Autumn of My Discontent

This city needs a Ubar.

I wondered how that statement would look as ink on the page, indelibly committed to the weft and weave of the scroll. It is scandalous for a magistrate of the administration to keep such sentiments, but it is true. How little administration actually gets accomplished without the firm hand, the mantle of Imperator, that a Ubar holds. At the height of his despotism, his tyrannical worst, Marlenus held the hearts and minds of the people of Ar. The world both feared him due his lust for conquest and loved him due his bold manner. That sort of loyalty to neither Home Stone nor individual is apparent any longer. Politicos and social climbers, that is what we as a body have become. Nothing, it seems, is done for the common good. A back-scratcher today is a back-biter tomorrow. Plots and machinations, little else. Though I do not condone the arson that was common at the start of this year, it at least lit a fire under the administration's ass. Men in power took note. The Delka was seen again after several years absence. I think my magistracy was a response, in part, of the administration to the presumed unhappiness in the lower castes. 'Give them an advocate,' was the answer. While I have pushed the boundaries of my elected seat, and done what I could to sue for the rights of those without a voice on the High Council, I recognize it is not enough. At best, my worst assumptions about government and politics have been resolutely confirmed.

This city needs a Ubar.

No more to the power struggle of the undeserving, the unfaithful, the foreign. Force them out. Push them aside. Put a man in the curule chair with hilt-calloused hands and the blood of Hesius coursing through his veins. Fuck the pretenders, the posers, the glad-handers and lick-spittling sycophants. We, citizens of the Empire, have had our fill of you.

High Bridges of Ar

The high bridges of Ar are no place for an unescorted woman, free or slave, particularly at night. They have their lure, of course. The view of the city from that height is unrivaled. The pristine Plaza of the Central Cylinder with its thoughtfully-planned, wide avenues provides a stark contrast to the jumble of dark, serpentine roads and alleyways of the meaner warrens of the city. Both can be seen at once from this height. One feels a sense of pride, despite the inequities, for there is diversity and destiny, promise and potential in this, the greatest of cities, the seat of the Empire. There are no rails here. There are no forgivenesses at the precipice. It is a place where uncompromising masters play The Game, shameless Politicos take their bribes, and unrepentant Assassins earn their pay. It is a place for illicit rendevous, scurrilous subterfuge & Chain Luck. It is no place for an unescorted woman. Last night, I commanded a girl to strip. I then beat her.

Snakes & Favors

Snakes and favors

A tenuous grasp

A momentary illusion

Taking hold of the asp

Indebted indefinite

Delible dye

Stitch-sewn & overgrown

Unraveling eye

A Promise in hand

Sings fingertips burned

Puts the bred in the oven

And the ash in the urn

A View to a Sale

Last evening was a spectacle, as I anticipated it would be. Arriving late to the House of Tenalion, it was an effort to get past the man at the entrance. In the end, however, Ar is a city of favors like any other city. There are few courtesies that a man with a debauched chain of whores cannot have extended to him. I arrived late to the auction. That was both good and bad. All of the merchandise displayed on the fourth day of the Love Feast at a major auction house will be, doubtless, quality meat. While one might argue that he did not get the best price, he will not be heard bemoaning the quality of the girl. That is the good news. That bad business about arriving late, of course, is that the best seats have already been filled. Some arrive in the early part of the afternoon to claim their spot. There was something about being sixty feet and a hundred rows high that put a perspective on the show, for that is precisely what it is; as concerned with flourish and flair as any production at the playhouse of the esteemed Poet Pentilicus.

