Urban Fable

The too-white teeth of the carnivore
The gentle nature of the beast
Tharlarion oil from a heretic
Sage advice from the Priest-
Kings & Ubars of the street
Keep placid eyes and
Quick-step feet.
The too-white smile of an alleged whore
Back-handed round the cheek
“Seek and you shall find,” they say
The yellowed pages turned
Light the lamp and see what’s there
What has smoldered
What has burned.

Petitions & Pragmatism

The woman, Noemi, made an appearance at the Cylinder of Justice a few days ago. She brought her petition to have the property on Sixth Street in the District Anbar, the former Muse Cafe, returned to her. My investigation into the death of the former proprietor, while thoroughly conducted, lacked the testimony of an eye witness. Strictly speaking, the woman is a manumitted bred slave. If I wanted to pass judgment based upon circumstantial evidence, there is little or nothing she could do. I had made the assumption, however, that someone would come forward and offer the damning testimony required to support the charges. No one came forth. She was acquitted. Her petition was filed, as I have said, and it seemed to have all of the supporting documentation necessary for such a thing. Cleared of all charges, she had the right to sue for the return of the property bequeathed to her, save one thing. At the start of this investigation, she eluded questioning by submitting herself to someone she entrusted not to make the loss of status permanent. When she submitted herself, the property was in the custody of the city. The validity of her claim was being investigated. However, as a submitted woman, a slave, she forfeited everything the moment she surrendered her freedom. Therefore, upon regaining status as a free woman, nothing was due her, certainly not property in the custody of the city.

Having explained this to her, she seemed a little disturbed. That is unfortunate. She is a delightful woman to be around, if a bit tempermental. I do not blame her. The stock of the house that created her have always been highly sensitive, emotional beasts. Such women, untended, living without discipline, are prone to recalcitrance, to outburtsts. She simply needs to be beaten; reminded she is a woman. All women, from time to time, require it. I have a girl, for example, a curvy thing I dress in plain rep cloth, that is beaten every time the stripes from her previous correction have faded. It is cruel, some might say, or irrational, perhaps, but 'some' do not own the girl. I do. The point of that digression is simply that knowing she is owned, reminded she is owned, she is a better woman for it. Obedient, even.

When the petition to return the ownership of the Cafe on Sixth Street in the District Anbar to the woman, Noemi, was denied, the property was acquired rather swiftly by Claudius of the Physicians. It makes me wonder, with all the bureaucracy this Administration is shackled with how he was able to broker the deal so expeditiously, but it is beyond the scope of my office to question such things. I happened upon him the night before last, already visiting the still boarded up establishment now in his name. We spoke briefly as the girls Elise, Portia and Six knelt dutifully. He informed me that he intended to take a companion. I am a polite fellow. I offered him congratulations at the news. And when he told me the name of his intended companion, I did not find myself taken aback. Perhaps the fact that the woman he has chosen is without caste would cause some to be startled. The Physicians are an august group, perhaps the second or third highest caste below the Initiates. Companionships are contracted for a number of reasons. The romantic drink the wine to celebrate their love. The pragmatic care little for love. Their contract for companionship is like any other business transaction. They want something someone else has or, more specifically, something someone else can offer. Whether that is something tangible, such as money, land, or children, or something less tangible but no less real. I make no speculation as to why Claudius chose to pursue the woman, Noemi, save that I doubt he is a romantic sort of man.

Spilled Ink

Deep in the maw
Spittle and anger
Irrational; Animal
Functioning rage
A torn page
A disconnect
Dissonant
Disrespect
Hunger and
Frustrate
Demand
Denial is
The depth
That drowns
The beast
Swallowed whole
Encircled and
Trapped again
Herded into
The waiting cage

The Company People Keep

Peaches and plums, that was my goal last evening in the marketplace crowded with vendor carts and shopping citizens. Portia and Elise were in tow, both to carry the edibles intended for purchase and to provide a somewhat taxed Poet turned Magistrate with a lovely bit of contrast. I often call upon the women I own to multi-task. Do not fault me for being such a demanding owner. A man must endeavor to get his money's worth. That is just good business sense. Whether they serve as beasts of burden, laundresses, housekeepers, cooks, aesthetic objects, rape-flesh, shoulder-rubbers or simple sounding boards does not matter. What matters is they serve as their owner sees fit. Though they were to carry my produce home from market last evening, they both failed to do so. I cannot fault the wenches for the lack of fresh fruit to complement my bread this morning, however. I was detained, distracted from the mission, as is often the case. Last night, it was Claudius of the Physicians, who prefers to be called 'he whom the Lady Noemi seeks to manipulate.' As luck would have it, the woman herself, Noemi, was on his arm. She is always a delight to be around. I still maintain that she needs to be stripped and beaten, reintroduced to the leather. Not a lengthy discipline. I suppose twelve or fifteen vigorous lashes across her genetically-fashioned ass would straighten her out. It may take as few as eight or ten. These things are variable. Not all men discipline an unruly woman with equal skill, you see. For her own sake, it is my sincere wish some fellow decides to take up the chore of correcting her.

