Prior smiled. “As I said, magic.”
“Well, you’ll certainly do. I haven’t smelled a joy fart in years. In fact we don’t see a lot of magic here in the hindland.” She bustled about, rousting up a meal for them. “You just sit down and keep that hot air coming while I set up.”
He sat the indicated chair, and the Spire continued a moderate emission. Smellie hummed a tune as she worked. It was halfway familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “What is that melody?”
“My theme song.” She sang the words of the refrain: “And ’twas from Aunt Dinah’s farting party I was seeing Smellie home.”
Now he placed it. The variant he knew referred to a quilting party and Nellie.
They had a meal of beans and cabbage juice. It was what she had. His gut roiled up, but of course all the food in this land did that. Just so long as he could pass his natural gas without blowing the Spire out. It seemed okay; the Spire continued a low volume emission of joy farts, and that kept Smellie smiling. Her life remained bleak, but she was on a sustained high.
They talked, and he learned that the village had a monthly fair for enter tainment, contests, and business. It was designed to attract tourists, so that the village could profit.
“I’m just passing through. I need to find the Maiden in the Tower.”
“Oh, for that you need to go to the Maid-in-Tower Village. They have a new Maiden every week.”
“Every week? What happens to her?”
“Each day there’s competition, with one candidate qualifying. On the seventh day she must choose which one will be her master for a year.”
“Her master?”
“She’s his sex slave. They generally have good-looking anonymous Maidens who have been abducted for the purpose.”
“Abducted!” he exclaimed as if surprised.
“You mean this is involuntary?”
“Of course. That makes them more appealing. But it’s a recognized device; they have no choice but to carry through.”
“I should think there would be outrage by their families and friends.”
“Sure. That’s why they aren’t taken from the local village unless they volunteer, as some do. They are fetched in from far away.”
Prior saw how it could have happened to someone from his realm, if that was the case. Was she really his ideal woman, or was that just propaganda spread about to many men to garner more interest? He would simply have to rescue her and hope for the best.
“Where is the Tower Village?”
“That’s three days trek from here, unless you have a fast steed or magic.”
Three days! That gave him barely enough time, as he had only a week to rescue the Maiden.
“I don’t have a steed or that kind of magic. Is there any shortcut?”
“Sure. Win a ride on the Fart Blimp. It can take you there in one day.”
THIS IS FEASIBLE, the Spire gouted.
“Thanks, I’ll do that.”
When they had eaten, they repaired to the public privy, entering it together and taking adjacent holes. Smellie let out quite a load, by the sound of it, clearing her body for the night. Prior eased his gas and turds out around the Spire, discovering that there was no difficulty; the magic implement knew how to stay in place.
People glanced at them, paying no special attention. Crapping together in the public privy was a signal that they were a couple, at least for the night.
FOLK WHO SHIT TOGETHER, FIT TOGETHER, the Spire opined, evidently quoting a local maxim.
Prior glanced at the statue of the nude.
“She’s beautiful. Was she modeled from a real person?”
“Yes, of course. Every year we have a contest for comely young women posing bare on the toilet, and the loveliest wins the title of Mistress of the Village and the statue is sculpted to conform to her image. It’s a great honor, and more.”
“More? In what sense is she mistress?”
“Every sense. She becomes the leading citizen, making key decisions for the village, with a stipend so that she does not have to work at any other trade. She also has her choice of men, single or married, a different one each night if she wishes, for that year’s fucking. The men are normally glad to do it; it’s not considered a breach of their marital state, but a civic duty, and their wives are honored. She also entertains traveling men who pass this way; it brings a number who might otherwise select a different route, and the village gets their business. When her year as Mistress expires, she may choose any one of the men she has fucked to marry. Oh, I would have loved to be the Mistress, as any girl would, but of course that was a laughable dream.”
Prior avoided the need to agree.
“I’m a traveler. She didn’t choose me.”
“She’s ill and wants to retire. Soon there’ll be another contest to select her replacement.”
“Ill?”
Smellie smiled. “Euphemism for knocked up. It happens. She can’t marry her lover until she steps down.”
“Now I understand. Don’t girls have ways to avoid pregnancy?”
“There are spells. But sometimes they forget.”
They settled together on her bed. He saw that it was bumpy, with a ragged blanket. It was what she had. She did not complain, but it was clear she had reason to prostitute herself to traveling men; she needed to survive.
“How would you like me?” she asked, with a petite fart of invitation. “I can do it any way you want.”
“Actually, all I need is food and board, and you have provided that. You don’t have to have sex with me.”
“Oh no! You’re gay!”
“No, just trying to be reasonable. All I paid for was food and bed—and I fear you have little in either respect.”
“Oh, please, don’t leave now! I know it’s not great, but it’s all I have. I can make it up by giving you great sex, so you’ll have no complaint.”
She thought he was seeking a pretext to go elsewhere. Rather than argue, he clasped her. She met him eagerly, and they proceeded to the best natural sex he’d had in some time, because he wasn’t using the Spire for it. Nothing fancy, just a simple stroking of her nice breasts, kissing her face, easing his member into her receptive cleft, thrusting, and ejaculating. All perfectly ordinary, but nice.
Then he realized that she had not joined him in the climax. He had come to depend on the Spire to thrill the women it touched, but he wasn’t using that now. “I’m sorry; I was forgetting your share. That was selfish of me.”
“Oh, I should have faked it,” she said, chagrined. “It was so nice having unkinky sex for once, I forgot.”
“You’re not frustrated?”
She laughed. “I never come. It would distract me from properly catering to the needs of my guests. If you want to do it again, I’ll make sure to give a better performance.”
“No need. You were good as you were.”
“It’s nice of you to say that. You’re a nice man.”
As he sank into sleep, against her obliging body, he addressed the Spire:
She’s a good person, doing what she has to. I want to help her.
YOU ARE BECOMING SOFT HEADED. SHE’S A WHORE.
Maybe so. But also a decent human being. What can I do for her?
ENTER SOME CONTESTS TOMORROW AT THE FAIR. WIN HER SOME STAPLES.
I will.
Then, satisfied, he slept. In the morning he saw that his clothing was undisturbed; she had not sought to steal anything. She served him grueclass="underline" all she had.