I was surprised to have the company of the Scribe, Kateb. He is an interesting fellow, not nearly as 'above-it-all' as many of his Caste tend to be. Oh, I understand it well enough. Stoicity, impartiality and an air of detachment are admirable qualities in the men of the Blue. He seems to be following a different philosophy, though I may be wrong about that. Admittedly, my chosen curriculum is deficient in that area of study. He has the look of a man that has seen enough of history and has finally deigned to have a look around him. Have you ever seen a Scribe get into a brawl with a fishmonger? I have. And he did. He did it for the experience, I think. You can read about pugilism and gain a vicarious understanding, but there is little to compare in the words of others to actually having another man ball up his fist and clock you. He seems interested, too, in other capacities of the flesh. While he has always had an eye for my slave, Elise, a girl he knew when she was better known as Jelly, he has become a favorite of a few of my whores as well, notably Portia and Six. And there he was, of course, shoulder to shoulder with me watching one of the city's largest vendings of flesh of the year.

I did not purchase a girl at the auction, for the record. The prices at that time of the evening were too rich for a Poet's wallet, even if that Poet wore the caps of whoremonger, playwright and Magistrate.

The Fourth Day

Yesterday's event went off well. The Lady Tia presented a nice table to the people of the Street of Brands District; figs, dates, pastries and the like. It was sufficient, I think, to absolve her debt. She was as I expected hesitant on other matters of business pertaining to the girl, Crumb. Funny name, that. Lovely, little slut, however. She was curious as to why a man with so many beautiful slaves on his chain already would want to add another. I explained the notion in the simplest of terms, equating my business with hers. She is of the Bakers. They bake things. That, in itself, is a good characteristic of their caste if you ask me. Spoken in terms of commerce, she understood readily enough. No matter how delicious the dish you are serving a customer, it always pays to freshen the menu. Lewd, I suppose, but undeniable. I suspect this attempt at purchasing stock will go as the last. Which is to say, she'll likely decline the offer. Purchasing slaves from free women is headache-inducing. Too much politeness in it. You can hardly say, "Saw your hand-maiden there. Nice rack on that one, eh? How much?" And, "Does she squirm well?" is hardly appropriate conversation. Still, I have made inducements, offered a fair price. I trust my instincts well enough to know the girl is a slut without ever having bent her over. I have no doubt she is capable of learning the trade. Some have an aptitude for it, some are more eager than others, but any woman is capable.

I may pursue other options regardless. There are auctions at both The Curulean and the House of Tenalion tonight. They will both put on an excellent show and, doubtless, have much to delight the palate of the hungry consumer. And, there is also the tactic of waiting until the end of the fifth day to purchase. You can often catch an excellent deal at one of the side blocks. Of course, there are many thrift-minded patrons to compete with, each hoping to spot an overlooked beauty at a bargain price.

Discipline; A Public Table

I did not want to beat the girl, Portia, for a few reasons. First, she will not be able, or permitted, to work the streets for the rest of the hand. Even then, it will be with considerable discomfort, I imagine. Second, I like the whore. She is spirited, self-assured and knows precisely what she is. Moreover, she likes what she is. However, the rule she broke was severe enough that I dispensed of the notion of returning home that I might lash her with a proper quirt. Rather, there before the Fountain of Hesius with a crowd of Love Feast patrons milling about, both citizen and foreign, free and slave, I removed my belt and put it to her. I should have removed her silk as well. Even with her considerable skill, I doubt it can be mended. I purchased several of the garments, one like the other, in bulk. All of them red. All of them embroidered with the words 'Have me. Boarding House. Anbar' across the backside hem. She will not be easily rid of the garment that advertises my interest. The others will have to work extra ahn for the remainder of the week to earn what I am losing with her off the street. A chain must be tested from time to time. One way to do that is to give it a firm tug, just to ensure the links are secure. For all Portia has done wrong, richly earning her ass whipping, there was one thing she did properly. She held her tongue until I concluded my meeting with the Lady Tia last evening.

