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The Manumission Game by Trismegistus Shandy This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. Feel free to repost or mirror it on any noncommercial site or list. http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/us/ This and thirteen other stories are included in _The Weight of Silence and Other Stories_, available in ePub format at Smashwords (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/435313) and Kindle format from Amazon (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00K5CL1B0). It's over 219,000 words of fiction, and five of the stories (over 75,000 words) have never appeared before. See here for more information: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/blog/50234/weight-silence-and-other-stories ----- Boss Ftero was a busy man at the best of times. This week, since his long-time rival Boss Sgadrim had died (or at least disappeared; the rumors were many and contradictory, but he certainly hadn't been seen in five days or more), he was busier than ever. Sgadrim's sons and his other lieutenants were fighting over who would be his successor, and Ftero was determined to take advantage of the confusion and carve out a large chunk of Sgadrim's territory adjoining his own. Probably as far as Mirror Square, and maybe as far as Kurintu Street. Things looked good so far, with Sgadrim's lieutenants focusing mainly on each other and not yet retaliating for Ftero's so-far minor incursions. "All right, Tesro, you're the carrot for this operation, and Gurim's the stick. Take several enforcers and pay a little visit to Sgadrim's joydust operation on Silversmith Street." "Upstairs from the hat-shop, right." "You know it. Walk in and inform them they're working for us now, with fifteen percent pay raises all around. If they don't like that, Gurim, you can break a few fingers to start with, and work your way up to heads if necessary." Once Tesro and Gurim had left, Ftero asked his secretary, Pengram: "Has Ftymsar reported back about the Kusrem Avenue operation?" "No, Boss -- but there's someone else here to see you." "Who?" "She won't give her name," Pengram said. "Or his, maybe. Looks like a girl, but sounds like a castrato... probably one of Madam Esgara's girly-boys, if I had to guess. Says he, she, whatever, has some information about Sgadrim and his organization and will give it only to you." "Well, send her in." Pengram left, and moments later ushered in a young woman, or effeminate young man, about fourteen or fifteen years old. She wore a man's overcoat, threadbare and dirty, that concealed her figure, but the face and hands were feminine enough; her lips, cheeks and eyes were heavily made up in a way no respectable woman would decorate herself, but her hair seemed to have been recently and incompetently cut short. "Sit down," Ftero said. "Pengram tells me you've got something to tell me about Sgadrim's organization." The young person looked at him and said -- his voice was definitely that of a castrato -- "I guess you don't recognize me, Uncle Ftero? I'm Tyngsen." Ftero gaped, searching the boy's features for resemblance to the nephew he hadn't seen in seven years -- the nephew he'd thought had been killed at the same time as his father, Ftero's younger brother and right-hand man, and the rest of his family. "Sgadrim's men made us watch while they killed Mom and Dad," the boy continued. "Me and Kisri, I mean. Then they took us away, and I think they set fire to the house on the way out..." "Yes," Ftero muttered, "we thought you were killed in the fire too..." "When they got us to another house, somewhere across town, they made me watch while they raped Kisri, and they made her watch while they castrated me. Then they separated us -- sent us to different whorehouses. They told me they'd kill Kisri if I misbehaved or tried to escape, and I think they told her they'd kill me if she did. They let us write letters to each other, to prove we were still alive. So I didn't try to escape until her letters stopped coming, and I figured out she was dead, or maybe had escaped...?" He looked at his uncle with a faint glimmer of hope. Ftero had to crush it. "If she did, she didn't come here. And I don't know where else she could have gone... We'll look for her, though, I promise. And... if Sgadrim isn't dead, I'll kill him with my own hands." "He is," Tyngsen said. "I killed him when I escaped. Madam Esgara, too." Ftero looked at the boy with respect. "Five days ago?" "I think so." "Where have you been since then?" Tyngsen told how he had gotten thoroughly lost, and wandered around the city for several days before finding his way to his uncle's territory. He'd been arrested twice and spent two nights in jail; once for solicitation, before he managed to steal some men's clothes and cut his hair, and once for vagrancy. "Why didn't you wash off the whorehouse makeup first thing?" Ftero asked at one point. "It doesn't come off," Tyngsen said, with a bitter laugh. "Madam Esgara's alchemist put it on so it would stay, not long after he castrated me." He'd been cautious about who he asked directions of, and how; he'd been confined to Madam Esgara's bordello for the last seven years, and his knowledge of the streets even in the neighborhood he'd lived in as a child was rusty. He couldn't exactly ask respectable citizens in other quarters of the city, or even near here, which way it was to Boss Ftero's territory. But he finally found his way into some streets he recognized, and then managed to spot some of Ftero's errand-boys, running messages and packages from one joydust operation or gaming house to another. "It took some work to catch up with one of them and convince him to listen to me -- they're fast, and they're good at spotting tails and evading them, and I'm out of shape after living at Madam Esgara's for so long, never going outside. But I managed to convince one of them that I had important information for you, and he led me to one of your gaming houses, and introduced me to somebody who led me here." Ftero nodded. "I'm glad to see you again -- I can't find words for how glad. You say you've killed Sgadrim and Esgara already; I can't thank you enough for that, though I know you did it for yourself and Kisri, not so much for me. But if there's anybody else who mistreated you in the last seven years, anybody you want to put a contract out on, let me know. And if my alchemists and sorcerers can fix you, I'll have them do it, no matter what it costs... But first, tell me what you know about Sgadrim's operations?" "Sure. The other stuff can wait; you need to know this now, 'cause if it's not outdated already, it will be soon..." Ftero called Pengram in to take notes as Tyngsen told what he had overheard Sgadrim and his lieutenants talking about in recent months. After they'd been listening to Tyngsen's account for half an hour or so, occasionally asking questions, Ftero heard a low rumbling noise from Tyngsen's stomach. "You're hungry," he said. "When did you eat last?" "Yesterday afternoon sometime...?" "Pengram, send an errand boy to the Hureshan takeout place around the corner; have them send plenty of food for the three of us." Tyngsen thanked his uncle, and resumed where he'd left off. They continued talking after the food arrived, and after they'd finished eating it. From time to time, Ftero would look startled at some piece of intelligence Tyngsen had mentioned, and send Pengram with an urgent message to one lieutenant or another, then tell Tyngsen to go on. Finally, Tyngsen said, "That's all I can remember right now. If I think of anything else later, I'll tell you." "This will help a lot," Ftero said. "I have a cot in the back room there you can rest on, now, and as soon as I can spare Pengram from his other duties I'll have him drive you to my house. Within a few days I'll have my alchemists and sorcerers take a look at you and see what they can do for you; right now they're a little busy." "Thanks, Uncle," Tyngsen said. "I could use a rest." Ftero showed him the small room with the cot, and