But, as the time went on, despite the many things she now had to occupy her, Megan looked forward to his infrequent visits. The disgust was starting to fade and that terrified her. By the sixth month of captivity, she was beginning to look forward to the act, to the sex. It no longer felt like rape and she was horrified that she was actually starting to enjoy Paul’s company. He was smart, very smart, and when he did bother to talk he was interesting. The chance to know something of what was happening outside the harem was delightful. To listen to the intrigues that were going on among the New Destiny faction and, from time to time, to hear about the actions of the Freedom Coalition that fought against them.
What was even more horrible was, she began to enjoy him as a bed partner and he definitely seemed to prefer her to the other girls. The dreams continued but more and more they tended to be erotic rather than nightmares. Or, they were nightmares, because the dreams never really changed; she’d see his face above her, taking her. But the fear and anger and disgust drained out of them as time went by. The helplessness was still there, but something in her was changing. When she had him at her relative mercy, she no longer looked at him as a target. The plans were still there, remaining in the background, waiting the proper time, but she no longer thought of killing him when he was inside her. She wanted him. And she hated herself for it.
“Here it is,” Megan said, holding up a small bottle filled with yellow liquid.
The still-room was now filled with odd scents, a complex of strong musk, rose water and an undertinge of sulfur. Ceramic bowls bubbled over charcoal braziers and a small complex of distilling equipment dripped liquid into a small glass jar. The end of the table was covered in a pile of spices and several sealed bottles were scattered around them.
Christel took the bottle and removed the stopper, sniffing at the liquid.
“Oh,” she said, tipping some of the liquid out and rubbing it on her inner wrists. “Wonderful!” she exclaimed, sniffing at her wrist.
“It’s not very potent,” Megan noted. “The scent will wear off quickly. I need a secondary distilling apparatus to get it to be real perfume as opposed to a very light cologne.”
“Can you do that?” Christel asked. She sniffed at her wrist and noticed that the scent had already begun to fade.
“Oh, yes,” Megan said. “But it will have to be ordered from a glassmaker. The cost is well within our… well I’ve got it listed as ‘fripperies’ budget. The cloth to make clothes, board games, that sort of thing. We haven’t really touched the budget on that. And the glassware isn’t all that expensive.”
“All right,” Christel said, sniffing at her wrist again and touching some of the cologne behind her ears.
“Um. I’d sort of hoped that I could… use this to trade,” Megan said. “I can’t sew and I was hoping I could trade this with the other girls. Obviously, you have first dibs.”
“Obviously,” Christel smirked. “But that’s fine. Just don’t start too many fights, okay?”
“Okay.”
Christel looked around the room and then under the workbench.
“What is that big bucket?” she asked.
“That’s sort of the junk left over,” Megan said. “I’m going to have to have it hauled out sooner or later, but there are two hogsheads for it. They’re plastic lined, so they won’t leak.”
“Okay,” Christel replied, looking around and shaking her head. “You really do surprise me, Megan.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the girl said as the older woman left the room. “I certainly hope so.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Megan was frowning at the latest bill for cosmetics when Paul suddenly appeared in the office. She let out a slight shriek and the paper she was holding flew across the room.
“Jesus, Paul!” she snapped. “Ding a bell when you’re porting or something!”
“I’m sorry,” Paul said, then frowned at her, looking at the papers scattered across the desk. “What are you doing in here?” he added severely, the frown creating a furrow between his eyebrows. He had lost weight even in the last few weeks and was so thin his ribs showed. His clothes weren’t as elegant, either. Actually, he looked like a walking corpse.
“I’m doing the accounts these days,” Megan said, waving at the papers and worrying about the change in his appearance. Paul dying from malnutrition was not part of her plans. “And other things.”
“What ‘other things’?” Paul asked, dangerously. There was an almost feral light in his eyes as he stared at her. “And why are you doing the accounts?” he asked, harshly.
“The ‘other things’ is making perfume,” she said, coming gracefully to her feet and walking over so he could smell the underside of her wrist.
“Nice,” Paul said, mollified. “You make it?”
“I have to.” She frowned in turn, returning to the desk, and sitting in the graceful motion Mirta had taught her. “Do you know that there’s not a single perfumer in all of Ropasa? Saving me, of course. You want to make some money instead of spending it for a change?”
“Making perfume?” Paul snorted.
“Perfume was a major trade item in preindustrial days, Paul,” Megan replied, hotly. “Given what I’m paying for cosmetics for the girls, I could make a killing if I was still on the outside. Setting up a perfumery would be expensive, but I’d recoup the investment in a year!”
“You’re not getting out of here, Megan,” Paul said, kindly, squatting by the desk. “You have more important work to do. Don’t… don’t make the mistake that some have made.”
“Paul, I’m not trying to escape, okay?” Megan replied, wondering and fearing at the truth in the statement. “I don’t even know where we are. Okay, I got up to a window, that I couldn’t fit through, and looked out. We’re in a castle. Big surprise. We’re in a castle on a mountain. We’re in a castle on a mountain that has a valley down below and other mountains in the distance. Paul, I could be anywhere in Ropasa, okay? And I got enough of a look to see that there are about a billion Changed guarding the castle. There’s a town in the valley. Why do I think it’s probably crawling with your forces? Paul, I’m not trying to run away. I’m just saying that you’re leaving money on the table, here!”
Paul looked at her for a moment and then laughed, finally sitting down on a pillow, some of the tension going out of his face.
“You’ve changed,” he said, still chuckling.
“What do you mean?” she asked, cautiously.
“Where’s the meek little Megan that I found by the side of the stream?” Paul said. “Meek, scared little Megan. She’s disappeared and been replaced by a coldhearted business woman who wants to make a killing in the perfume business.”
“Little Megan is still here,” she said, smiling. She shook her head at his appearance, though. “Paul, what have you been doing to yourself? You look like a damned ghost. How long has it been since you’ve laughed?”