Before the Baker left my side, I agreed to cancel the debt she had yet to pay from her concession work at the Great Theater during the performance of The Good Citizen. She seemed disconcerted, perhaps a little embarassed when I brought the subject up, assuring me that she had fully intended to pay the money, but it was not my intention to put the woman on her slippered heels. Rather the opposite. To celebrate the Love Feast, I wanted to provide the poorer citizens living in tenements and insulae in the Street of Brands District with a free meal. Nothing pretentious. Plain fare for proud folks. There will be tables of this sort set up in other districts for residents and visitors all over the city, so it should not be taken as charity. Rather, I hope, it is an acknowledgment to the people of the insulae that their district is no less a part of the city than any other. By providing this food to people of the Insula of Achiates and others, the Baker's debt to me will be considered absolved. She will have the use of my girls if she requires it, and I will see to it that the tables are laid out for her before she arrives.

I sent Tupita along this morning with a note for the Magistrate of the Street of Brands that he be aware what occurs in his district tonight. I have not met the man, but the girl seemed to know where his offices were. As a cylinder slave, property of the municipality, I should hope so.

"Fortune Favors the Slutty."

Today is the last day of the fifth Passage Hand.

In the city of Ar, sane men stay indoors. Kajuralia, the Festival of Slaves, is the one day each year where slaves are given license to indulge in many things forbidden to them during the year. They may drink wine, for one. They may roam at will throughout the city, provided they do not try to escape. A girl who tries to escape during Kajuralia, for the record, is not typically beaten or hobbled as is common, no matter which foolish attempt to gain her freedom this might be. She is commonly killed. It seems cruel, but it serves to let them know that even a day of indulgence is just that. An indulgence. It is a privilege that may be swiftly taken from them. Slave girls may also, provided their master has no objections, couch with slaves of the opposite sex that they find attractive. That is an area where my indulgence has limits. I would not kill a girl for couching with a kajirus, of course, but I would likely consign her services to the carnarium. It is my thinking that if a girl wishes to lay with filth, she may be given the opportunity to do so in the most literal sense possible.

Today is also a day when slave girls are given permission to engage in good-natured recalcitrance. A girl might bring her master his afternoon repast, salting it to the point it is inedible, for example. At first bite, after he ejects the mouthful across the table, glaring at the girl, she may simply say, "Kajuralia, Master" with a coquettish smile and a bat of her eyelashes. He, of course, being a good sport about things will repeat the refrain, saying, "Kajuralia, Slave Girl." I have seen girls on the second or third floor of insulae, dumping water or wine onto the heads of passersby. This can be dangerous. Many an uncouth tenant in such places has been known to dump his pisspot over the rail rather than wait for it to be emptied in the normal manner. The first thing one thinks when he is doused in such an alley is , "Hey! I am walking here!" and then "That had better not be your pisspot!" Glaring up to find a duo or trio of giggling kajirae, on this day and no other, he will realize what has happened. It will be only wine or water. Shaking his fist at them, he will laugh and say "Kajuralia, you sluts!" and they will repeat in as sweet a sing-song voice as they can manage together, "Kajuralia, Master!"

Some vendors and shop owners, in the spirit of the holiday and, hoping to divert themselves from the mischievious doings of free-roaming slave girls, will leave out trays of pastries for them. This is another aspect of Kajuralia which I find pleasant, infrequently as it occurs. The holiday is truly meant to be a relaxation of the bonds of slavery, not an insult to free persons. Nearly all girls, after a day of revelry, long to return home to their chains and collars and abject submission. On a day like today, a Merchant who would normally beat back window shopping sluts with a broom might, today, smile and offer them a sampling of his pastries with a friendly, "Kajuralia, girls" to which they would reply "Kajuralia, Master." Tomorrow, of course, and every day after, they will be subject to his broom.
I left the Boarding House quite early this morning, long before Lar-Torvis rose to signal the start of the festivities. On the table in the great room near the hearth, I left a few bottles of heavily watered wine and a note. It read: "Kajuralia, Slaves."