returned to his work. ----- Four evenings later, Boss Ftero had Symsar, one of his best alchemists, summoned to his house. The servants were dismissed and Ftero, Symsar and Tyngsen met in the bedroom that Ftero had given to Tyngsen on the youth's arrival. "Tyngsen, why don't you tell Symsar everything you can remember about what Madam Esgara's alchemists did to you," Ftero suggested. "I don't know if he can fix it all or if we'll have to get a sorcerer to do part of it --" "I can't make things grow back after they've been cut off," Symsar said apologetically. "I think a good sorcerer probably can, though. Tell me what they did and I'll see what I can do." Tyngsen began: "Well, they castrated me first, and then they put some kind of poultice on the wound --" "Did they cut off everything, or just your testicles?" "Everything. They kept changing the poultice every few hours until it wasn't bleeding or oozing anymore. And then they did some other things down there, more cutting and another series of poultices until that healed. And then they started on my face... You can see what they did there, I guess, or at least I don't think I can tell you any more, I don't know the names of the potions they used or what went into them." "How did they administer them? Make you drink them, or rub them on, or inject them?" "Oh, right. They used a needle and injected little drops of stuff into my lips and the flesh around my eyes and my cheeks. And then they started me drinking stuff, a big glass of nasty-tasting stuff every month on the night of the new moon." "What color was it?... Did it bubble...? Was it more sour or bitter tasting...?" Symsar made notes as Tyngsen answered these questions. "And they had you drinking that stuff for how many moons?" "For seven years -- every new moon until six days ago." "Is he going to get withdrawal sickness if he stops taking it all at once?" Ftero asked anxiously. "I don't think so," Symsar said, stroking his grey beard thoughtfully. "That kind of reaction usually happens with drugs you take every day, or several times a day. Let me examine him more closely... Tyngsen, I'll need you to remove your clothes." "Do you want me to leave, Tyngsen?" Ftero asked. "Ah... you can stay, I guess," Tyngsen said, glancing back and forth from his uncle to the alchemist and beginning to unbutton his tunic. When he was undressed, the alchemist looked over his slight figure with a clinical eye. He had breasts, small enough that his loose tunic had entirely concealed them, but his nipples were not as large as a girl's. His hips were perhaps as wide and his waist as narrow, proportionate to his height, as a thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl, and his hairless crotch looked superficially like a girl's; but Symsar suspected that a closer examination would show this to be purely cosmetic. That was the province of a sorcerer or a surgeon; he wasn't going to humiliate Tyngsen more than necessary by examining him there now. "Turn around slowly, please... All right, you can get dressed now. I'm still not quite sure what potion they were using on you, but ceasing to use it shouldn't cause problems. As for reversing its effects, though... I can give you something that will help some, if you keep taking it regularly for years the way you've been taking the other one. But if a sorcerer can give you back your penis and testicles, my potion won't be necessary; and if not, well, the most mine will do is make your breasts slowly atrophy, make you grow a beard, and help you develop a more masculine muscle tone, if you also get plenty of exercise. What I can do right away, or at least within a few days, is remove the permanent makeup from your face. I'll come by tomorrow, shall I, with the first of those potions?" "Yes, this time tomorrow will suit," Ftero said. "It may take longer to undo the extra thickness they induced in your lips," Symsar warned, "but my tattoo-removal potion should probably take care of the coloring within hours. I'll return tomorrow evening, then, Boss." "Good... Thank you. And remember, not a word of Tyngsen's condition to anyone. I expect he'll remain secluded until we've reversed as much of those butchers' work as we can." Symsar glanced sympathetically at the young castrato. "I hope the sorcerers can fix him," he said, and took his leave. ----- The next evening, Symsar returned and applied the tattoo-removal potion. It left Tyngsen's face tingling for the rest of the night, and stopped him from getting any sleep until long after midnight; he slept until past noon the next day. Three days later, Ftero left his office just after lunch, returned home, picked up Tyngsen, and drove to the office of Gurefkam. Gurefkam was a skilled sorcerer who had done work for Ftero as well as other powerful men in the city, including Tyngsen's late tormentor Sgadrim, and the mayor. Even Ftero could not demand an appointment with him at a moment's notice, or summon him to his house. He greeted Ftero and Tyngsen courteously, but without the deference that most people showed to a boss with Ftero's reputation. "Come into the inner chamber," he said, "and tell me what ails you and what you require. Your message was not of the most detailed, Boss Ftero." "It's a matter to be circumspect about," Ftero said. "I didn't want to take any chances, in case the message should be intercepted." He asked Tyngsen, "Do you want to tell him or shall I?" "I can do it," Tyngsen said, and he repeated his story, with more details about the work Madam Esgara's surgeon and alchemist had done on him, and fewer details of his escape, than he had given when he first told his uncle. Gurefkam looked grave, but asked few questions until Tyngsen had finished. Then he said, "I am sorry to say that I cannot restore your manhood. At least not fully -- not so that you could lie with a woman and get her with child; and even to enable you to urinate standing up will tax my resources to the utmost." "Then who else can you recommend?" Ftero said. "I know sorcery can fix this -- in my grandfather's time Boss Rumisyn's son was tortured and castrated by his enemies, and Rumisyn got him fixed up, though it cost him a third of his wealth. And he has descendants still living." "There is a spell that can regrow lost limbs, or other parts, if it is applied soon after the injury is sustained," Gurefkam said. "Its ingredients are rare and costly, but still to be found. And there is also a spell which, at low power, can restore an aged man's potency, and at the highest power, can restore the manhood of a eunuch or even turn a natural-born woman into a man. But this latter spell requires ingredients which can no longer be had at any price -- even the lesser form of it requires two ounces of powdered unicorn horn and the incisors of a black dragon, and the greater form, which Tyngsen would need, requires an entire horn and a whole set of teeth. The last known unicorn was killed three hundred years ago, the last black dragon nearer five hundred, and the last remaining supplies of their horns and teeth were used up three generations ago. In your grandfather's time, as you remarked. I know of no source for either of those; if you can find them, I will be happy to perform the spell at a reasonable cost." "But... there's a pair of unicorns in the zoo at Dyram, aren't there?" "No, those are rhinoceroses. They've been hunted to the brink of extinction by fools who thought they could substitute rhinoceros horn for unicorn horn in these and other spells... but don't think of sending someone to sneak into the zoo and cut off their horns. It would do your nephew no good, even if they succeeded." Ftero clenched his teeth and was silent. Finally Tyngsen spoke: "All right. I didn't really expect you could make that stuff grow back. And I don't mind, really... I don't care for lying with women, or with men either, and I guess it would be convenient to be able to pee standing up again but I'm used to sitting down. But can you make me not *look* so much like a girl? If nobody can tell when I've got clothes on that I'm like a girl