drones working away with no queen. Very sad they were, when the king of the wasps, King George Edward Theobold Wallace McVite McCallanus Esquire and Sons, sought the love of a queen. They ventured forth and what did they find?’
‘Bullshit?’ Allyra asked.
‘No, Madam, they found the queen of the mambas. Treacherous she was. Spiteful. They all fell in love with her despite her RUDENESS and passive hostility and took her to their nest. She was very much in love with all of them, even though she denied it…’
Allyra looked at her watch, but this did not discourage her suitor who carried on regardless,
‘And the queen of the bees got jealous. Do you know what happened next?’
‘I have a date with my boyfriend later,’ Allyra complained, trying to hurry the weirdo along.
‘That is incorrect. The queen of the mambas ate the queen of the bees and then the wasps ate the skin of the queen of the mambas, shedding it for her, turning her into something greater. It was a free for all. Thereafter a new queen bee was trained and bred for the king bee, King Leopold, but they were ever wary of the wasps and the snakes, and the snake and the wasps made little snake-wasp babies. Do you know what they were called?’
Allyra shrugged,
‘Little Bebhunas, and they were so sweet. They merged into one and ate their mother.’
‘Right,’ Allyra replied, ‘and who exactly are you?’
‘I am Confusius Maximus,’ Nicolai-Confusius replied.
‘Of course you are.’
‘I am, and I understand that you come seeking information regarding the Immortalis in return for enjoying my body.’ Confusius shook his head as he spoke, ‘It seems to me you get the best of both worlds.’
Allyra puffed out her cheeks and blew out of her mouth, but this did not discourage Confusius either! He just continued on his own little path,
‘Since I am in a generous mood, I am prepared to impart both.’
‘Hallelujah!’ Allyra sang, with sarcasm so cutting it was almost serrated. Confusius continued to continue,
‘I AM PREPARED TO IMPART BOTH, so tell me what you would like to know?’
‘I want to know about Behmor.’
Confusius scratched his head,
‘Don’t you mean Nicolas?’
‘No, Behmor.’
‘Nicolas is better.’
‘What do you mean Nicolas is better? Better for what? I want to know how reasonable Behmor is.’
Confusius went silent and looked down at his feet. Allyra narrowed her eyes,
‘Are you sulking?’
‘No, Madam, I am perusing my mind palace for the details you require. The mind palace maybe more welcoming if you were naked.’
Allyra knew the score; she had been trading favours for information for years. She believed that if men were silly enough and shallow enough to betray themselves for just the scent of her pussy, then she was quite happy to exploit that. As Confusius allegedly explored his mind palace, Allyra slowly peeled off her boots and suit before him. Her lingerie followed and she lay on her side next to him wearing only her sacred-eye earrings.
‘That is a little better,’ Confusius nodded, ‘the mental smoke is clearing, but I would like to see the top of your head.’
Allyra nodded and crawled elegantly, seductively, and slightly awkwardly down Confusius’s body. Confusius made her journey as difficult as possible by rolling from one side to the other and fidgeting. Once she had reached his hardness her hands undid the convenient fly in his suit and pulled him out. Her tongue licked about the rear of his cock, then she sucked the monster into her mouth. Confusius groaned and completely forgot about his mind palace. Allyra’s hand joined her tongue in pleasing her suitor.
Confusius eventually co-operated by rolling onto his back and kindly aided her labour by shoving her head up and down with very little moderation of pressure. As her mouth neared the base of his cock his whole body went rigid. One of his gloved hands grabbed her hair and he dragged her back up the bed with an unnecessary brute force.
Confusius turned onto his side, pushed Allyra onto her back, rolled on top of her and, with very little noise, and even less foreplay, pushed himself inside her. Allyra placed her hands about his back, and wrapped her legs about his body, forcing him deeper with every stride. Then, without a word, Confusius stopped,
‘I want to play a game,’ he announced.
‘What game?’ Allyra asked.
Confusius stood, drew the curtains, then opened a bag he had thrown on the far side of the bed. He pulled out four sets of handcuffs and a blindfold. Allyra bit her lip,
‘If you insist!’
Confusius took one hand, cuffed it, and attached the cuff to one bedpost, then he secured the other hand, and her legs, spreading her across the bed. He then placed the blindfold over her eyes and secured it.
