‘Hommm … Hommm … Hommm …’
The third one at the table began moving up for his turn.
‘Hommm … Hommm … Hommm …’
And after him, the fourth and the fifth. One after the other, working from the fire outwards, the horsemen paid their unique tribute to their new queen. Billy looked at Reave in amazement.
‘Is she going to go through the entire clan?’
Reave grimaced.
‘She’s capable of it. Make no mistake about that.’
Billy shook his head in disbelief. The horsemen continued to make their pilgrimage up to the dais. By the time A.A. Catto had worked her way through a third of the men with helmets, she was sweating, her eyes were closed and her legs were beginning to tremble. She was having great difficulty maintaining her formal and dignified cool.
The chant kept on going, and the horsemen kept on coming. At the halfway point, A.A. Catto grabbed the current supplicant by the hair, and let herself fall back on to the cushions, pulling him down with her. From then on she received homage from her subjects in a supine position. Occasionally she would languidly raise a thin white leg in the air. Billy wondered if it signified ecstasy, or was just her way of acknowledging the presence of the rest of the tribe.
The last of the helmeted horsemen backed away from the dais. Billy assumed that the ceremony was all over, but the chant started again, and one of the serving men began the slow march to A.A. Catto’s throne. Billy grinned at Reave.
‘She is going through the whole tribe.’
Reave nodded. He didn’t look in the least surprised. As far as he was concerned, nothing about A.A. Catto could surprise him. The ones without helmets did their bit, and for a moment it seemed as though the ritual was over. Then to Billy’s and Reave’s astonishment the chant started again. Billy’s face dropped in disbelief. Nancy had started walking slowly down the crowded room in strict time to the chant.
‘Hommm … Hommm … Hommm …’
She reached the dais, bowed her head and sank to her knees. As Nancy disappeared into the pile of cushions, Billy swung round to Reave.
‘Are we supposed to go up there?’
‘It’s beginning to look like it. Why? Don’t you fancy the idea?’
Billy grimaced.
‘Not a great deal.’
Reave grinned.
‘I thought you liked eating pussy?’
‘Yeah, but …’
‘But what?’
‘It’s kind of public, and anyway, I’ve got a feeling that she’d look at it as some kind of, I don’t know, a moral victory, she’d think she was humiliating me. You know what I mean?’
Reave grinned.
‘Sure, I know what you mean. She’s a great one for humiliating. I don’t see how you’re going to get out of it.’
Billy twitched uncomfortably.
‘Me neither.’
Nancy seemed to stay in the cushions for a very long time. It was certainly longer than any of the horsemen. Finally she reappeared. She walked back up the room, with a serene smile on her face. The chant began once more. Reave grunted, stood up, and started walking towards the throne. Nancy slumped down next to Billy.
‘Waiting till last, huh?’
Billy scowled.
‘I can’t see no way out of it.’
Nancy raised an eyebrow.
‘I thought you said you were feeling horny?’
‘Not for that.’
Nancy smiled coyly.
‘It was really quite nice.’
‘Is that so?’
Reave didn’t spend anything like as long with A.A. Catto as Nancy had. Before Billy was anything like ready, he had to get reluctantly to his feet and fall into step with the chant.
‘Hommm … Hommm … Hommm.’
Billy walked like a man going to his execution.
‘Hommm … Hommm … Hommm …’
It seemed an immense distance to the dais. He finally reached it. A.A. Catto lay with her eyes closed. He stood looking down at her for a while. Her eyes opened. Her voice was a vibrant purr.
‘Kneel down, Billy.’
Billy pressed his lips together and dropped awkwardly to his knees.
‘Now pay me my dues as queen, Billy.’
Billy closed his eyes and slowly lowered his mouth to A.A. Catto’s damp and somewhat swollen cunt. A.A. Catto smiled happily.
‘I’m sure you’re going to be a very respectful subject.’
***
‘I suppose I could stand this for a while.’
The Minstrel Boy sprawled in his chair, staring at the light reflected in his glass of wine. He was feeling comfortable for the first time since he’d been abducted from the Albert Speer Hotel. The Wanderer sat across the table from him grinning.
‘You’re going to have to stand it until you find some way out of here.’
The Minstrel Boy nodded ruefully.
‘I know that. I was trying to forget it.’
The yellow-robed priests had led the three travellers to a suite of rooms deep inside the ziggurat, and left them there to wait until the blessed Joachim felt like seeing them. They hadn’t locked the door, but the three were effectively prisoners. They all knew that it would be impossible to find their way out through the maze of stairs and corridors that made up the interior of the huge building.
The suite consisted of a fairly large main room, and three small cells that led off it. It was plain but comfortable. The walls were smooth black stone, and the main room was furnished with a square table and four chairs. They were made of some light-coloured wood, decorated with geometric inlays. Each of the cells contained a narrow sleeping pallet. There were no windows in the place, but ample light was provided by a mass of candles in a roughly triangular-shaped fixture that hung from the ceiling.
Shortly after the priests had left, two of the blue-robed lower orders, who seemed to do most of the manual work, turned up with refreshments in the form of a bowl of fruit, a tray of flat biscuit-like pastries, a large jug of wine and glasses. They placed them on the table, and withdrew without a word.
Jeb Stuart Ho took to the place immediately. He ate a little fruit, drank half a glass of wine and withdrew to his cell to meditate, leaving the Minstrel Boy and the Wanderer to linger over the remainder of the jug. The Minstrel Boy drained his glass, and refilled it.
‘I’d like this place a whole lot better if there were a few chicks about.’
The Wanderer’s eyes twinkled in the candlelight.
‘You won’t find any here.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
‘You’ll maybe find a way to get round the problem.’
‘Huh?’
‘I said you might find a way to get round the problem.’
‘I heard what you said. I was just wondering what exactly you meant by it.’
The Wanderer grinned broadly.
‘I figure you’ll find out.’
The Minstrel Boy scowled.
‘You keep making remarks like that. You’re getting too goddamn mysterious.’
‘What other pleasures have I got left?’
The Minstrel Boy pushed the jug across the table towards him.
‘You could get drunk. It’d make you a bit more tolerable.’
The Wanderer refilled his glass.
‘I won’t argue with you. Did I ever tell you about the time I was down in Port Judas and met this sportin’ gal down on her luck?’
The Minstrel Boy shook his head.
‘No, but no doubt you’re going to.’
The Minstrel Boy went on drinking while the Wanderer launched into a long, ponderous and occasionally obscene story. It went on and on, and the Minstrel Boy quickly lost track of it. The Wanderer was just winding up for the punch line when there was a soft rapping on the door. The Minstrel Boy’s hand went instinctively to his knife belt.
‘What do you think that is?’
The rapping came again. The Wanderer shrugged.