between my legs, then that's enough for me. Symsar says his potion will make the boobs go away but it might take years for it to work; can you do it faster?" "I could, but it would be unnecessarily costly and complex to use sorcery for that. A surgeon could remove them in an hour or so. I can also use sorcery to give you a masculine appearance in other respects... in fact... hmm. Let me think." He stared off into a corner of the room, muttering under his breath for a few moments from time to time. Then he rose, went to a bookshelf, and took down a couple of volumes, one of which he opened up on his desk, and read. Ftero and Tyngsen watched silently. After reading two or three pages in one volume, and several more in the other, Gurefkam looked up at Tyngsen and said: "It is the appearance of masculinity that you desire, yes?" "If the reality is impossible, the appearance would be enough. Actually, from what I've seen of men, I'm not sure I'd want the reality even if it were possible." "Then perhaps a persistent illusion will serve your purpose." "Is that really all you can do?" Ftero said. "No. With enough money to buy certain rare ingredients, I could reshape the structure of Tyngsen's face and rebuild his hips and waist in a more masculine shape. I could even give him a sort of pseudo-penis, a mere tube of flesh which would let him urinate standing up. But it would cost a hundred times as much as the illusion spell -- which will not be cheap -- and it would take months, perhaps more than a year, during which Tyngsen will be in constant pain. The illusion spell I have in mind can be cast on the next full moon, in the course of a few hours, and will require only a brief discomfort and inconvenience on Tyngsen's part. The only disadvantage, compared to the arduous series of body-shaping spells, would be that he will still need to sit down to urinate, and that he will need to avoid the most powerful anti-sorcery charms and dead areas where sorcery doesn't work. But there are no such places in Kosyndar, or within fifty miles of it, and an anti-sorcery charm powerful enough to dispel this illusion would probably be part of an attack on his life, such that staying alive would be more of a concern than keeping his secret." "I say we try it, Uncle," Tyngsen said. "I don't think the other one is worth it. I just want people to look at me and respect me, to see a man, somebody who can do a man's job. Not a girl who's good for only one thing." "Tell us more about this illusion spell," Ftero said gruffly. "Is it going to make his voice sound right, too? Will it fool mirrors and cameras...?" ----- Five days later, Ftero and Tyngsen returned to Gurefkam's office at sunset. Tyngsen had not left Ftero's house since his previous visit to Gurefkam's office, and he had not seen much of his uncle, except when he rose early enough to eat breakfast with him, or was up after midnight to see him come home and stagger to his bed. Ftero was still at war with Sgadrim's lieutenants, who were still at war with each other; he had carved off several blocks at the edge of Sgadrim's former territory and was pretty confident he would be able to hold on to them. He told Tyngsen a little about the progress of the war when they ate breakfast together, but he rarely took his other meals at home these days. Gurefkam let them in and led them downstairs into a windowless cellar, its ceiling shrouded with the smoke from dozens of tallow candles. "You haven't eaten or drunk anything in the last six hours, have you?" Gurefkam asked. "No," Tyngsen said. "If you need to use the toilet, do it now." Tyngsen didn't need to. "Undress and step into that circle there. Ftero, you may sit in the chair yonder, or in the waiting room upstairs. Be quiet, in any case." Gurefkam reviewed with Tyngsen the part of the spell he would need to recite, which he had given him to study in the interim. Once satisfied that Tyngsen had memorized it thoroughly, he undressed himself and stepped into another circle a short distance from the other, where a small cauldron sat on a smoldering brazier. He began speaking the spell while putting pinches, drops and whole handfuls of various substances from jars, vials and baskets into the cauldron. Tyngsen listened carefully for his cues, and chimed in at the appropriate points with his parts of the spell. He didn't feel anything obviously magical going on. A long time passed -- there was no clock in the room, and Tyngsen measured the time by the increasing aches in his feet and legs and back. Gurefkam had warned him not to sit down during the spell, or step out of the circle, though he could move around within it or change his stance as necessary to minimize his discomfort. The nudity didn't bother him; he'd been exposed to the eyes of strangers and enemies so many times, and suffered far worse humiliations nearly as often, that being exposed to two men he trusted was nothing. Finally, just after he spoke his last spell-part, he closed his eyes as Gurefkam had warned him to do. There was a flash of light that penetrated his closed eyelids so that little sparks danced before his eyes for some time after he opened them. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dim light, he looked down at himself and saw a flat, hairy chest, a slightly less hairy belly below, and a penis and testicles dangling between suddenly hairy legs. He hadn't felt anything except the flash of light. He touched his chest and felt the soft, hairless breasts, touched between his legs and felt the numb scar tissue around his nether lips. To the eye, his fingers were grasping his non-existent penis. He looked up at Gurefkam and glanced aside at Ftero, who was looking at him in astonishment. Gurefkam poured water over the coals in the brazier, then stepped out of his circle and said, "It is done. You can rest now." "It looks perfect!" Ftero said enthusiastically, and Tyngsen added, "Yes, thank you ever so much. And thank you, Uncle, for paying for this." "I would have done even more for my only nephew, if I could have. If there were a unicorn left alive I'd hunt it down and tear its horn off with my bare hands. And -- your voice is deeper, too, isn't it?" Tyngsen's own voice hadn't sounded any different to him, but he trusted his uncle's perceptions. "Here," Gurefkam said, turning on the light switch, "take a look at yourself." He picked up a hand-mirror from a table in the corner, and held it up to Tyngsen's face. Tyngsen saw a square jaw and faint stubble covering his lower cheeks and chin. He touched his face and felt skin as smooth as before. "Get dressed," Gurefkam said, "and I'll show you how the spell works with a camera." Tyngsen put his clothes on, and noticed that his pants appeared to bulge slightly at the crotch. After snuffing the candles, Gurefkam picked up a Tachyeidolon from the table, and took a snapshot of Tyngsen's head and shoulders. Moments later Tyngsen and Ftero watched as the photo developed before their eyes, showing Tyngsen's new masculine face. "It looks good," Ftero said. "It's perfect," Tyngsen said. "Thank you again." "I'll have the other half of the money to you by noon today," Ftero added. Gurefkam nodded. "It's a pleasure doing business with you, Boss Ftero, as always. Good day." It was just past dawn when they went out the front door. Ftero drove Tyngsen home, and took a brief nap before going out again. Tyngsen slept much of the day, then spent some time looking at himself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom before he descended and asked Ftero's cook for something to eat. This would do, he thought. He was secretly glad that Gurefkam hadn't been able to restore him. In his years in Madam Esgara's house he'd seen too many men who thought themselves tough and smart make fools of themselves over women and boys. He wasn't sure if he would have become like that if he'd gotten his male parts back, but he suspected it was likely. It was probably best this way, having the appearance of masculinity without the vulnerability to women or the urgent need for them. ----- After a day's rest