The Left Hand of God

12

So, Riba,” said Vipond, affable as a kindly schoolmaster, “until these three young men stumbled upon this attempt by a Redeemer to assault you and during which he was knocked unconscious, you were completely unaware of the presence of men in the Sanctuary?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And yet you had lived there since you were ten years old and had been treated, from what you say, like a little princess? That’s very strange, don’t you think?”

“It was what I was used to, sir. We were given nearly everything we wanted, and the only strict rule, for which the punishment would be terrible, was not to leave our grounds. They were very large and the walls impossible to climb. And we were happy.”

“Did the women in charge of you explain why you were being treated with such kindness and generosity?”

Riba sighed for the death of a long-held dream.

“They said that when we were fifteen we would be taken to become brides in a place more wonderful even than the Sanctuary, and we would be blissfully happy forever. But only if we became as perfect as possible.”

“Perfect? In what way?” asked the now slightly startled Vipond.

“Our skin must be without flaw, our hair shiny and manageable, we must have wide, bright eyes, our cheeks pink, our breasts round and large, our buttocks large and smooth and between our legs, under our arms, nor anywhere else except our heads were we to permit the growth of a single hair. We must be always interested and charming and always smell of flowers. We must never be angry or scold or be critical of other people, but be kind and affectionate and always ready with kisses and tenderness.”

Both Albin and Vipond were men of considerable experience and had seen and heard many strange things, but when Riba had finished, neither of them could think of a thing to say. It was Albin who finally spoke.

“To go back to the assault on you by this Redeemer. You’d never seen him before?”

“No, nor any man.”

“How,” asked Vipond, “did you practice your… tenderness? If you had no men.”

“On each other, sir.” This startled the two men even more.

“We would take it in turns and pretend to be tired and bad-tempered and shout a lot and bang doors, and one of the others would calm us down and be kind until we were happy.” She looked at them and realized that her answer had fallen short in some way. “Then there were the dolls.”

“The dolls?”

“Yes, the man dolls. We dressed them and massaged them and treated them like kings.”

“I see,” said Vipond.

“Me and Lena…” She stopped for a moment. “Lena was the girl the Redeemer killed-we were told we had been chosen to be sent to be married and live happily ever after. But then we were taken to that man’s room by our aunties-that’s what we called the women who brought us up and told us we were going to be married. But then that man came and he killed Lena.”

“Your aunties, they knew about what would happen to you?”

“Why would they do that, having been so kind to us? They must have been tricked.”

“Wasn’t it a strange coincidence,” said Albin, not now sure if they weren’t being led up the garden path, though she was, he thought, a brilliant liar if this was so, “that you should have come across this Redeemer and Cale all in twenty-four hours and that Cale should have arrived in the nick of time to save you?”

“Yes. I thought that-even at the time. How strange to come across four men at the same time after all those years-and one so cruel and the others risking their lives for me, for someone they didn’t know. Are such things common?”

“No,” said Vipond. “Not common. Thank you, Riba. That will be all for the moment.” He rang a bell in front of him. The door opened and in walked a young woman. She had about her the air of cool pride of any sixteen-year-old member of the aristocracy, as if she had seen everything and little of it held interest. But her eyes goggled when she saw Riba with her dark hair and enormous plump curves. Standing next to one another, they seemed to be creatures only distantly related.

“Riba, this is Mademoiselle Jane Weld, my niece. She is going to be looking after you for the next few days.”

Mademoiselle Jane, still boggled, nodded slightly. Riba just smiled nervously.

“Albin. Would you wait outside with Riba while I have a word with Mademoiselle Jane?”

Albin ushered Riba outside and closed the door. Vipond looked at his startled niece.

“Close your mouth, Jane. The wind may change and you’ll have to stay like that.”

Mademoiselle Jane’s mouth shut with a snap that was almost audible, only for her to open it again almost immediately.

“Who on earth was that creature?”

“Sit down and listen and for once try and do as you’re told!”

Resentfully Mademoiselle Jane did so. “You are to befriend Riba and to get her to tell you again everything she has already told me and anything else. Write it down and send it to me, omitting no detail, however trivial or strange…” He looked at the young girl. “And it will be strange.

“When you have heard her story, you will see if she can be trained to keep quiet about it and pretend she comes from the Southern Isles or some such. She has manners enough of her own, but you will teach her ours. Perhaps if she does well, she will make a personal maid or even a companion.”

“You expect me to train a maid?” said Mademoiselle Jane indignantly.

“I expect you to do whatever I tell you. Now get out.”