“So—excuse me for asking, but—you really are a nurse, then,” Smith said, trying not speak with his mouth full.
“Well, I know a great deal about death,” she admitted. “That helps, you see.”
“Hey! He can’t pay no attention to me,” protested Lord Ermenwyr belatedly, lifting his dripping beard from the tureen. “He’s my guest.”
“It’s the other way around, darling,” Balnshik informed him. “You’re supposed to pay attention to him.”
“Oh. How’s the food, Caravan Master?”
“Wonderful, thanks,” said Smith earnestly.
“You should see what we have for the orgy afterward.” Lord Ermenwyr giggled. “Salesh Primo Pinkweed. What fun!” He stuck his head in the tureen again.
“I really must apologize for his lordship’s manners,” said Balnshik. “It’s a reaction. The journey was quite stressful for him.”
“I guess we’re all lucky to be alive,” said Smith. “Have those people tried to get him before?”
“Mm.” She nodded, taking a sip of her wine. “But seldom so persistently. His lord father had no idea they’d have the audacity to make an attempt within sight of his own house. There are probably going to be some rather horrible reprisals. Whatever my master may say, his lord father loves him.”
“Are the rest of the children like that?”
“No, fortunately.” Balnshik looked amused. “My master is unique.”
Lord Ermenwyr fell off his chair with a crash.
“Excuse me a moment, won’t you?” Balnshik requested, and, rising, she fetched a cushion and tucked it under the lordling’s head where he lay unconscious. She took the tureen from his hands and set it back on the table.
“Is he all right?” asked Smith, alarmed.
“It’s just the sugar hitting the drugs. He’ll sleep for half an hour, then he’ll be up and bouncing around again,” Balnshik said offhandedly, sitting back down and picking up a chop bone, which she proceeded to gnaw with unsettling efficiency. Smith noticed that there was nothing on her plate but meat, all of it blood-rare.
“Uh … I don’t mean to be rude, but… young as he is, and sick as he is, why was he sent to Troon in the first place?” Smith inquired. “Shouldn’t he be kept at home?”
Balnshik rolled her eyes.
“A joke got out of hand. One of his brothers and several of his sisters tried to kill him. Not very hard, you understand, but enough to cause terrible conflicts in the servants’ hall. When you are bound by oath to slaughter any who attack one of his lord father’s getting, and then the wretched little gets attack each other—well, what are you to do? It plays havoc with the semantics of one’s geas. Very inconsiderate of them, and their lady mother"—Balnshik bowed involuntarily—"told them so, too. We were all very grateful.
“In any case, his lord father thought the responsibility of a diplomatic mission would be good for him. My master managed the business very well, but once he’d done what he was sent for he became bored.” She glanced over at him in affectionate contempt. “He got into trouble, then he got sick. But, not being allowed home just yet, he was sent here.”
Smith felt a wave of sympathy for the lordling. “It’s hell not being able to go home. They ought to reconsider.”
“It’ll all blow over in time.” Balnshik shrugged. “And he loves Salesh-by-the-Sea. So much to do here.”
“That’s good anyway,” said Smith. “Should he really have all the drink and drugs and sex he wants, though? Maybe his problem is that he’s been spoiled.”
“That, and repeatedly raised from the dead,” Balnshik replied. “You have no idea how difficult that makes instilling proper values in a child.”
They ate for a while in silence. Despite its vast size, the dining room was warm, and Balnshik’s robe didn’t do much to conceal her bosom when she leaned forward. His other appetites having been handsomely assuaged, Smith found himself contemplating matters of the flesh.
If he thought too hard about who and what she was, his brain began to gibber and tell him to finish his wine, thank her, and leave with all possible speed. He found that he could ignore his brain if he gazed into her eyes and let her refill his wineglass. After the third glass his brain had stopped gibbering and lay in a quiet stupor in the back of his head, which suited him fine.
“Mmm.” Balnshik pushed aside her plate, stretched luxuriously, and rose to her feet, smiling down at Smith. “I seem to recall making you a promise, Caravan Master. Shall we retire to the adjoining chamber? I’d love to see if you’re a master at other jobs.”
“That’s right, the orgy!” cried Lord Ermenwyr, sitting up abruptly. He staggered to his feet, grabbed a bottle from the table, and lurched off into the adjoining chamber. Balnshik and Smith followed him. Smith paused to stare.
This was the private Temple of Health offered in every suite, as promised in the spa’s brochures. It was an oval room with a domed ceiling of glass, through which the stars burned distantly. More white marble columns held up the dome, and between them tall stained-glass windows stood dark and opaque, except when someone passed through the garden beyond carrying a lantern. In the center a blue pool glimmered softly, giving off a fine vapor of sulfurous steam.
To counteract the smell, censers were suspended here and there from the lamps, sending up long blue trails of perfumed smoke. All the steam and sweetness made it unlikely anyone would feel like using the exercise equipment that was dutifully set up on the far side of the pool. On the near side, the shallow end, were piled silken cushions, and a water pipe was set up beside them.
“Hey nonny no!” Lord Ermenwyr writhed out of his robe and plunged into the pool. “Light the hubblebubble, Nursie dearest.”
“Light it yourself,” ordered Balnshik, turning to Smith with an expression of radiant tenderness and opening his shirt. “I have a reward to bestow, you ungrateful little sot.”
“To be sure, you do,” Lord Ermenwyr replied, leering, and leaned up out of the water and lit the pipe with another blue fireball.
Smith was self-conscious about his various cuts, but once Balnshik threw off her robe he utterly forgot about his own body. They joined Lord Ermenwyr in the pool and shared the water pipe with him. After that things became somewhat confusing, but quite pleasant if one wasn’t easily shocked.
Lord Ermenwyr swiftly became so intoxicated he was in danger of drowning, but refused to leave the pool for the silk cushions. Instead he yelled an incantation, and from the suddenly roiling water a swim bladder emerged, of the whimsical sort generally provided for children. Instead of being a swan or seahorse, however, it was a mermaid with immense pneumatic breasts. He clambered into her embrace and bobbed about for a while making rude remarks until he passed out, tethered to the side only by the umbilical cord of the water pipe’s hose clutched in his fist.
“Now then, my lovely Smith,” whispered Balnshik, gliding with him to the far end of the pool. She wound her arms around him and kissed him, and they plummeted to the bottom of the pool in a long embrace. Smith could have happily drowned then, but she bore him to the surface again and set him against the coping.
“Just you lean there, darling, rest your arms,” she told him. She kissed his throat, kissed his chest, kissed her way down to the waterline. Then she went below the waterline.
Moaning happily, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. In addition to Balnshik’s other talents, she was evidently able to breathe underwater.