read previous section
note: This early version of Beggar's Rebellion is not for resale or publication, and it is very much Not Safe For Work
Tannets barely had his head around the door when his eyes widened. “You!” he crowed. “I heard about you!”
Ella stood in the hallway of the first class cabins, hair braided and knotted in the most recent Worldsmouth fashion, studded with pendants and pearls. She’d applied lavender oil, and wore her most expensive Yersh gown, full-length and colorful but lowcut, giving her that irresistible mix of elegance and sex. She hoped. “Don’t believe what you hear, Elbrus. I’ve come to take you up on your offer.”
“Offer? You’re a whore!” His voice was wheedley, old.
Ella kept the grimace from her face. “I am a keisua, Elbrus, as you know. And I am willing to take you on as a patron.”
Elbrus Tannet’s face shook, as though unable to hold the level of his outrage. “The papers!” he cried. “They said you had no papers!”
Not too likely Elbrus had been behind her theft, but since she was here, and Ralhens wasn’t going to do a search, she might as well try. “Huh?” she started, looking left.
Oldest trick in the book—he looked left too.
Ella timeslipped, turning on her yurability like clenching a muscle in her spine. The world slowed, almost stopped, Elbrus’s face still moving ever so slowly toward the far end of the hallway. Kellandrials thought that different timeslips slipped at different rates, and were able to sustain their slips for more or less time, based on some unknown quotient. All Ella knew was that her slip was fast—which was to say, the rest of the world became really slow.
She slipped past him in the doorway, careful not to brush against him. Any slight push would manifest in real time for him, a shove from nowhere that might knock an old man like him down.
The cabin was standard, a large bed against one corner, with furniture lining the wall. She rifled through these quickly: documents, clothes, sacks of money. A small part of her wanted to just take the money—in the course of a few slips she could probably make back most of what she’d lost. But that would make her no better than the man who’d stolen from her.
“There is no bad or good, Ella. Those are stories told to keep people in line.”
She glanced back at Elbrus, watched closely for a moment: yes. His head was beginning to swing back to the place she should have been. “Meck,” she muttered, though really she shouldn’t speak at all in slip, if she wanted to avoid being noticed. Didn’t seem like there was anything here anyway. Ella slipped back out the door, assumed the position she thought she’d been in. The whole slip might have been two minutes, but passed in a second or two for Elbrus. She unclenched. “Oh! Thought I saw someone down there.”
He shook his head again. “You’re not the woman I thought you were.”
“But Elbrus—“ She spoke to a slamming door.
“Okay,” she said to the empty hallway. “One down, three to go.”
Olgsby gave her a bit more time, though he didn’t actually invite her in. “You lied to me,” he said again, mournful, head moving side to side. “You said you were keisua.”
“I am keisua, Colonel,” she said. “You know this yourself. You’re a man who’s been with keisua, I can tell that.” Her guess was that the Meyuna he wanted to cry about was either a dead wife or a keisua he’d fallen in love with. The stories about men doing foolish things for love of a keisua were legion, and the training to keep keisua from ever falling severe. “And you’ve been with me. Was there any difference?”
Olgsby still looked mournful. “No. But I need to know. Your licensing…”
Ella dropped a ring, and Olgsby bent to pick it up for her. Ever the gentleman--he seemed too nice a man to have arranged for her theft, but she had to check.
Nothing there—nothing but a framed watercolor of a beautiful woman dressed in the style of 20 years earlier, Meyuna signed in one corner.
Ella slipped back, thanked him for the ring. “Paenter,” she laid a hand on his arm, “we can work out the details in Ayugen. You will have your assurances.” She moved closer. “And you will have me.”
Still he hesitated. Time to take a risk.
“As you once had Meyuna.”
Olgsby seemed to fold for a moment, the rigidity of his military training, his Eschatolist morals, collapsing under the weight of his sorrow. Then he snapped back. “No!” He shook her arm off, grimacing. “My Meyuna would never lie! I saw her papers! Leave us! Leave!”
Ella walked up to the second-class berths, feeling a little sorry she’d touched on his sore spot. “Two left. All I need is one.”
Densfair took one look and slammed the door again.
That left Odril. She’d intentionally saved him for last, since he was the meanest, the neediest, had offered the least of any of them. “Well,” she said, taking the balcony around the tight-packed rows of second-class berths, “I am a little needy myself at the moment.” A month, two at most, and she would leave him. A keisua could terminate patronage at any time.
Odril opened to her knock and scowled. “You. I heard about you.”
“Forget what you heard, Odril.” She leaned slightly forward. Knowing Odril, this needed to be about sex. “Look at what you can have.” And holding back a grimace, she tugged the neckline of her dress lower. Odril, she recalled from her notes, was a breasts man.
It seemed to have the intended effect: a greedy look came in his eyes. And a calculating one. “But you don’t have a license. You’re no keisua, you’re just a girl, pretending to be keisua.”
“What does it matter?” she murmured, pressing closer. “Do you really think about paperwork when you’re on me?” The greedy look increased. “When you’re inside me?”
Odril swallowed. “I always think about paperwork. It’s my job.”
Meckshatter. Ella reached down, touching his crotch. “Then maybe you need some distraction.”
“A thousand,” he squeaked, manhood already risen to the occasion. “A thousand and you come in here right now.”
A thousand marks. It would take months to earn her passage back. But better than years spent scrubbing linens. “Whatever you say, Patron.”
He grinned and pushed her head down. Ella scrambled inside, pulling the door shut at least, and then his cock was in her mouth.
What followed was possibly the worst mouth sex she had ever given, in a career of some very uncomfortable mouth sex. He thrust and pushed, not done till she was a sweaty mess and tears leaked from her eyes.
Odril grinned. “Very good. You’re mine now. Remember that.” He turned in the narrow space, rummaging through papers on a cluttered desk. Ella slipped, checking everything out of his sight in the narrow cabin, but there was nothing: no ceramic bust, no cache of six thousand marks, no evidence at all. Who was the thief then? Of all the men she’d checked, she could have believed it most from Odril. Ella slipped back as he turned.
He held a single sheet of paper, cock still dangling from his pants. “I took the liberty of drawing up a contract a while ago.” He thrust the paper at her, with a pen. “Just sign here.”
Ella stood and scanned the paper. It was written in flowery legalese, but appeared fairly standard. And what other choice did she have? It was two months with Odril or a year or more, scrubbing linens in a foreign town. And after that, returning to work to try to make what she needed for the Academy. Life was too short, and she’d done worse.
Ella took the pen, voice radiating disapproval, and signed.
Ella stood in the hallway of the first class cabins, hair braided and knotted in the most recent Worldsmouth fashion, studded with pendants and pearls. She’d applied lavender oil, and wore her most expensive Yersh gown, full-length and colorful but lowcut, giving her that irresistible mix of elegance and sex. She hoped. “Don’t believe what you hear, Elbrus. I’ve come to take you up on your offer.”
“Offer? You’re a whore!” His voice was wheedley, old.
Ella kept the grimace from her face. “I am a keisua, Elbrus, as you know. And I am willing to take you on as a patron.”
Elbrus Tannet’s face shook, as though unable to hold the level of his outrage. “The papers!” he cried. “They said you had no papers!”
Not too likely Elbrus had been behind her theft, but since she was here, and Ralhens wasn’t going to do a search, she might as well try. “Huh?” she started, looking left.
Oldest trick in the book—he looked left too.
Ella timeslipped, turning on her yurability like clenching a muscle in her spine. The world slowed, almost stopped, Elbrus’s face still moving ever so slowly toward the far end of the hallway. Kellandrials thought that different timeslips slipped at different rates, and were able to sustain their slips for more or less time, based on some unknown quotient. All Ella knew was that her slip was fast—which was to say, the rest of the world became really slow.
She slipped past him in the doorway, careful not to brush against him. Any slight push would manifest in real time for him, a shove from nowhere that might knock an old man like him down.
The cabin was standard, a large bed against one corner, with furniture lining the wall. She rifled through these quickly: documents, clothes, sacks of money. A small part of her wanted to just take the money—in the course of a few slips she could probably make back most of what she’d lost. But that would make her no better than the man who’d stolen from her.
“There is no bad or good, Ella. Those are stories told to keep people in line.”
She glanced back at Elbrus, watched closely for a moment: yes. His head was beginning to swing back to the place she should have been. “Meck,” she muttered, though really she shouldn’t speak at all in slip, if she wanted to avoid being noticed. Didn’t seem like there was anything here anyway. Ella slipped back out the door, assumed the position she thought she’d been in. The whole slip might have been two minutes, but passed in a second or two for Elbrus. She unclenched. “Oh! Thought I saw someone down there.”