to recover from the spell, Tyngsen told his uncle that he was ready to go to work, and Ftero assigned him to follow Tesro on his daily rounds, and help him out with various tasks. He worked various small jobs in different parts of Ftero's organization over the next couple of years, and took Symsar's potion once a month, and worked out -- Ftero had a weight machine in his basement, which he was usually too busy to use nowadays. Gradually he built up muscle and became nearly as strong as the illusion would lead people to think. His uncle, who had been placing spies in Sgadrim's organization, had them search all of Sgadrim's bordellos for Kisri; they learned that she had been in Madam Kurenga's bordello, but had died of the pox a few months before. Tyngsen learned the business quickly, and acquired the respect of Ftero's people. By the time he was nineteen, Ftero put him in charge of protection for one of the bordellos in his territory. A few years later, he was in charge of all of them -- not the management of the prostitutes themselves, but of the enforcers who ensured that the customers didn't make trouble, and made the houses too hard a nut for the police to crack. He got on well with the girls and boys and madams; from his years in Madam Esgara's house he knew how to treat them and how not, and they liked him because he was friendly without being pushy, and never asked them for sexual favors like his predecessors. But eventually, that forbearance led to some talk, which gradually got back to him; he realized that his celibacy was undermining his men's respect for him. He knew what he needed to do about that; it could, he thought, combine neatly with a plan he had been maturing ever since his escape. He'd been saving money ever since he started working for his uncle, and now he hired Kuspar, a freelancer who wasn't too closely associated with Ftero's organization and thus wouldn't be viewed with suspicion by Madam Esgara's successor. He gave Kuspar his instructions; the man asked a few questions, then nodded and departed. That evening he met Tyngsen at a restaurant his uncle owned, and told him what he'd learned. "She's still alive, still there. Madam Skyngsa says she's pretty popular with the customers and she wouldn't think of selling her for less than fifteen thousand marks." Tyngsen nodded, relieved to hear that his friend still lived. "Good. Try to talk her down some, but if I have to pay that much, I can." "If you're not in a hurry, and you don't think anyone else is likely to come along and outbid you, I'd suggest that I wait a couple of days before I go back. If Madam Skyngsa thinks you don't care that much about the girl, she'll more likely be willing to take our lower offer." Tyngsen chewed his lip and thought. "No... I don't know why anyone else would be trying to buy her just now, if she's stayed there all this time. I don't like her staying there longer than necessary... but she's been there so many years a couple of days longer won't hurt. Use your judgment." Kuspar nodded. "I think I can talk her down to twelve thousand easy, maybe ten thousand." Three days later, Tyngsen sat on the edge of the seat of an easy chair in the furnished apartment he had just rented, anxiously waiting for Kuspar to show up, or to call him. What if something had gone wrong? What if somebody else had taken an interest in her at the worst possible time, and outbid him? Or if she'd fallen victim to a drunken customer just now, when she was days or hours away from being free...? There was a knock at the door. Tyngsen jumped up and ran to open it. There was Kuspar, and standing a little behind him and to his left, a slender pretty girl a couple of inches shorter than Tyngsen. She looked apprehensive, and her first sight of him didn't seem to relieve her apprehensions. Of course, she wouldn't recognize him at first glance. "Come in," Tyngsen said. Kuspar entered, and the girl followed, looking around curiously. "I got her for eleven thousand," Kuspar said with satisfaction. "Good," Tyngsen said. "Then your commission is..." He did the math in his head. "Eleven hundred. And I gave you 16,500, and you gave Madam Skyngsa eleven thousand, so I should get forty-four hundred back." "I've got it right here," Kuspar said, lifting his valise onto the table. The girl looked on with vague curiosity at these proceedings. "Wait," Tyngsen said. "I know I can trust you to say nothing about this. But I have nothing to be ashamed of, and not much to hide. You can keep another thousand of the remainder if you'll tell people what I want them to know, not as though you brokered the deal yourself, but as though you heard about it from a friend... does that work?" "That works," Kuspar said. "What do you want known and what hidden?" "Listen and learn," Tyngsen said, and then, turning to the girl: "You did me a good turn once, and I'm returning the favor now. I've bought you from Madam Skyngsa, and I'm going to manumit you within the next couple of days, as soon as we can get an appointment with a magistrate. And this apartment is yours; I'll pay for it until you are in a position to pay for it yourself, or move into other lodgings you like better." "I... don't remember helping you, sir, but I thank you with every string of my heart!" "I'll remind you about it later, after Kuspar leaves. Just a moment more, please." Turning back to Kuspar, he said: "You can mention my name, but not hers. The fact that I'm manumitting her, and putting her up in an apartment, but not where the apartment is." "Got it," Kuspar said, and repeated back his instructions. Then he counted out 3,400 marks from the valise, and handed them over. "It's a pleasure doing business with you," he said. "Likewise," Tyngsen said, and saw him out. When the door was closed, he said to the girl, "Relax, make yourself at home. Can I make you some coffee or tea?" "Tea would be nice," she said cautiously, apparently unable to believe her good fortune -- suspicious, perhaps, that the offer to manumit her was a trick. She sat down on the sofa, but didn't lean back and relax. Tyngsen went to the kitchen and started brewing a pot of tea, then returned and sat in the easy chair -- near her, but not crowding her. "You don't recognize me, Suryndra," he said; "I look a lot different from when you saw me last. My name is Tyngsen, but you knew me as Pindra." "Pindra!" she said, eyes wide, and gaped at him for a few moments. "What happened? Some people said you'd escaped, and some that you'd been killed trying to escape, but I figured if that was true they've have shown us your body as a warning..." "I escaped," he confirmed. "I would have gotten you and some of the others out as well, if I could, but I couldn't figure out how... I went to my uncle, Boss Ftero. He was Boss Sgadrim's rival -- you remember --" "I remember, you told me how you and your sister were taken because your father and uncle pissed Sgadrim off." "Well, my uncle paid a sorcerer to do this," gesturing at his face and body, "-- I'll explain about that soon, it's not quite what it looks like. And I've been working for him, and saving money, and making inquiries about what it would cost to get you out of there. And now you're free to do as you like, and you'll be legally free in a day or two." Tears were starting up in her eyes. "Thank you, Pindra!" She rose, approached him, and embraced him before he could react. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed and hugged her back. "You feel softer than you look," she said, confused. "I'll explain about that," he said, and told her about the impossibility of restoring his manhood by sorcery, and Gurefkam's illusion spell, and Symsar's potion. "So I've still got small breasts, under this illusion," he said. "You're the first person in the last eight years to get close enough to me to feel them." "And...?" She glanced at his crotch, and he nodded. "I still have to sit down to pee. My subordinates think I've got a chronic case of the runs. Everyone knows I disappeared, was kidnapped by one of Uncle Ftero's enemies when I was a child, and escaped several years later. And there are rumors that they did... bad stuff to me. But Gurefkam and Symsar fixed me up -- everyone thinks. Only now..." He explained about the rumors that were circulating to explain his being celibate in spite of being surrounded by prostitutes who, if not directly under his orders, were encouraged by their madams to keep the security staff happy. "You can do whatever you want," he said again. "I really want to stress that. If you don't want to help me, I can find someone else. But I thought I'd ask you first, since you already know my secret, and I wouldn't have to trust a stranger with it." "Help you how?" she asked. "Pretend to be my mistress," he explained. "I'll pay for your apartment and your groceries and so forth, and nice clothes, and come visit a couple of times a week and we can play pangkar and talk about old times. And people will find out I'm coming to see you and paying for your apartment, and assume we're having sex, and they won't gossip about me being queer or impotent anymore. For you, well, you get all the benefits of being a powerful man's mistress without actually having to have sex with some guy whenever he wants it. If you meet somebody and want to have an affair with him, that's fine, just tell me about it and we'll figure out a way to keep people from finding out. Or if you want to get married, that's fine too; I can find another woman to help with my cover story." "I'll be happy to help," Suryndra said. "You say I'm free to do whatever, but I don't want to go away. You were my closest friend before you escaped, and I don't know anybody outside of Madam Skyngsa's house except you. I'll be happy to help you." "Thank you," he said. "If you ever get tired of this arrangement and want to do something else, tell me. I'll help you find someone to teach you whatever trade you want, I'll buy you a ticket to anywhere you want to go. -- Hmm, I think the tea should be ready by now." ----- It soon became general knowledge that Tyngsen had bought a girl out of slavery and made her his mistress. The rumors were contradictory about her name, the pimp or madam she had been purchased from, her ethnicity, and several other points; that suited Tyngsen perfectly. Tyngsen had already been remarked on as eccentric for treating the slave-prostitutes just the same as the free girls; when rumors of his manumission of Suryndra got around, the slave girls in the bordellos he was in charge of protecting became even more solicitous for his comfort and were baffled by his polite rejection of their advances. They clearly hoped he would buy them out of slavery, perhaps after he tired of his current mistress. He wished he could free more of them, but his current earnings wouldn't let him free more than one a year, and then only if he focused on the ones who were almost too old for that kind of work, whose price would be low. He made long-term plans, and kept them to himself. Within a few more months, not only Suryndra's existence but her name and face became generally known to those who paid to have Tyngsen watched; and from them, rumors trickled back to Tyngsen's associates. At that point, he could no longer protect her by keeping his visits to her discreet; so they began to be seen in public together, and he assigned one of his men to guard her apartment when he was not with her. Once each year, Tyngsen went to Gurefkam to have the illusions spell renewed and adjusted. This cost much less than the original spell had cost his uncle. Gurefkam added faint lines around the mouth and eyes of his illusory face, and gradually thinned and greyed the illusory hair over his still-lush natural hair. Tyngsen cut his own hair in private; since he could not see it, but had to manage by feel, he did it with his eyes closed. How it was shaped or cut scarcely mattered, as long as it did not grow so long as to show itself beyond the edges of the illusion. Over the next eleven years his uncle entrusted him with more and more responsibility, and his men's respect for him gradually increased. None of the men or women under his command ever spent more than one night in jail, and rarely that much. His relations with the aldermen and the police were cordial; he and his uncle didn't step beyond the unofficial bounds of custom, and they didn't enforce the law in all its rigor in his territory, when they had more disruptive bosses and bosses' lieutenants to worry about. When his uncle died of a stroke, he took command swiftly and decisively; only one of his uncle's other lieutenants challenged him for the succession, and that challenge lasted only a couple of hours before a man loyal to Tyngsen shot him in the back. The day after his uncle's funeral, Boss Tyngsen called his lieutenants together at his office. "You all know how my uncle ran this organization," he told them. "I intend, in most respects, to continue running things the same way. But I intend to make one change in policy. Come, follow me and I'll show you what I mean." Tyngsen and three of his lieutenants got into one car, and the others into another; the latter followed Tyngsen's car to the bordello nearest to Tyngsen's office. They parked on the street and went inside. It was an hour before noon, still early in the day for the girls and their madam. One of Tyngsen's enforcers was on duty in the front room; he stood up alertly as the men entered, then saluted the Boss and asked, "What can I do for you?" "Wake Madam Nangyna up," Tyngsen said, "and have her wake the girls and gather them in the parlor. We'll wait and make ourselves comfortable." He sat in one of the easy chairs, and invited his lieutenants to avail themselves of the sofas, divans and love seats. It took some time, but within half an hour Madam Nangyna had gathered all her girls, slave and free, in the parlor. They stood ranged along the wall, some blinking sleepily, others striking provocative poses, trying to catch the eye of one or another lieutenant, or of the Boss himself. "Is this everybody?" Tyngsen asked Madam Nangyna. "This is all of them," she said. Tyngsen stood up and said: "This mainly concerns the slaves, though I want Madam and the free girls to hear it too. Some of you know I used to be a slave; I was born free, but Boss Sgadrim, an enemy of my father and uncle, kidnapped me and my sister and enslaved us. My sister died in slavery, but I escaped, and came back and worked for my uncle, and now I'm boss of this organization. "I know what it's like to be a slave, and I don't want you to be slaves. But I've run the numbers; I can't afford to free all of you at once. The loss for the year on the bordellos would offset all the profits from the joydust, smuggling and gaming operations. So I'm giving you all two days a week off, just as the free girls have; if you want to work on those days, you'll earn money toward your freedom, and if you choose to work every other off day, I estimate you'll buy yourselves out in four or five years. You slaves won't be charged for room and board out of your off-day earnings, until and unless you've bought yourselves out -- and then you'll be earning money every day, so it shouldn't be hard to pay for it. "And if you want to get into some other trade after you're freed, I'll help with that too. A friend of mine will come in and teach you to read and figure, if you want to learn; and I'll have others in to teach you other skills, if you want to give up prostitution. That goes for the free girls, too, though you'll have to pay a few pence a week for the lessons. "Any questions?" There was a stunned silence for several seconds. Then one of the slave girls said, "How much money are we going to get when we work extra? And how much do we need to save to buy ourselves out?" "That depends," Tyngsen said. "I'll work with your madam on setting prices for each of you -- generally higher for the younger and prettier girls, and lower for the older ones. I'll set them as low as I can and still have the bordellos turn a profit over the next few years, though. The madams will set aside for you fifty per cent of what the customers