After the Downfall

“I would screw you to keep you from going back to Bottero and Velona. If that is what it takes, I will do it,” Drepteaza said. Hasso’s jaw dropped. He knew the Bucovinans were blunt, but he hadn’t thought they were that blunt. When he didn’t say anything, Drepteaza went on, “If you want me to like you while I’m doing it, though, I think you would be asking too much.”

“Oh,” Hasso said again. Not even How about that? or Isn’t that interesting? seemed safe here.

“You may not care, of course. Some men only care about the screwing itself, not whether anything lies behind it. Some women, too, no doubt, but I think fewer,” Drepteaza said. “I got the idea you weren’t one of those, or you would have been happy enough with Leneshul or Gishte. But maybe I was wrong.”

You can have me. I’ll make nice, even if I really want to spit in your eye. Drepteaza was right. Plenty of men would have been happy enough with that bargain, or vain enough to be sure they were such wonderful lovers, she would melt with delight as soon as they got it in.

Had he been offered a woman like Gishte or Leneshul on terms like that, chances were he would have taken her. What she thought of him afterwards wouldn’t have mattered to him. With Drepteaza, it did. That was what made her different from the others.

Or maybe I’m just a damn fool. Shit, I wouldn’t be surprised.

“If you’re ever interested, likely you can find a way to let me know,” he said.

She looked at him for a long time. It seemed like a long time, anyway. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I am in your debt, and – under the circumstances – I have no easy way to pay you back.” She walked off without waiting for an answer.

“Under the circumstances. Ja.” Hasso said it in German, so she wouldn’t have understood it even if she heard it. But he didn’t think she did. She seemed determined to get away from him as fast as she could.

Under the circumstances … He’d barely found out what Velona’s name was before she gave him the time of his life. Drepteaza didn’t work like that – not with him, anyway. These people weren’t Catholics. There wasn’t anything here about priestesses having to be virgins. But…

He’d had his chance, and he’d blown it. He probably was a fool. He sure felt like one right this minute. Well, if he felt like one in the morning he could tell Drepteaza he’d changed his mind, and how about it, cutie?

In the meantime, he went down to the buttery and asked for the biggest beaker of beer in the place. He’d seen this coming, but maybe not so soon. The tapman didn’t even blink. He just handed Hasso a drinking horn with enough beer in it to drown a rhino. Hasso had to work to drain it, but drain it he did. Then he thrust it back at the Bucovinan. “Fill it up again,” he said. The beer made his brains buzz, but he remembered to use the imperative.

“Whatever you’ve got, you’ve got it bad,” the tapman said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hasso said with exaggerated dignity. The native took that for a joke, and laughed. So did Hasso, right up until he started to cry.

XXIII

Hasso had had his share of rocky mornings since splashing down into the marsh by the causeway. This one was a rock like Gibraltar. He staggered down to the buttery for a little porridge and some beer. With luck, no one would talk to him, and he would have the chance to forget how badly he’d hurt himself.

As soon as he saw Scanno, he feared luck wouldn’t be with him. As soon as Scanno saw him, he knew all his fears would be realized. “You look like something the cat threw up,” the renegade remarked.

His loud, cheerful voice reverberated between Hasso’s ears. Anything loud and cheerful inclined Hasso toward suicide, or possibly homicide. “I’ve been better,” he said – quietly.

Scanno couldn’t take a hint. “Tied one on, yesterday, didn’t you?” he boomed. He wasn’t quite so loud as King Bottero would have been, but not from lack of effort.

“How did you guess?” The less Hasso said, the less he gave Scanno to grab on to, the better the chance the other man would shut up and go away. He could dream, couldn’t he?

But Scanno wasn’t going anywhere. “You’re a hero,” he said. “What do you need to go out and get plowed for? I mean plowed bad, not plowed happy – you hurt yourself, pal.”

“No kidding,” Hasso said, and then, “You ought to know. You get drunk all the time yourself.”

“Yeah, sure.” Scanno didn’t waste time telling him he was talking through his hat. “But I like getting drunk and sloppy. You mostly don’t. So what did you go and do it for yesterday?”

“None of your business,” Hasso said sweetly.

“Gotta be a broad,” Scanno said, which was much too perceptive for that early in the morning – and for how bad Hasso felt. “So which broad is it, and how come she won’t give you a tumble?”