The Fecund's Melancholy Daughter - Brent Hayward [30]
Emerging fingers spread apart the grey labia from the inside: a nose poked out, briefly, twitching, and glittering eyes glanced at Octavia before the face withdrew, though whether by its own volition or if it had been sucked back in by contractions of the infamous uterus was impossible to determine. Octavia felt dizzy.
“Will you answer me, kholic? Can you tell me? Because that cherub, as you insist on calling her, was my child. Now what has happened? Is she alive, at least?”
“Uh, the chatelaine, that is, she’s not sure. I don’t know much. Your child was stolen.”
“Speak up!”
“Stolen.”
“Stolen?” The fecund’s voice changed, deep enough now to shake the stone walls of her cell and reverberate the very bedrock of Nowy Solum. “People are such hopeless fools! How could someone have stolen her?”
“I don’t know any details.”
“What? I told you to speak up! Thieves, you say? Thieves in the palace?”
“Well, in the chatelaine’s bedchamber.”
The fecund made a loud hissing sound, no doubt of disgust, and slopped back down, splashing water up against the walls. “Now I understand why she didn’t come down here herself. She got you to do the dirty work. Was the stupid bitch drunk again last night? Drinking spiritus and fucking animals?”
“I’m not sure,” Octavia said, lamely, but of course she knew the tales of indiscretions and self-abuse; these were common knowledge in the city. Even in the ostracon. Until not long ago, Octavia couldn’t have cared less about the chatelaine’s behaviour, but now she had stood on the threshold of the bedchambers, had felt the gaze of those eyes, the dry heat of the chatelaine’s fingers on the nape of her neck. She had seen the devices and smelled the scent of stale sex. She cleared her throat. “The chatelaine told me she needs another cherub, for her collection.”
“Oh? For her collection?” That tongue came out again, coiling, accompanied by yet another low hiss. Several black worms fell from the fecund’s gums to quickly dive for cover. Yet the monster seemed to have partially resigned, or at least had let go some of her anger. “But I have little choice, right? I must submit, for I am but a slave. Do me a favour, kholic? At least tell your boss this for me. No more. Tell her that. My babies are not playthings. They live and breathe like all little babies.” The grimace forming now on the fecund’s face might have been a different form of cruel smile. “They are children, as I’ve said.” She cocked her head. “Well, what are you waiting for? You must know what I need to get started? Have you got the stuff?”
Octavia nodded. She opened her fist and held the batten out.
“Throw it.”
Octavia hesitated.
“Go ahead, throw it, girl.”
So she tossed the cotton at the monster, who caught it with a snap of her jaws and a grotesque wink.
“Thanks, sweetheart.” Swallowing.
Octavia waited, afraid she might pass out from the tension that tightened in her chest.
The fecund squinted, chewing. Paused. “Hey, that tastes a little funny.”
“What?” Chills ran down Octavia’s spine.
But the fecund laughed. “I’m kidding. Jeez! It’s yummy, as usual. I can’t wait to see what this one’s all about. Now run along. Let me gestate. And bring me what else I require. Soon. Has she told you about that?”
“No.”
“Ha! Well, she will. The old lady isn’t through with you yet, I assure you. We’ll talk again. Hey, are you all right? You seem a little pale. In a few places, anyhow. I hope I didn’t frighten you. I get a little angry, that’s all. I’m bored. I like to make jokes. I’m actually very maternal, you know. Which is an understatement. But maybe next time you could find the key for that gate and come sit right here, next to me?” Patting a mossy stone. “Then you could hold my hand while I deliver? That would be so nice. Nice to have a