World's End Read Online Free PDF Page B

different tastes. A high official – some friend of Izven, some important guest of the city – would walk in and gaze about with the air of a person quite familiar with this fondly remembered place. They would sometimes disrobe, do whatever they wanted to any of the sexual servants on display. Or they’d ask for one – there were dozens in this chamber, many ages and sizes, mostly young and sleek, like Lalie – to come with them, somewhere private. The chosen ones would usually return, but sometimes they didn’t. Those who came back often wore welts, bruises, cuts. Perhaps they’d be vomiting, pale, shaken, needing tending by the nurses.
    Of course Lalie had known the minute Izven guided her outof the Mayors’ Command meeting at Elvury, reserving for her a place in his personal caravan, that his charity was not pure kindness. He made a good show of it, the half-bald, pot-bellied man parading her before as many of the other cities’ officials as he could, practically spoon-feeding her like an underfed lamb he was caring for. No fool, she’d played along, peering up at him with eyes large and adoring. She’d expected to pay for the meals and shelter on her back or knees, to either Izven or one of his men. Such a prospect had mattered little to her, mere motions of the pretty suit her spirit wore, garments briefly crumpling here and there, at times even enjoyably.
    At any hour of the day – mostly at night – the mayor would appear, would guide people in, some times whole groups of them. Izven had kept many guests from choosing her for their pleasure, all bar one or two whom he instructed to use her with care. This made her suspect he had something else in mind for her. She had remained here, after all, while many others had departed to make way for fresh arrivals. And he spent time speaking with her, but never with the others.
    It was an honour, the mayor had explained, for her and these others to be chosen and brought here, even if they died in their duties – some of the mayor’s friends had such tastes, that was all. He spoke to her of many things, seeming to enjoy his own voice. Of history he spoke, and of Otherworld, of magic.
    He left the window and came to her bed now, and began to speak of such things. She mostly blanked out his voice, pretending to listen, until he said, ‘I even dabble in a little spell craft myself.’
    â€˜There’s no magic in cities,’ said Lalie.
    The mayor toyed with a curling strand of her hair. It was growing long and thick again, already responding to the goodfood she received here, the lotions and oils brought in on trays. ‘Usually not,’ said Izven in his scholarly voice. His voice never changed, however excited he became. His eyes lingered on the man – perhaps a relative – mechanically fucking someone at the other end of the chamber, to the sound of whimpering and rattling chains.
    Lalie knew a little of spells, especially slow-cast ones, which one did not need to be a mage to cast. She repeated, ‘There’s no magic in cities.’
    Izven kneaded her breast, his stubby fingers digging in to the point of pain. She squirmed since that was what he wanted, but if he
really
hurt her she’d bite and claw him, and he knew it. He said, ‘There is a space below, Lalie. Below Yincastle. Deep below. I go there now and then. With certain friends. Are you thirsty?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Call me “Mayor”, Lalie. Titles are important.’
    â€˜I’ll give you a title of my own,’ she said, smiling with bared teeth.
    He looked at her with no change of expression. ‘You delight me. Do you know, Lalie, that genuine, committed followers of Inferno are quite rare? I mean those who practise the hidden rites, as you did.’
    Izven gestured at a servant to bring a drink. ‘O, we have
some
Inferno people here in Yinfel,’ he went on, ‘but they’re not