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Harald and Harquilla -
The light, at first so dim as to make Harald think it was imagination, grew stronger with every stride. The rails snaking out in front of him picked up the glow and shone like undulating lines of fire from his feet on to infinity. As he drew even closer to the end of the tunnel the bright light shone into the surrounding darkness and made him squint his eyes to better see.
Harald crept then crawled in the dry tunnel dust until he arrived at the brow of a rise. The rails soared out into the void on a structure of iron girders while the ground beneath fell away steeply. Looking over the edge, Harald saw into the ‘Pit of Creation’; it seethed with activity, all of it an obstacle to Harald’s goal. The manufactory was marked clearly on his map but the notation next to it read ‘disused’.
“Fuck!” he whispered.
The corset was so tight it made her gasp for breath if she walked too fast. The constraining garment forced Harquilla to be more sedate in her movement, to walk like the lady she was dressed to portray. Today she was playing a different part, not the whore to repressed professors but a prim research secretary. Her clients from the academic cloisters had furnished her with a fictitious reference and schooled her on the predilections of the Dean. Both had been very certain that it would stand her in good stead to have had employment in the University when she applied for a place at one of the colleges. And the Dean was looking for a research clerk.
Harquilla knocked at the thick oak door with elegantly gloved knuckles. After a moment or two it opened marginally and half of a wrinkled face looked out.
“Yes?” A surprisingly bright blue eye looked back into Harquilla’s questioning gaze, the voice a wheezing croak.
“The Dean is advertising for an assistant,” Harquilla explained yet again. She had lost count of how many University drones there had been between the cloister gate and this final door. Each wizened, dried up husk of a man had looked her up and down with just the same disbelieving expression as this final guardian. The look was dismissive and patronising as though Harquilla was a chamber maid caught pretending to be a lady. The accuracy of their appraisal did nothing for her confidence.
“I have an appointment to see the Dean; here is my invitation to interview.” Harquilla passed her letter to the trembling clawed hand thrust through the gap in the door. The ancient held the paper far away from his eye to better read the spidery academic script.
Harquilla jumped as the hand and letter disappeared and the door slammed in her face. She was taken aback, not knowing quite what to do. Was the creature gone, taking her pass to a better life with it? Was he going to come back? Did he see through her act and was this minute calling for the University Bowlers to come and eject her from the cloisters. All these fears tumbled through her mind as she stood unable to move or even draw breath.
She gasped when the door was flung wide and a tall figure dressed in a black flowing gown and with pure white flowing hair to his waist, filled the open doorway.
“Sororis Jensen. Please forgive my colleague. Frater Golish is deep in his research and less than polite at such times.” The impressive figure held out its hand to Harquilla. It took her a moment to recall that she was using the name Jensen and that he was apologising to her for the creature’s bad manners.
“It is nothing My Lord.” Harquilla made the slight dip the Professors had insisted she learn to use when meeting senior Academics. It galled her to curtsy before these puffed up men but she wanted what they could give her.
“Please, my dear, call me Dean, we don’t stand on much ceremony here in the cloisters.” His voice was rich and mellifluous and it trickled down to a place inside Harquilla that reacted by melting a little. She tried not to smile at his pomposity while at the same time looking at his handsome mature face and deep eyes. This was going to be interesting, she thought. She took his hand and allowed herself to be drawn into the dim rooms behind the door.
Back once more in the semi darkness of the tunnels, Harald sorted through his bag, selecting items he would need. The pit was full of Adepts and their slaves and there was no way around it. He had to get to the City before the date he planned or his quest would be a failure. The revolver had only five rounds and he had seen at least ten armed Adepts in the pit. If he was caught, here in the Rail tunnels, it would mean certain death. They would torture him first to establish how he had got this far. That could not happen.
From his bag, Harald drew out a polished globe that filled the palm of his hand and gently set it onto a cloth square laid on the sand. Next, he took a tightly stoppered metal bottle from the bag and set it beside the globe. A leather roll of watchmaker’s tools, a metal tube of the diameter of the globe around a foot long were next. Finally, a thick rubber bladder, a hand air pump and a piece of clockwork joined the items on the cloth. