Beauty’s Kingdom (Sleeping Beauty #4)(32)
Author: Anne Rice

“Say it, girl.”

“Prince Dmitri, my lord and master,” she said, her bright dark blue eyes flashing on me again.

v

We were in the Punishment Shop and what a grand tavern that turned out to be. In old times, said the Captain to Lady Eva, these little places had been crowded and noisy with straw-strewn floors and cheap cider and ale.

I knew this. I remembered. I remembered the farmer’s wife sending me here on foot, alone, to be punished. We wore tags around our necks. The choice of tag suggested the punishment. A small black tag on a thin thong meant “Spank.” A red tag meant “Spank Severely,” or so I’d been told. I’d always been sent with the red tag dangling between my nipples, hands clamped to the back of my neck, as that was the only way we’d ever been allowed to walk through the village on our own. And woe to the slave who wandered without a tag, a purpose, some emblem of intent from his master or mistress in sending him or her on an errand.

The place had been narrow then, with a bare stage four feet off the floor, and crowded little tables where villagers drank their cider or ale, gossiped, and with some of the women knitting or embroidering with their little rings.

Now it was vast, the beams of the ceiling painted with bright green vines and yellow flowers against a plaster blue sky.

We had a polished table and carved chairs, and so did the other patrons, rich and poor, and the stage directly just in front of us, some four feet off the ground still, was painted and polished and draped in sumptuous wool hangings and lighted with great multibranching iron candelabra.

The whipping master was caparisoned in yellow and gray with the same ornate apron worn by his fellow on the Public Turntable, and if anything this one was a more impressive figure in his high-backed armless chair.

In the kingdom, always beware of armless chairs.

He was a giant of a man with a mane of long flowing gray hair and a broad beard, with rosy cheeks and big shining gold boots.

He crooned to the slave bent over his apron now, tousling his hair, and stroking his back, and patting his upturned backside gently. The spanking had apparently just ended as we came in. He appeared to be comforting the victim and taking his time.

“He thinks he’s a loving grandfather,” said Lady Eva confidentially to me as he might easily hear us, we were so close.

But the din was considerable. Everywhere patrons drank their cider or ale and chatted with spirit, as if nothing, absolutely nothing, were happening on the stage.

“It’s really too amusing,” Lady Eva said to me with a brilliant smile. “That’s why I’ve seated us so close. You must hear and see this kindly father of paddlings for yourself.”

Alexi laughed as he lifted his mug of mulled wine. “I love the man!” he said. “I come down here for this more than anything else.”

More patrons pressed into the Punishment Shop now, and beyond the tiny diamond-paned windows others were lined up to get in. There were villagers here, ordinary people, yes, but it did seem to me the gentry was now the majority, so unlike the old times.

The floor of the stage was carpeted in dark blue, and the whipping master’s thronelike chair was placed on a carpeted platform elevated above it by one foot. He had taken a little break for himself, it seemed, and drank from a flagon offered him by his liveried attendant. Yellow gloves. So many of the grooms and attendants wore yellow gloves. I saw the stool beside him, fancy and carved as was every movable, and the pot of cream there and a pile of what appeared to be more yellow leather gloves.

The slaves were lined up on their hands and knees on a long easily sloping ramp to the far side from us, which brought them from a pen inside the front door to the stage.

I remembered that ramp very well, making my way up it slowly, as it sometimes took an hour before my turn to be “Spanked Severely” and hoping that the crowd would take no interest, which was often the case. After all, I’d known this place after my return from the sultanate, and I had become a master of control.

I didn’t give them a good performance. I was far too resigned, and polished. And even when told to “wag my little tail,” I did it too gracefully to interest the commoners who used to congregate here more to see one another than to bother with us.

I was eager for the show to begin, and felt oddly detached even from Alexi, though the courtesy and sweetness of Lady Eva touched me. The Captain had gone off to see to my townhouse and to the delivery of Barbara along with all the furnishings and goods. I felt his absence, but I didn’t know whether I was grateful for it. It seemed I missed him.

