A brief interlude in the foothills
This is a very silly little piece of flash fiction I wrote lying in bed late one night because the premise occurred to me and I couldn't stop giggling until I got it down. It's written very much in the late-19th century style common to English writers of jolly little adventure stories, but the imitation is a fairly loose one.
Contains suggestions of sex and arcane fooling with powers beyond our ken.
It also contains suggestions of dubious consent.
Contains suggestions of sex and arcane fooling with powers beyond our ken.
It also contains suggestions of dubious consent.
On the seventeenth of that month, my journey having reached the foothills where roads are less well maintained yet somehow also more numerous, I lost my way for some two hours. With night drawing in I spied a castle with lights in its windows and, realising I would be caught short of my destination — the village of _____ — I sought shelter within its sturdy walls.
The servants were the usual gloomy sort you expect to find in those regions but my host turned out to be the most engaging sort of fellow, with great learning and a wonderfully sly wit into the bargain, with whom I quickly discovered I shared no fewer than five acquaintances — all of them researchers in the alchemical and the arcane, including three who regularly attempted to convince me of the possibilities of necromancy — some of whom had provided me with letters of introduction should they be useful in my travels.
It was these letters that turned my host from a courteous if somewhat reserved older gentleman to an effusive, welcoming comrade. Indeed, I spent, before I could tear myself away, three days in the castle of _____, and never in all my journeys had three days been simultaneously so restful yet enjoyable.
We dined well if simply on the first night, the kitchen not having been expecting me, then sampled a most excellent variety of ports and whiskeys in my host's library, which was itself a veritable cavern of knowledge.
It was while we were finishing our last such taste, and the drinks sitting very agreeably indeed upon my stomach, that my host leaned towards me and suggested, with a twinkle in his eye, that I seemed a man well traveled of the world, and well acquainted with its tastes.
Of course I had to agree with him, modesty be damned!
In which case, he suggested, he could offer me a companion for the evening, to assist in warming my bed.
This was a suggestion I seized upon wholeheartedly, as you might imagine, for my last taste of female company had been very nearly a fortnight before, when a rather winsome tavern wench in _____ had been amenable to a little after-hours activity, and although she had been not inexperienced in such matters, a fortnight is a fortnight!
Nonetheless, I hope you think no less of me if I felt a little trepidation at the quality of my host's servants, my experience of women in these remote regions being quite limited and the butler being an older, grizzled sort that you might expect to find in these environs.
I tell you truly, friends, I should never have doubted my host, for the young woman who knocked shyly on my door as I was sorting out my night clothes in the large and somewhat chilly bedroom that had been placed at my service was a beauty to put any of the finest houses of the richest cities to shame!
For a moment I was struck speechless, unable to believe I had not drunk so deeply of my host's spirits that I was not lying abed insensate and dreaming.
But, when I said nothing, she raised herself onto tiptoes and kissed me so warmly my mind began operating again and I eagerly drew her within my chamber.
Her name, my host had told me when leaving me at my door, was Claire, and she would not speak to me, not one word. Now, I have enjoyed the hospitality of royalty and other fine hosts on four continents, and this quirk, though rare, was not entirely new to me, so I took it in my stride and resolved to do the talking for both of us.
It turned out she had little interest in listening to me talk, a fact which stung my pride only until she made plain what she was proposing for us instead.
I can tell you, dear friends, that if her beauty while clothed had stunned me, her beauty when unclothed left me almost catatonic — and even more stiff than the sufferers of that condition.
She had, I very quickly discovered, a tongue and full use of it — she had clearly not suffered the fate some more heathen countries assign to certain slaves — but she made, in all our time together, no sounds beyond certain gasps and other wordless ejaculations — all very pleasing to the ear, to be certain, but not words.
Indeed, I quickly became resolved to wring from her some articulate verbalisation, and to employ all my skills to do so. This task took me more than just the one night, for in the morning she did not immediately leave me — indeed, she very nearly made me late for breakfast — and my host assured me I would have her company for so long as I chose to remain his guest, a fact that gave me no little delight.
I like to think I am well experienced in the ways of amorous encounters, and I bow to no man in my ability to give a woman such great pleasure she succumbs to it and is rendered more blissfully euphoric than a lotus eater, but try as I may, and no matter how many paroxysms I managed to wring from her, she uttered not a word.
I was forced to conclude, having become well satisfied that my investigations had left no opening for mere strength of will, that she really was mute.
It was Claire, no less than my host, who contributed to me staying a full three days and the greater part of a fourth, days I spent conversing on all the topics with which my host was knowledgeable, browsing the wonderfully rare volumes in his library, and, far more often than I perhaps should admit to, tumbling with the peerless Claire.
I raised with my host the question of that necromancy that our aforementioned mutual friends insisted upon raising with me, but his response was merely to laugh and say that it would indeed be a miraculous feat, and not one to lightly reveal to the world.
At length, however, it struck me that I was falling behind schedule, and must be on my way if I intended to clear the pass of _____ before snows closed it for the season.
I left with some small regrets and many a backwards glance, and sat my saddle a little gingerly if honesty be adhered to, but the lure of the road soon had me in its grip once more as I headed on to the village of _____, a mere four days late.
And that would be the end of this little interlude, but for one queer coincidence: in the tavern in the village of _____, there was a portrait above the fireplace the spitting image of Claire!
Of course I inquired about it, wondering perhaps if she had descended from a local beauty, or perhaps a lord has sewn his seed a little widely and all the women hereabouts were surpassing fine (I could have struck off that option immediately on the strength of observations in that very tavern, but the romanticism of the idea appealed to me somewhat) or even that some local painter had captured the likeness of Claire herself.