Patronage

We are still a day or two away from the Great Gate. The small caravan of wagons from Venna, guarded by Vesutto's picked men, continues to grow in size as we approach the City. It is an important time in Ar, a time of festival and celebration. All of the Slaving Houses, large and small, will see a spike in their business. Were I a more savvy businessman, I might have put this trip to Venna off until after the fifth Passage Hand. Doubtless I am losing money by not having a full complement of whores turning tricks in my fair and beautiful City. Still, there is money being made and no doubt Mathor will need a few days to himself after assuming the added responsibility of interim proprietor while I have been away. Darwin, too, I imagine. Which brings to mind a conversation last evening with Phineahas.
It occured to the Fishmonger that having subletted his domicile in the District of the Central Cylinder, he would need a place to sleep at night. He also inquired into employment, but I could not get a straight answer as to what it is he proposed to do to earn money. As far as a place to sleep at night, I have offered him a room at Samsara. There is an apartment on the first floor that was occupied by a free woman once. It is used for storage now, but boxes can be moved. He seems eager to pay for the accomodations, even after I explained to him the patronage Samsara enjoys. Though it's lost some of its shine over the years, it was once a home for artisans, both resident and itinerant. Patrons of the Arts see to its upkeep to promote the creativity of the people that choose to live and work there. One cannot be expected to be very creative, for example, if one is laboring at positions of menial labor. His keep, I tried to elaborate, is earned simply by practicing his craft. If he tells stories, for he is a Story Teller, an artisan, a crafter of tales, then he is, in effect, paying his rent inherently. The more people that reside at Samsara, the greater the endowment. While I admire his ethics, his desire to pay his own way and remain without debt, accepting payment for his stay would be unethical on my part.
I really think that Accounting should be the domain of artisans, not Scribes. It is far too creative a science to be fully appreciated by the literalista in Blue.
We should arrive home, for the record, in plenty of time to enjoy the festivities of the Love Feast. It will go on for all five days of the Fifth Passage Hand, with the biggest auctions held during the third and fourth days. Typically, all eyes are on the Curulean on the fourth day, with the choicest of she-prizes vended on the Center Block, which is the largest that I know of in the world. In past years, the fifth day was reserved for general celebrations. Some Administrators and Ubars of the past put on grand spectacles at the Stadium of Blades or the Stadium of Tarns. The elite Players of Ar's high bridges often meet Players from other cities in Kaissa Tournaments, usually offering enough coins to the winner to ensure the fellow needn't worry about his next meal for the next ten years. In general, there is much to feast over. Many of the wine shops and Inns entice people into their doors with generous portions and potent beverages, but public tables are often set up where people may simply 'eat, drink and be merry' as the saying goes. This usually depends on the generosity of the current Administration or, in some cases, will be sponsored by a wealthy Merchant House in hopes of currying favor with the public consumer. It is not uncommon to see even lesser Merchants with a plate of cheese and the offer of a cup coupled with an enticement to consider the fellow's wares. 'Remember Licinius when you run low on Tharlarion Oil!' This sort of thing.
It will be good to be home.