He shook his head again. “You’re not the woman I thought you were.”
“But Elbrus—“ She spoke to a slamming door.
“Okay,” she said to the empty hallway. “One down, three to go.”
Olgsby gave her a bit more time, though he didn’t actually invite her in. “You lied to me,” he said again, mournful, head moving side to side. “You said you were keisua.”
“I am keisua, Colonel,” she said. “You know this yourself. You’re a man who’s been with keisua, I can tell that.” Her guess was that the Meyuna he wanted to cry about was either a dead wife or a keisua he’d fallen in love with. The stories about men doing foolish things for love of a keisua were legion, and the training to keep keisua from ever falling severe. “And you’ve been with me. Was there any difference?”
Olgsby still looked mournful. “No. But I need to know. Your licensing…”
Ella dropped a ring, and Olgsby bent to pick it up for her. Ever the gentleman--he seemed too nice a man to have arranged for her theft, but she had to check.
Nothing there—nothing but a framed watercolor of a beautiful woman dressed in the style of 20 years earlier, Meyuna signed in one corner.
Ella slipped back, thanked him for the ring. “Paenter,” she laid a hand on his arm, “we can work out the details in Ayugen. You will have your assurances.” She moved closer. “And you will have me.”
Still he hesitated. Time to take a risk.
“As you once had Meyuna.”
Olgsby seemed to fold for a moment, the rigidity of his military training, his Eschatolist morals, collapsing under the weight of his sorrow. Then he snapped back. “No!” He shook her arm off, grimacing. “My Meyuna would never lie! I saw her papers! Leave us! Leave!”
Ella walked up to the second-class berths, feeling a little sorry she’d touched on his sore spot. “Two left. All I need is one.”
Densfair took one look and slammed the door again.
That left Odril. She’d intentionally saved him for last, since he was the meanest, the neediest, had offered the least of any of them. “Well,” she said, taking the balcony around the tight-packed rows of second-class berths, “I am a little needy myself at the moment.” A month, two at most, and she would leave him. A keisua could terminate patronage at any time.
Odril opened to her knock and scowled. “You. I heard about you.”
“Forget what you heard, Odril.” She leaned slightly forward. Knowing Odril, this needed to be about sex. “Look at what you can have.” And holding back a grimace, she tugged the neckline of her dress lower. Odril, she recalled from her notes, was a breasts man.
It seemed to have the intended effect: a greedy look came in his eyes. And a calculating one. “But you don’t have a license. You’re no keisua, you’re just a girl, pretending to be keisua.”
“What does it matter?” she murmured, pressing closer. “Do you really think about paperwork when you’re on me?” The greedy look increased. “When you’re inside me?”
Odril swallowed. “I always think about paperwork. It’s my job.”
Meckshatter. Ella reached down, touching his crotch. “Then maybe you need some distraction.”
“A thousand,” he squeaked, manhood already risen to the occasion. “A thousand and you come in here right now.”
A thousand marks. It would take months to earn her passage back. But better than years spent scrubbing linens. “Whatever you say, Patron.”
He grinned and pushed her head down. Ella scrambled inside, pulling the door shut at least, and then his cock was in her mouth.
What followed was possibly the worst mouth sex she had ever given, in a career of some very uncomfortable mouth sex. He thrust and pushed, not done till she was a sweaty mess and tears leaked from her eyes.
Odril grinned. “Very good. You’re mine now. Remember that.” He turned in the narrow space, rummaging through papers on a cluttered desk. Ella slipped, checking everything out of his sight in the narrow cabin, but there was nothing: no ceramic bust, no cache of six thousand marks, no evidence at all. Who was the thief then? Of all the men she’d checked, she could have believed it most from Odril. Ella slipped back as he turned.
He held a single sheet of paper, cock still dangling from his pants. “I took the liberty of drawing up a contract a while ago.” He thrust the paper at her, with a pen. “Just sign here.”
Ella stood and scanned the paper. It was written in flowery legalese, but appeared fairly standard. And what other choice did she have? It was two months with Odril or a year or more, scrubbing linens in a foreign town. And after that, returning to work to try to make what she needed for the Academy. Life was too short, and she’d done worse.
Ella took the pen, voice radiating disapproval, and signed.