Instead I was told, by locals quite besotted with local pride, that the portrait I was inquiring about was of the Duchess of _____, dead this past two hundred years at a young age and childless, but renowned at the time across the continent for her beauty.
I thought it best, among such simple folk, to avoid mentioning that I had just spent an enjoyable few days with a beauty her equal, and said no more.
The next day I left early, having settled my bill and restored my provisions, and rode hard to only just clear the pass in safety before the snows came down and winter sealed me on the far side of the mountains.
The servants were the usual gloomy sort you expect to find in those regions but my host turned out to be the most engaging sort of fellow, with great learning and a wonderfully sly wit into the bargain, with whom I quickly discovered I shared no fewer than five acquaintances — all of them researchers in the alchemical and the arcane, including three who regularly attempted to convince me of the possibilities of necromancy — some of whom had provided me with letters of introduction should they be useful in my travels.
It was these letters that turned my host from a courteous if somewhat reserved older gentleman to an effusive, welcoming comrade. Indeed, I spent, before I could tear myself away, three days in the castle of _____, and never in all my journeys had three days been simultaneously so restful yet enjoyable.
We dined well if simply on the first night, the kitchen not having been expecting me, then sampled a most excellent variety of ports and whiskeys in my host's library, which was itself a veritable cavern of knowledge.
It was while we were finishing our last such taste, and the drinks sitting very agreeably indeed upon my stomach, that my host leaned towards me and suggested, with a twinkle in his eye, that I seemed a man well traveled of the world, and well acquainted with its tastes.
Of course I had to agree with him, modesty be damned!
In which case, he suggested, he could offer me a companion for the evening, to assist in warming my bed.
This was a suggestion I seized upon wholeheartedly, as you might imagine, for my last taste of female company had been very nearly a fortnight before, when a rather winsome tavern wench in _____ had been amenable to a little after-hours activity, and although she had been not inexperienced in such matters, a fortnight is a fortnight!
Nonetheless, I hope you think no less of me if I felt a little trepidation at the quality of my host's servants, my experience of women in these remote regions being quite limited and the butler being an older, grizzled sort that you might expect to find in these environs.
I tell you truly, friends, I should never have doubted my host, for the young woman who knocked shyly on my door as I was sorting out my night clothes in the large and somewhat chilly bedroom that had been placed at my service was a beauty to put any of the finest houses of the richest cities to shame!
For a moment I was struck speechless, unable to believe I had not drunk so deeply of my host's spirits that I was not lying abed insensate and dreaming.
But, when I said nothing, she raised herself onto tiptoes and kissed me so warmly my mind began operating again and I eagerly drew her within my chamber.
Her name, my host had told me when leaving me at my door, was Claire, and she would not speak to me, not one word. Now, I have enjoyed the hospitality of royalty and other fine hosts on four continents, and this quirk, though rare, was not entirely new to me, so I took it in my stride and resolved to do the talking for both of us.
It turned out she had little interest in listening to me talk, a fact which stung my pride only until she made plain what she was proposing for us instead.
I can tell you, dear friends, that if her beauty while clothed had stunned me, her beauty when unclothed left me almost catatonic — and even more stiff than the sufferers of that condition.
She had, I very quickly discovered, a tongue and full use of it — she had clearly not suffered the fate some more heathen countries assign to certain slaves — but she made, in all our time together, no sounds beyond certain gasps and other wordless ejaculations — all very pleasing to the ear, to be certain, but not words.
Indeed, I quickly became resolved to wring from her some articulate verbalisation, and to employ all my skills to do so. This task took me more than just the one night, for in the morning she did not immediately leave me — indeed, she very nearly made me late for breakfast — and my host assured me I would have her company for so long as I chose to remain his guest, a fact that gave me no little delight.
I like to think I am well experienced in the ways of amorous encounters, and I bow to no man in my ability to give a woman such great pleasure she succumbs to it and is rendered more blissfully euphoric than a lotus eater, but try as I may, and no matter how many paroxysms I managed to wring from her, she uttered not a word.
I was forced to conclude, having become well satisfied that my investigations had left no opening for mere strength of will, that she really was mute.
It was Claire, no less than my host, who contributed to me staying a full three days and the greater part of a fourth, days I spent conversing on all the topics with which my host was knowledgeable, browsing the wonderfully rare volumes in his library, and, far more often than I perhaps should admit to, tumbling with the peerless Claire.
I raised with my host the question of that necromancy that our aforementioned mutual friends insisted upon raising with me, but his response was merely to laugh and say that it would indeed be a miraculous feat, and not one to lightly reveal to the world.
At length, however, it struck me that I was falling behind schedule, and must be on my way if I intended to clear the pass of _____ before snows closed it for the season.
I left with some small regrets and many a backwards glance, and sat my saddle a little gingerly if honesty be adhered to, but the lure of the road soon had me in its grip once more as I headed on to the village of _____, a mere four days late.
And that would be the end of this little interlude, but for one queer coincidence: in the tavern in the village of _____, there was a portrait above the fireplace the spitting image of Claire!
Of course I inquired about it, wondering perhaps if she had descended from a local beauty, or perhaps a lord has sewn his seed a little widely and all the women hereabouts were surpassing fine (I could have struck off that option immediately on the strength of observations in that very tavern, but the romanticism of the idea appealed to me somewhat) or even that some local painter had captured the likeness of Claire herself.
Instead I was told, by locals quite besotted with local pride, that the portrait I was inquiring about was of the Duchess of _____, dead this past two hundred years at a young age and childless, but renowned at the time across the continent for her beauty.
I thought it best, among such simple folk, to avoid mentioning that I had just spent an enjoyable few days with a beauty her equal, and said no more.
The next day I left early, having settled my bill and restored my provisions, and rode hard to only just clear the pass in safety before the snows came down and winter sealed me on the far side of the mountains.