Under Lock & Key

I have not had the pleasure of viewing the girls Vesutto has sent south into Ar, entrusted to picked men for safe delivery to the major slaving houses; the Curulean and the House of Tenalion among them. Naturally, when something is kept under lock and key, curiosity grows stronger. They are taken out in groups each evening to exercise, but even then they are kept under a heavy blanket revealing little more than bare heels and slender ankles. After being conducted into the tall grasses to tend to nature's call, they are ushered back into the wagons and shackled up for the evening. This, too, is where they take their suppers. I have not heard them calling out or complaining during the day, so I assume they are either well-disciplined or simply gagged. More likely than not, there are girls that fit either description, some both. It is not uncommon to move a grouping of women in this fashion, somewhat undercover, for a variety of reasons. A few reasons predominate. Firstly, it is not completely safe to travel overland with beautiful women. Raiders from places such as Treve can be tempted to swoop down and relieve you of your property. The Viktel Aria, however, in my experience, is relatively safe. There are patrols. There are outposts. That is not to say that violence and brigandry is not done upon this road, it certainly is, but I have had good fortune traveling it most trips. Another reason one moves a grouping of women in this fashion is simply to keep them in the dark. A girl need not be told where she is headed, whether it is across the street or across the continent. She is a slave. She will be moved where it pleases her betters to move her. Yet another reason is simple pragmatism. Not all women are introduced to their subjugation and submission by conventional means. The daughter of a Scribe could be snatched from the high bridges of her native city, for example. One would not wish to simply walk her to the offices of the municipality and say, "See here. I have decided to make this woman a slave. Do you have a form?" It might be more expedient to throw a rug over her head and travel to another city where the men regard the women of other cities as slaves. They are likely to respond more favorably to producing the necessary documents that make your capture legal. In many cases, if your chain luck was good, you might be made a tempting offer on your fresh catch by the clerk of the city in which you intend to register your ownership. Many of these clerks are men trained in the assesssment of slave girls. They will offer a fair price, something just shy of market value. It is just a hunch, but I suspect the milky tone of heels and ankles I happen to have noticed when I was not paying too close attention means Vesutto is meeting the demand for women 'not long to the collar.' With the number of wealthy citizens of Ar that own property in Venna, I would not be surprised if these 'not long to the collar' women were from prominent families and high castes, returning home somewhat more humbly than they left. Should I find that to be true, I shall endeavor to be appropriately scandalized. However, this is nothing more than idle speculation that I am certain has no basis in truth.

Argentum Road

The road to Argentum is deceptively named. It is much more. While it meets its eastern terminal point at the Viktel Aria, traveled west it can deliver a man to the very shores of Thassa. Before reaching Argentum, travelers west might be diverted a number of ways. The lure of the Mighty Vosk or even the Black Sardar can be reached along the Pilgrim Road. That very same road, taken south, puts travelers on the Silk Road, which runs to Torcadino and for those of sturdier sandals, the desert metropolis of Tor and the Tahari Desert. Should a man be determined to continue west, however, the famed Plains of Eteocles and Fields of Hesius will be on his itinerary. The lore of these places has been forgotten to all but the most devout of military scholars and Scribes, but the Issus and Lake Ias are noteworthy as their water is diverted south to Torcadino on their marvelous aqueducts. I have traveled this road and even visited the city of Argentum, famous for its silver mines like its sister city Corcyrus and the more infamous Tharna to the north. Further west along this road lies Brundisium, well known for her sympathies to the Isle of Cos I cannot say my visit there was pleasant. Difficult as it is to believe, the smooth tones and pitch-perfect enunciation of the men of Ar is not welcome in every corner of the world. I found myself speaking very little or, when able, not at all.

From the Port City of Brundisium, I found an appreciation for Thassa. Nothing like the appreciation a rogue of Port Kar or a Cloth Worker of Tabor might have of course. Just a profound recognition of her might and her beauty. I traveled south along the Genesian Coast with the waves at my right and the mountainous forests of the Ta Thassa at my left. I owned a girl then; a pretty peasant thing that was uncharacteristically frail but possessing every ounce of pride and attitude expected of a girl from the villages. I miss her now and again. She was good at tending the seaside fires and keeping the cool breezes at bay. She had a mouth on her, but that is nothing that cannot be backhanded away or, if necessary, beaten out of a woman.

There is much more to this trip, both left out and left to come, but it is a tale for another time. When I come to a crossroads, as we have tonight at the Viktel Aria and Argentum Roads, it is merely pleasant to recall the paths one's life has already traveled.

Returning

I don't really intend to turn much, if any, profit with the small crop of olives and ta-grapes on the hills northeast of Venna. That is not, truly, the goal. With the men under Vesutto's employ tending and harvesting those fields much of the year, I assume I will just break even with the sale of the crops in the local Vennan shoppes. I've arranged for a certain amount to be brought into Ar as well, part of the regular cargo of Merchant Wagons plying their trade to and from Venna along the Viktel Aria. Finally, I've asked Vesutto to distribute a certain percentage of each harvest to the local peasants. There will be a time when I can expect to reap a modest profit from this endeavor, but I do not anticipate it will be for several years. At the moment I am pleased to have the property and the small villa that will soon stand atop it.

