Two attendants bathed Tiaan in a tub so large that a horse could have comfortably stood in the middle, and it was full of hot water. Tiaan was staggered at the extravagance. At the manufactory, being too shy to use the communal bathhouse, she washed with cold water in a dish and yellow, caustic soap that stung her eyes. Tiaan could not remember ever having a hot bath.
They kept her in until she felt dizzy and her fingers and toes were wrinkled. The attendants fed her in the bath – spicy pastries, sweetmeats soaked in honey and cream, bowls of preserved fruit covered in sweet yoghurt – and kept urging more on her long after she was full. To lie in the hot water was one of the strangest feelings she’d ever had. It felt sinfully lazy and wicked. The attendants got in too, scrubbing her until her skin throbbed.
After that she was helped to a low table covered with a cloth, where they rubbed perfumed creams into her skin, massaging her until her muscles felt as loose as jelly. They plucked out every body-hair, sanded her hands with pumice, trimmed her nails, brushed her teeth and gently shaped her hair. At the end they made up her face with the lightest of touches.
One attendant held a mirror out. Tiaan was stunned. She looked transformed; almost beautiful. She wondered if, just possibly, she could endure the breeding factory after all.
Matron reappeared. ‘Not bad!’ she said, head cocked to one side. ‘Better than I expected. We’ll do well out of you, my girl. Show me your hands.’
Tiaan held them out. Matron frowned. ‘Better, but still a long way to go. We’ll have dim lights for your first time, and a bold tapestry at the head of the bed. And a low-cut gown. How long ago was she fed?’
‘Two hours,’ said the little, sandy-haired attendant.
‘Feed her again.’ Matron turned to go. ‘No, first we must see to the formalities. Come with me.’
‘Where are we going?’ Tiaan asked anxiously.
‘To my office. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Tiaan was worried. Matron’s grip on her wrist was unshakeable. They went along the corridor, up a flight of stairs, around a corner and through a heavy door. The small room contained a desk piled with papers, documents, a large tray of biscuits and several mugs, partly full of some dark, oily brew.
‘Sit down!’ Matron slumped into a chair on the other side of the table. Taking a biscuit, she pushed the tray towards Tiaan. ‘Have a handful. They’ll do you good.’ She turned to a cupboard which she unlocked with a small key. There were a number of books and ledgers inside, though evidently not the one she was looking for. ‘Where is the damn thing?’ she muttered, sorting distractedly through the piles on the table.
Her excavations uncovered another ledger which she picked up, frowned at, then put down as someone rapped on the door. An aged attendant put his head around. ‘Yes?’ she snapped.
‘It’s … one of the clients is making rather a fuss, matron. Too much to drink. And little Zizza is quite hysterical. You’d better come quickly.’
Matron looked furious, but heaved her bulk out of the chair, glancing at Tiaan. ‘I’ll just take her back …’
A scream came echoing down the corridor, followed by drunken roars and the sound of breaking glass being smashed. Matron was through the door in an instant. ‘Wait here, Tiaan. Don’t touch anything.’ She disappeared.
Tiaan sat for a while, then bored, began to flip through the papers on the table. They were all tedious administrative or financial documents. She put them back as she had found them, uncovering the ledger. On the front it said Bloodline Register 4102, Tiksi.
Inside she found a list of women’s names with numbers after them. Page numbers, presumably. Tiaan turned the first page. The name at the top was Numini Tisde, a woman she had met here once. The page was ruled into columns, with dates, notes on her monthly cycle, health, male names with descriptions as well as lists of abilities, talents and ancestral details, baldly intimate details about sexual congress, and a variety of symbols and abbreviations that meant nothing to Tiaan. Occasional rows contained details related to pregnancy – weight changes, complications, miscarriages and births: six in eleven years, though only four were still living.
She turned the page. A different name was at the top, though the same kinds of entries were present. Tiaan closed the cover, appalled. It was a stud book!
It had just occurred to her to look up her mother’s entry when she heard Matron’s voice outside. Tiaan sat back in the chair and tried to assume a bored air.
Matron thrust the door open, red-faced and breathing heavily. Stamping across the room, she fell into her chair. ‘Some people just aren’t worth feeding!’ Her eyes raked Tiaan. ‘I hope you’re not one of them.’
Tiaan lowered her eyes in what she hoped was modest incomprehension.
Matron went through the litter again. ‘What the blazes was I doing?’ She pulled out a stamped and sealed parchment, stared at it for a moment then tossed it aside. ‘Ah, I remember.’ With an air of triumph she withdrew a set of documents pinned together at one corner. ‘Your indenture.’ Turning to the back page, she said, ‘Sign here!’
Tiaan took the sheets and began to read.
‘Just sign!’ Matron snarled.
‘I’m not signing anything I haven’t read,’ Tiaan said. ‘I know my rights.’
‘Give me back the indenture.’ Matron looked ferocious.
Tiaan passed it to her, quaking.
Matron placed it carefully on the cabinet behind her and stood up. Tiaan did too, wondering what was going to happen. Matron came around the desk and lashed out with her left fist. Tiaan ducked out of the way only to be clouted over the side of the head by the other hand. It knocked her sideways onto hands and knees.
Matron loomed over her. ‘Will you sign?’ she panted, her cheeks like slices of bloody liver.
‘No!’ Tiaan scrabbled out of the way, expecting more blows.
Matron’s anger disappeared just as quickly. ‘No matter!’ She now seemed grimly indifferent.
‘You can’t keep me here without my signature. I’m not a child.’
Matron looked irritated. ‘You have been certified insane by your own healers. I have the record here. It’s properly drawn up and witnessed by the manufactory legalist, Chicanist Runne, and our own, Shyster Dusin. I don’t need your signature.’
‘I’m not insane!’ Tiaan said vehemently.
‘Do you have a certificate to prove your sanity?’
‘No one does,’ said Tiaan.
‘Then you’re still insane. It says so right here.’ Matron was growing bored with the business. She rang a bell on her desk. The attendant appeared. ‘Take Virgin Tiaan to her room. And keep a firm hold on her, just in case.’
Tiaan went scarlet. The title was mortifying.
‘Please,’ she said plaintively. ‘I’d like to see my mother.’ She felt lost. She needed the familiarity of Marnie.
‘Good idea! She’s an absolute corker is Marnie. Almost past it, but she still pulls in her regulars, and punches out a child every year. Nothing like old Marnie for convincing reluctant virgins. Take her dinner down there.’
Marnie was on her bed, as always, leafing through an illuminated book. As soon as Tiaan was ushered in, her mother tossed it aside with a bored frown. She always looked bored, unless she was eating or preening.
‘Tiaan!’ she exclaimed. ‘What trouble you’ve caused me. I had no end of work to get you in here.’
Tiaan doubted if her mother had anything to do with it, but let that pass. ‘You’re looking well, mother.’
‘I’m not! The effort it takes to maintain my position is incredible. But somehow I manage it. There’s a dozen begging for my favours tonight. Not many women can say that, at my age.’
Vain cow, Tiaan thought. Her mother had probably not been outside the breeding factory in twenty years. Her skin was so pale that she looked like a fat slug crawling across the bedcovers.