Allyra heard the sound of movement and fabric rustling as he removed his mask and gloves, which took far longer than necessary as his mask was too small for his head, and finally his lips pressed against hers. Allyra did not usually kiss her marks but there was not a lot she could do about it since she had been silly enough to let an oddball stranger chain her up. There was, however, a familiarity about him. His kisses were deep, and his tongue caressed hers with the gentility of a lover as opposed to a mark. His lips moved around her face kissing and licking her skin, then returned to her mouth. Her cunt ached and throbbed with each slide of his tongue, and she moaned longingly and unexpectedly beneath him.
His body slipped inside of her as she groaned. His hands dragged from her hips to her nipples, then to her face, and back to her breasts. His movements changed, softened, deliberately driving up against her with an air of sensuality and consideration equally rare in marks. Allyra yearned to take control, to wrap her legs back about his body, but the restraints held her, she arched against them exciting her suitor further. She fiddled and sought a safety catch, but there were none.
Again, Confusius pulled out of Allyra’s writhing body and dropped between her legs. He took in the scent of her with a deep breath, then his tongue found her, licked at her, and flicked her. Slowly at first, but the speed accelerated alongside her moans. Pressure built within Allyra, between her legs, across her stomach. The licks came firm and fast; she could barely contain herself and raised her hips to meet his hungry mouth. As she reached the precipice he darted back between her legs, harder than before. His teeth and tongue grazed her lips, and a sharp tooth opened the inside of her gum.
Confusius licked the blood away between kisses. His head dropped to her neck as his cock pushed deep within. Two sharp teeth penetrated her throat. The pain was exquisite. Allyra cried out in an ecstatic agony and released herself on his hardness. Confusius waited until the clenching ceased, kissed her neck again, licking away more blood, then drew himself up on his knees and slammed into her over and over, panting with each thrust until he could no longer hold back. His pulsating body pushed Allyra’s back into rapture, and he released into her in four great, deep strides. Allyra glowed and swooned in the aftermath.
Confusius withdrew and replaced his mask and gloves, then removed Allyra’s blindfold,
‘Behmor, you say?’
Allyra grimaced. Transactions were usually less passionate, there was certainly no biting, kissing or caressing, but most men at least tried to feign some level of compassion after.
‘Give me a moment,’ she pleaded.
‘Yes, I was good, wasn’t I?’ Confusius replied, ‘Of course you need a moment. I shall re-enter my mind palace.’ He sat on the bed cross-legged, put his hands either side of his ears and loudly roared, ‘Ommmmmmmmmmmmmm.’
‘Could you remove the handcuffs?’ Allyra asked.
‘OMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.’
‘Confusius! Handcuffs!’
Confusius stopped making the silly, pointless noise, and turned to Allyra with quizzical eyebrows,
‘Why do you want to know about Behmor anyway?’
‘Because, according to the Electi text, The History of Immolesses, no Immoless has ever challenged Behmor.’
‘OMMMM that’s because he’s gay Ommmmm,’ Confusius sang.
‘Then it would make more sense to challenge him, he wouldn’t be worrying about sex and the like,’ Allyra reasoned, ‘is he a rational being?’
‘Very rational. He was well raised and as a consequence is profoundly intelligent, but that doesn’t affect you OMMMMMMMMMM.’
Allyra rolled her eyes,
‘So, Behmor is more reasonable that the other Immortalis?’ She asked, whilst struggling to release herself from the cuffs, ‘Can you please find the key to these cuffs.’
Confusius jumped off the bed and stood on one leg.
‘What are you doing now?’ Allyra asked.
‘Yogic connection,’ Confusius replied, whilst trying to lift his second leg off the floor with the help of his right arm, ‘which doesn’t matter anyway as you are going to Corax OMMMMM.’
‘I’m not. What in Irkalla gave you that idea?’
‘Because you are marrying Nicolas OMMMMMMM.’
‘Can you stop that?’ Allyra snapped, ‘And I don’t even know Nicolas.’
‘He knows you, and he says you are getting married. If Nicolas says it is happening, then it is likely to happen OMMMMMM.’
Allyra was beginning to lose her rag,
‘I’ve had enough of this! Release me please.’
‘Say you will go to Corax.’
‘No!’
Confusius finally succeeded in lifting the other leg, fell to the floor, stood up, and brushed himself down, then marched to the door.
‘Hmmm. Well, it has been nice meeting you again Immoless. See you soon.’
‘KEY!’ Allyra shouted as Confusius opened the door.
‘I don’t have one!’ He laughed, then slammed the door behind him.
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