With all these arrangements in place, I have decided it is time to return to Ar. I have a duty there as Magistrate of the People and, moreover, it is my city. Though I enjoy the niceties of Venna, the clean and orderly streets and well-manicured parks, I miss the grit and honesty of the meaner warrens of Ar, such as the Anbar District. With the Love Feast fast approaching, there will be an influx of foreigners within the gates of Ar looking to buy and sell female slaves of all origin and types. Blonde girls from north of Laura, swarthy sluts from the interior of the rainforests and, courtesy of fellows like Habib, smoke-eyed women from the Tahari, amongst hundreds or even thousands more. It is always a festive time, but more often than not I have found myself out of the city at that time. It might be nice to attend an auction at the Curulean or one of the other large houses, perhaps even buy something nice. As I've written before, it is a good time of year to add a girl to one's chain. Like as not, however, I will probably just attend an auction for the spectacle of the thing. A skilled staff at a prominent house makes this unique mercantile experience as much a show as anything one might see on the theatrical stage. The women will often be dressed to accentuate natural features or to exploit a demand in the marketplace. There are often dancers at these auctions and raw, exciting sluts with limitless potential.

Coupled with the decision to return to Ar in the morning is the news that Phineahas will be returning with me. I do not know what has changed his mind, the lure of Thassa seemed rather strong just a few days ago and, of course, returning to Ar will negate the opportunity to earn quite a bit of money performing in the playhouses of Venna as well. Still, it will be good to have company on the trip home. In the morning, we will leave with a small caravan of wagons bringing slave flesh into the city. Nothing like the mobile city that Habib travels with, but enough men to offer reasonable assurances of safety along the Viktel Aria. Within a hand, perhaps a bit more, I will be home again.

Impending Transactions

Habib and his caravan are already preparing to depart for Lara before tor-tu-gor rises tomorrow. The tents are being disassembled and the animals readied for the journey. Most telling, however, are the wares of Habib that have started to show up in the shoppes of the Vennan Market. Fine rugs of Tor and the red salt of Kasra are being vended at exhorbitant prices, marked up from the wholesale cost for the eager Vennan public. There are men in Venna. So it goes without saying that the goods most sought after this morning are the swarthy captives from exotic southern locations. Kohl-eyed beauties in their halters and chalwars, veils across their lips. Three or four months prior, these might have been street urts from the meanest warrens & back-alleys of Tor. Now they are the stuff of traveler's tales; perfumed with incense and belled at their ankles. The northern buyer, delighted by the dark eyes and darker hair, will not know the difference between such a girl and the daughters of a sultan or a pasha. Some of them are marketed as women of the Aretai or the Kavar or a hundred tribes vassal to those two. Merchants and Slavers such as Vesutto will sell these women a few at a time, holding back the bulk of their stock to keep the demand (and price) for southern slaves high. Aiding in this endeavor is the penchant for most Vennans to keep such slaves chained in their villas, a possessively guarded pet for their private delectation. Now and again they are seen heeling their well-to-do masters in the markets, carrying his packages. They are women, after all. And slaves. Many of them, however, I suspect are able to extend the mysteries of their origin, employing their wiles for years to obtain indulgences from willing masters behind closed doors. I cannot explain the relative scarcity of such women in the streets of Venna any other way. I know Habib vends his sluts with regularity here, perhaps once every two years. It may be, simply, that they are sold here and then vended abroad. That is another possibility.

I have given serious consideration to Habib's offer. I do not know for whom he acts as intermediary, but the man has deep pockets. I must make my decision by this evening and should I choose to accept, deliver the chattel before dawn. With the diversification of my investments and income streams, it is fiscally viable to complete the transaction, and I think I may be able to get the already generous offer increased further. A new carpet leading to my den at Samsara would be nice.