pay them for your services on the days you would normally have off, if you want to work some on those days. The same rate as the free girls." The next question came from Tesro. "Boss, I'd like to see your numbers. I don't see how we can not lose money doing this. I know you don't like slavery, but we've got to earn a living here." "I'll show you the figures when we get back to the office," Tyngsen said. "We won't make as much money on the bordellos as usual, but they won't lose money either, unless all the slaves buy themselves out in the same year, and they all quit work as soon as they buy themselves out. I figure some will buy themselves out faster and some slower than others, and at least half of them will keep working here as free girls, at least for a while, and that will give us time to gradually replace the ones who quit, same as we're doing now when they get too old for this kind of work." "And what are you going to do about the ensorcelled girls, Boss?" asked Prydasam, his lieutenant in charge of gaming houses. Prydasam had worked with Tyngsen on bordello security when they were young men in Ftero's employ. "That might be tricky," Tyngsen admitted. "I'm going to meet with a couple of sorcerers later this week and start figuring out what will be necessary to break those spells. I think there are several different spells that were used on different girls, and some of them will be easier to break than others. Whatever it costs to break the spells, we'll add that on to what the girl's market price would otherwise be when she starts earning her way free." "That makes sense," Prydasam said, nodding. ----- Over the next four days, Tyngsen made the same announcement to the girls and boys in each bordello. He met privately with each of the madams and went over the roster of prostitutes, setting prices for each of them, as low as he thought he could afford and still not lose money on the bordellos. For himself, he didn't mind losing a huge sum; but he knew that if he looked like he was running the organization into the ground, his lieutenants would challenge him, and sooner or later he'd lose a challenge. Then he scheduled a meeting with Ftymsar, the best sorcerer on his staff, at Madam Srulendra's bordello. No fewer than eight of the girls and boys there were ensorcelled to enforce obedience; some had been purchased in that state from their former masters, others had been ensorcelled by Ftymsar or one of his colleagues after trying to escape. He had Madam Srulendra bring the ensorcelled ones in to the back parlor where he and Ftymsar were talking. "So what will be involved in freeing them?" Tyngsen asked him. "The ones I ensorcelled will be pretty easy," Ftymsar said. "A pinch of mandrake root, the pelt of a white rabbit, three hairs from a wild horse's tail... it doesn't need anything very rare or expensive, and the ritual's only about two hours. We can free a couple of them tonight, and the others tomorrow. And there are two others that Sdireng ensorcelled, using the same spell. But then there are these three others -- Madam Srulendra bought them already ensorcelled, and I don't know what spell was used on them. I'll have to do some research and figure out what it is and how to break it." "You do that," Tyngsen said, "and go ahead and break the spell on the ones you know how." "Are you sure you want to do that now?" Ftymsar said. "I thought you were going to let them earn money and buy themselves out before you freed them." "They'll still legally be slaves," Tyngsen said, "but I think I want to break those spells as soon as possible. It depends, though. I've known a couple of slaves under obedience spells, but I didn't realize there were different kinds... what about the spell you used, does it leave the subject with enough free will to understand the speech I gave them a couple of days ago, and decide for themselves whether they want to rest on their days off or work extra and earn freedom?" "The one we used is pretty clean," Ftymsar said; "it stops them from leaving the bordello, except under direct orders from their master or master's representative -- that would be you or Madam Srulendra -- and it compels them to obey general and specific orders they're given. They're free to do as they please when they aren't under orders. But as for the spell or spells used on the others -- I don't know." "Hmm. Maybe... No, let's go ahead and break the spells as soon as we can." "I'll need you there," Ftymsar said. "They're owned by the organization, but you're the head of it, so you're their owner by the terms of the spell, and you'll need to act a small part in the ritual." "All right, coach me on what I'm to do..." ----- Three nights later, Tyngsen went to Suryndra's apartment after he got done with business for the day. She smiled when she saw him, and said, "Come in, I've got supper ready." "How have you been?" he asked, giving her a hug. "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you much -- things have been busy since Uncle died, I've had a lot of work to do to consolidate my hold over the organization and put the new policy in place without provoking a rebellion." "I've been fine," she said. "I enjoy seeing you, but I don't languish from boredom when you're not here, you know. Not like when you first bought me out and I didn't know anybody but you... Tell me about work. You said you've put the new policy in place -- you mean you've started freeing the slaves?" They moved into the kitchen and he sat down at the table while she served supper. He told her about giving the speech to the girls and boys in each bordello on successive mornings. "And the last few days I've been working with Ftymsar on breaking the obedience spells on some of the slaves. You remember when I said I could probably come over a few nights ago, and then I called and said I had to cancel? Ftymsar said the ritual had to be done at night, and because I was their owner, I'd have to be there and take part in it." "Was it hard?" "Not too bad," he said. "Not as bad as the illusion spell Gurefkam put on me. I had to stand in one spell circle, while Ftymsar stood in another with his brazier and spell materials and the slave we were working on stood in another, none of us wearing anything. I was a little worried that the spell might interfere with the illusion, and I called Gurefkam on a secure line to check. But it held up fine. I spoke the parts of the spell Ftymsar coached me on, and stood there listening to him and watching him work for a while, and then it was over and we rested for half an hour before we worked on the next slave. And then we did two more slaves the next night, and I told him I wanted to take a night off before doing any more." "That's good," she said, "you need your rest. How many more are there?" "One more under the same spell in that bordello, and nine more in a couple of others. And then there are sixteen others under different obedience spells -- at least three that Ftymsar has identified, and some he's not sure about yet. He warned me that freeing them would be more difficult and complicated, but I don't know the details yet." "I'm sure you'll work it out," she said. "So, how have you been, really?" She told him about what she'd done in the last few days, the opera she'd seen at Ftipa Hall and the work she'd been doing at the runaway shelter. They sat on the sofa after supper, leaning against one another, listening to the radio and occasionally talking a little, or singing along with Trosundra of Dynusem, whose concert was being broadcast live. He fell asleep, and woke the next morning to find she had taken his shoes off and spread a blanket over him. ----- A couple of days later, Ftymsar came to see him again. "What have you found out?" Tyngsen asked. "I've identified the spells used on all but five of the slaves in all your bordellos," he said. "There are four spells, plus at least one unknown spell used on those five others. Three of them I can break with materials I have on hand, or can get within a day or two; but the other will require hippogriff milk. Not hippogriff