As I mentioned, crossing paths with Claudius and his paramour proved a distraction to the gathering of peaches and plums. As I spoke to the man, the vendors packed up for the evening making my search a truly fruitless endeavor. He wished to know what was being done with The Muse, a property that was ordered closed by the Magistracy of the People, pending an investigation. And that investigation, as I informed him, remains pending until such time as the claimant of the property submits a petition, in person, for its return. Anything past that, of course, was not up for discussion. He did mention an interest in purchasing the property for himself, citing the suitability of the neighborhood for his purposes. Have I mentioned that Claudius is a bit slippery? Well, I will say this much...he certainly seems to have the woman Noemi's attention. I've scarcely seen her so passionate about a man.

Wine of Companionship; Wine of Intrigue

I took a free companion once. It was a fairly straightforward affair. The woman was given two choices; accept my offer of companionship or decline it. She was, for the most part, acceptable as a free companion. I taught her the basics of accrual accounting, instructing her in the intricacies of updating ledgers and provided her with a working knowledge of the arithmetic involved, calculations and the like. I charged her with such menial tasks as managing one of my business acquisitions, a brothel in the Anbar District. She was responsible for its upkeep and, too, renovations on the property when it pleased me to make them. On occasion, her discipline left something to be desired so I beat her. While she was legally a free woman, much of the time she was contractually bound to me, she was also bound as a slave. I was not a very accomodating free companion to her. In my opinion, however, while she was bound to me, I was a responsible owner and a demanding master.

I think of her from time to time.

Last evening, I escorted the Lady Tia of the Bakers to a ceremony. A Scribe and a Physician drank the wine of free companionship. I wondered, briefly, if the Lady Emilee suffered the ignominy of slave wine when she sealed her agreement with Dylan of the Physicians. I found this a pragmatic solution when I took a free companion. One should be able to take liberties with one's property, free or slave, without unforeseen consequences after all. As the Lady Emilee did not choke nor sputter when she sipped, my guess is it was heavily watered ka-la-na that sealed her contract. Despite the emphasis on romantic love, the ceremony was nicely carried out. A bit ostentatious, somewhat florid, but nicely done.

I have not failed to note the Lady Tia's ambition, for the record. I simply choose to appear ignorant of it. She is something of a social climber, wishing to be accepted in circles above her station. I do not fault her for this, but I am not unaware of her designs. She seems to work hard at growing her business. Women are, by nature, manipulative creatures. Some of them are quite successful at their machinations. Eventually, she will discover that despite the title of Magistrate and the powers associated with it, there is little to gain from me. I am not the sort of man easily manipulated by the charms of a woman, though it does not stop them from trying. I will admit the Lady has trim ankles. And I like her scent. She smells of pastry.

She confided in me, worries she disdained to speak before slave girls who might be commanded to reveal her words. Some of her speculations are sound, but others rather far-fetched in my opinion. I did not choose to entertain her theories, nor will I elaborate upon them here. Rather than try to understand the motives of the current administration and those that are in a position to take their place, I choose to control what I am able to control. Public service is not a game to me. Therefore, I do not choose to forecast the 'end game,' nor am I trying to win anything. Where I once painted my dissent upon walls for the public to see, I am now able to file Orders with the weight of my Magistracy behind them when I find myself critical of the government. I petition for the People, advocating their cause. I legislate when I am able.

A few days ago, a man calling himself Claudius, apparently of the same caste as newly-companioned Dylan, mentioned the irony of that to me over a cup of wine at a tavern in the Teiban. He is a polite man, more than once spotted escorting or otherwise engaged with the woman, Noemi. He is a bit slippery, slightly condescending, though he believes his tone and verbiage mask his true sentiment. While he is more subtle than others that seem to want to influence me, I have no doubt his happening upon me in a dark tavern near the twentieth ahn was anything but a coincidence.