I looked around the shop slowly, noting a multitude of changes, the dark blue painted walls, the polished floor. Ah, such polished floors. The ramp for the waiting slaves had its blue carpet, same as the stage. Tables were set with small silver lamplets or candles. Goblets, flagons, or cups were of silver or enameled earthenware. And the smell of the place was sweet from the honey and spices in the heated drinks.

“I came here many times,” I murmured under my breath, principally to convince my companions that I was not altogether ignoring them, though in fact I was.

A young gentleman had caught my eyes, a figure and face I thought I might know. He was my age, I had come to realize, though on first sight he’d seemed much younger, with an oval face and long red hair. It was slightly darker than Lady Eva’s voluminous hair, and his eyes, though green, were paler than hers, but he was handsome in the extreme—and dressed fussily and finely in a long peach-colored embroidered tunic and soft ornate morocco-leather boots.

He wore the same heavy gold chain and medallion that Alexi wore, and I wondered at it. Then it hit me: “Prince Richard,” I said aloud.

Alexi leaned forward, and quickly I explained. Richard had been in the village when I’d returned from the land of the Sultan, a prince who’d displeased the Queen as much as I had, sent down to punishment, just as I had been, and he’d served the hard demanding Mistress Jennifer Loxley at the inn. He’d left before I had, and now I could see he was back.

“Oh, yes,” said Lady Eva. “That is Prince Richard indeed. He returned two years ago and the Queen was glad to receive him. He languished at Court until the new king and queen arrived. He’s the guiding genius of this place, so to speak. The King relies upon him to oversee this and all the Punishment Shops, and he enjoys this very much. He lodges at the inn now where once he was a slave. But no one would recognize the inn now, for it’s become a place of luxury for moneyed guests and even nobility. He’s devoted to our new monarchs. He especially adores the Queen and takes the noon meal with her almost daily. He has lodgings at the castle as well.”

“Guiding genius.” These were the words that the King had used in referring to the Place of Public Punishment.

“And you, Alexi,” I said, turning to him and pointing to his chain and medallion. “Does this have to do with being the guiding genius of something? Is it permitted for me to ask?”

“Naturally, and I’m glad to tell you,” he said. “I’m in charge of evening Court entertainments along with Rosalynd and Elena. The ladies wear a medallion linked to their belts, and often hidden in their pockets. I’m happy to wear this, as you see.”

“And Prince Richard’s medallion indicates his responsibilities,” said Lady Eva. “The villagers and guests know by these medallions that they might approach him and ask questions, that he is ever ready to help. Prince Richard is the master of His Majesty’s Punishment Shops.”

I understood. I understood more than I could put into words. I understood everything! Of course. Prince Richard had been punished innumerable times over the years here. He knew the ways of the place intimately. He was the perfect person to refine and perfect it in the rush of conflicting forces that characterized any new kingdom, any new regime. Guiding Genius.

“Dmitri,” said Alexi gently and confidentially. “You need accept no such position, you know. You are entirely free to enjoy the kingdom. Prince Roger is back, do you remember him? He has no task as yet and may never seek for one. Tonight, you and other returnees will be presented officially and that means welcomed, welcomed as guests to Court.”

“I know, I understand that, Alexi,” I said, my eyes fixed on the stately almost prim figure of Prince Richard. His arms were folded. He sat with his back to the ramp of waiting slaves. He was studying the patrons of the place, not the slaves, watching the naked serving boys and girls, watching the great red-cheeked whipping master laugh with his groom as he drank his ale.

“Listen, Prince,” said Lady Eva suddenly. “I know you want to be alone with your thoughts here. I’ll go on to see to your house. When you’re ready to return to Court, I’ll have the King’s chariot waiting for you at the village gates. Alexi, you can handle the team, can you not? Now I’ll leave you.”

We rose to bid her goodbye and she took me boldly in her arms.

“Lady, you read my mind and my heart,” I said.

“I understand, my lord,” she said. “You have only just returned. I cannot know what it is like for you, but I have seen what it has been like for others.”

She kissed me on both cheeks and made her way out of the place, quite independently though I caught sight now of a groom who followed her, a groom in castle livery, who’d been waiting quietly on her all along.