cheese, but fresh hippogriff milk, and there aren't any hippogriffs on this continent. It'll cost two or three thousand marks to have it sent express from Khareush by airship courier under a refrigeration spell, and we'll have to drop whatever else we're doing and start the ritual as soon as the courier arrives at the aerodrome -- or at dawn the next morning if he arrives at night. Or we could take a trip, you and me and the slave under that spell, to Khareush and cast the spell there." "I figure my time's worth a thousand marks a day or more, and yours is at least half that; let's send for the milk -- unless you think there's a chance it might not be fresh enough? Good. All right, I'm authorizing that expense. What about the rituals? Don't waste my time with the technical details, just tell me how my part of them differs from the spell you used before." "Most of them are more time-consuming than that one," Ftymsar said; "five to seven hours. Some can only be cast by daylight, some at night, and one can only be worked on the night of the full moon -- there are two slaves under that spell, and I don't think we can free both of them the same night. And one of these counterspells is... risky." "Risky how?" "There's a slight chance -- if something goes wrong, if the materials are impure or we make a mistake with the ritual -- that the spell could infect you or me or both, instead of breaking. We might end up slaves as well, compelled to obey the next free person we see after the spell is completed. Obviously I don't think the danger's too great, or I wouldn't be willing to try it, but I want five thousand marks as a danger bonus on that one." "All right. I'm still going to do it, but let's save it for last; I want to be sure all the others are freed in case something goes wrong and we can't do any more after that one. And let's take another precaution; I'll ask someone I trust to be on hand, just outside the room where we're casting the spell, so we won't be enslaved to some random person if the worst happens. "Now, what about those other five you mentioned?" "Those are the five women in the attic at Madam Fparadra's house." "...Oh." At one time or another in the years he worked protection for one or more of the bordellos, Tyngsen had met or at least seen nearly all the prostitutes working there, slave or free, ensorcelled or not. There were many he didn't know well; some didn't speak Kosyan well, or at all, and some were quiet and uncommunicative, but most mixed with the men assigned to protect them from rambunctious customers and were friendly with them, sometimes extremely so. More than a few had married one or another of Tyngsen's colleagues to get out of the business. But there were five women, so people said, in the attic at Madam Fparadra's house who never left their attic; and whom men, even the enforcers or the Boss, never visited just to chat. They were said to be under a powerful spell that made them insatiably obsessed with sex; if a customer or enforcer entered their domain, after Madam Fparadra locked him into the vestibule, he emerged only after the women had gotten all the use they could out of him, blissfully exhausted and with his clothes in tatters if he had not had the presence of mind to remove them before unlocking the inner door. Tyngsen, hearing about this, never ventured to visit them; he wasn't sure if they would be fooled by his illusion at first glance, but certainly they would be disappointed once they got their hands on him. And there was a chance that their disappointment might blow his cover. "So," he said after a moment's thought, "you're still not sure what spell they're under?" "It's... a bit hard to research, Boss." Ftymsar looked embarrassed. "I went there a couple of days ago and had Madam Fparadra let me into the vestibule, and I tried to work a sleep spell on them through the inner door. It felt like it hit the targets, and I gave it several minutes to take effect, and I opened the inner door... well, the sleep spell had no effect on them. Within a few moments I was too distracted to study the spell, and later I was too tired. "Then yesterday I tried something else -- I put a curse on myself, to make me, ah... unable to satisfy women. You owe me for this, boss -- it won't wear off for several more days. This time they figured out I wasn't any use to them after a quarter of an hour or so, and I still had enough energy left to study the spell. But I couldn't get any of them to sit still in a spell circle while I worked; whatever that spell they're under is, it's not exactly an obedience spell, or maybe it's only their master they're compelled to obey, not his representatives. I learned a little of what it's not, but I still don't know what it is." "Did you ask Madam Fparadra who she bought them from? Maybe we need some old-fashioned detective work, not just a diagnostic spell. Find out who ensorcelled them and ask him, or his apprentices if he's dead." "I checked that. Madam Fparadra says they were already in the house when she started working there under Madam Sgamendra, forty-five years ago -- and they don't look any older than they did then. And we looked through the records in her office, and couldn't find any receipt for their purchase. We have no idea how old they are or when the spell was cast. I don't know why someone would waste an immortality spell on slaves, or how somebody rich and powerful enough to buy an immortality spell could get enslaved... and the women don't seem to remember their past, or at least I couldn't get them to talk about it. "But if they're compelled to obey only their master, then if I go back with you, while I'm still under this impotence curse -- I'd need to put the same curse on you, I'm afraid -- maybe you can order them to stand still in the circles and I can figure something more out." "Let's schedule a time for that. How much longer will the curse last?" "At least three more days." Tyngsen studied his appointment book. "Let's do it tonight." He'd have to call Suryndra and cancel their dinner date, but it couldn't be helped; he didn't want to ask Ftymsar to cast that impotence curse on himself again. And he hoped Ftymsar wouldn't notice anything untoward when he cast that wholly unnecessary curse on Tyngsen himself. ----- That night Tyngsen met Ftymsar at Madam Fparadra's. He found the sorcerer chatting in the parlor with Drispana, one of the older girls -- she was just starting to lose her looks, and would need to find another line of work soon, if she couldn't find a husband. "You ready?" the Boss asked him. "Sure. I've got everything I need right here," Ftymsar said, hefting his large black bag of spell-materials. Madam Fparadra led them upstairs and peered through a small barred window in the door. "Good, the inner door is closed..." She unlocked the outer door, let them into the vestibule, and locked them in. Tyngsen studied the room. The inner door had a hydraulic mechanism attached, apparently to close it automatically if it wasn't held open. From this side, it looked easy to open; he wasn't sure what kept the women on the other side from opening it, or how their customers got out when they were finished. "You know the drill," Ftymsar said, "undress and step into this circle." He knelt and sketched a circle on the floor with green chalk. "How are you supposed to cast this curse on somebody I don't like if you need them to undress and step into a circle?" Tyngsen said, untying his shoes. "Oh, I can cast it from a thousand miles away if I've got some of the guy's hair or fingernails, or dirty underwear or used condoms, or any of several other things with a connection to him. But it's a lot faster and easier if the target cooperates. You want to be here all night?" "You're the expert," Tyngsen said, taking off the rest of his clothes and stepping into the circle. The impotence curse turned out to be a fairly quick spell; he didn't feel anything, of course, and he watched Ftymsar carefully to see if he detected anything off about him. He didn't seem to suspect anything, at least not while he was working the spell. "You took that awfully calm," he remarked as he put his materials back into his bag. "Most guys would be a little nervous about losing the ability to get it up for four days or more... I can't guarantee it will wear off sooner than a week, but if it lasts longer than that, come to me and I'll do another spell to break it." Tyngsen shrugged. "My lady friend and I are old enough we don't jump in the sack like teenagers every time we see each other," he said. "A few nights of quiet cuddling and talking will be good for us. -- What next?" Ftymsar took a deep breath. "Now... we go in. Let them do what they want with you, and they'll probably lose interest in a few minutes. Then I'll draw the circles and you tell them to step into them and stand still. Identify yourself first, tell them you're their master, Boss Ftero's heir, and so forth." "All right. Let's do it." "Follow me through the door as quick as you can... Leave your clothes out here, you won't need them." Ftymsar turned the doorknob, pulled the door open just far enough to admit him, and slipped through; Tyngsen was on his heels, and pulled the door to behind him, hearing it click loudly as it shut. He glanced back and saw that from this side the doorknob was a kind of puzzle; then his attention was drawn to his surroundings. There were five women, all young and beautiful and none wearing anything, scattered around on beds, chairs and couches. They were of different ethnicities, their skin ranging from pale to ebon and their builds as diverse again. "Thou hast returned!" cried a small slender woman with pale skin, rising from a couch and stepping rapidly toward the men. "And brought with thee a friend," said a taller and darker woman, jumping out of bed and following her companion. "Dost fare better this day?" another one asked Ftymsar. "Oh, I hope so!" "There's something's amiss about thee," said the fourth, approaching Tyngsen and looking him forthrightly up and down. The fifth took Tyngsen's hand and said dubiously, "He seemeth manly enow..." Ftymsar was being dragged, unresisting, into one of the large beds by three of the women, leaving these two to study Tyngsen uncertainly. "I'm afraid I can't do what you want," Tyngsen said, uncertain if they would be able to understand him. "I'm under an impotence curse, like my friend there." "Mayhap... but let us try thy mettle ere we despair," one of the women said, taking him by the left arm. The other took his right, and they pulled him toward another bed. He let them. It didn't take them long to figure out that he wasn't what he looked like. "I can see it, but I can't touch it," one of them said in frustration as she groped his crotch. "I feel these but see them not," the other said, grasping his vestigial breasts. "Is it a woman or a man?" Tyngsen glanced at the other bed, where Ftymsar seemed to be thoroughly distracted with the other women's useless ministrations. Hopefully he hadn't heard that. "I'm not a woman," he said in a low voice. "I'm a man, but a wicked alchemist did this to me. Can you tell me anything about the sorcerer who did this to you?" A haunted look came into the eyes of the women for a moment, but quickly passed. "We have ever been thus," one of them said. "What's your name?" "We need no names." It was time to try something different. "Listen," he said, "I'm your master, Boss Tyngsen. Your owner. Boss Ftero, who used to own you, was my uncle, and I'm his heir and successor." "Oh," one of them said. She seemed uninterested. "Let us go, and see whether his friend hath recovered his strength," she said to her companion, and got up to go over to the other bed. The other woman continued groping Tyngsen's crotch for a little longer, and said, "Thou'rt a girl; I feel thy cunt though there be something amiss about it. Why not join us in taking our pleasure of yon fellow?" "I'm not a girl," Tyngsen insisted quietly. "It just feels that way..." He thought about trying to explain, and gave up. "I don't enjoy it when a guy puts his thing in down there." "It's the only joy we ever have," the woman said. "Thou must surely be sad, if thou hast no joy in being tumbled. Hast suffered some injury there?" He could barely feel her finger in the numb cavity the alchemist had cut into him; still, he didn't like it. He pushed her hand away gently and said: "Yes, I suffered an injury there once. But I'm not sad, there are other good things in life besides sex. We'll break this spell and you'll be able to think of and enjoy other things." "Oh." She seemed finally to lose interest in him, jumped up and wandered over to the other bed. About that time a couple of the women who had been trying without success to get Ftymsar erect lost interest in him and headed toward the bed Tyngsen was just getting out of. He tried to tell them he was their master, but with no better success. Ftymsar, in the other bed, patiently endured the attentions of the other women while the three who had first accosted him discovered to their disappointment that Tyngsen wasn't equipped to satisfy them. Finally, all five seemed to grow bored and retreated to the other end of the room, pouting. Tyngsen sat up and looked at Ftymsar, wondering how much he had overheard of what the women had said about Tyngsen, or what he had said to them about himself. If he had overheard anything odd, he didn't let on. Probably he had been too distracted by the women in bed with him, even with the impotence spell, to notice what the others were saying. He said to Tyngsen, "Did you try telling them you were their master?" "I did. They didn't seem to care." Ftymsar sighed. "Okay, it's not an obedience spell at all. It's just an obsession spell. That narrows it down a lot. I still don't know how it works, but..." He mused quietly for a few moments, then went to where he had dropped his black bag when the women grabbed him, opened it, and got out the chalks. He drew a couple of circles in the floor, and said to Tyngsen: "Try this. Just grab one of them -- the smallest, the hazel-eyed girl there -- pull her into this circle, and hold her there, if you can." "I can, unless the others gang up on me." Tyngsen tried ordering and cajoling her first, though. "Listen," he said to her, approaching the couch where she lay and looking down at her, "come stand in that circle over there." "Thou canst not pleasure me," she said. "Wherefore should I obey thee?" "No, I can't pleasure you. But you'll be able to have other kinds of fun later, if you do this now." "What other kind may there be?" She lost interest in him and gazed at the wall vacantly. He took her by the shoulders and lifted her from the couch. She didn't resist much, and after brief glances at him the others didn't seem to care. He frog-marched her into the circle and stood there. "When may some other men come?" she said. "Thou and thy friend are of no use." "Later," Tyngsen promised her. "Right now you need to stand still and be quiet." She was, for a while, though not all through Ftymsar's diagnostic spell. A couple more times, at intervals of half an hour or so, she complained that she was bored and that Tyngsen and Ftymsar were no fun. Tyngsen worried that she would say something to give away his secret to Ftymsar, but she wasn't that specific in her complaints. Finally, Ftymsar said: "Let her go, and let's get out of here." He worked the puzzle set into the door -- it was fairly simple, but apparently too complicated for the women to figure out -- and he and Tyngsen slipped through quickly. The women didn't try to follow them. "What did you learn?" Tyngsen asked as they got dressed in the vestibule. "I'll need to study and think about what I've seen," Ftymsar said with a frown. "It's a complex spell, but I think it was supposed to be temporary, and something went wrong with the conditions that were supposed to terminate it. The immortality might be a side-effect of that; they can't age or die until the conditions of the spell are fulfilled and they're freed. If I can figure out what those conditions were supposed to be, and we can replicate them... then we might not need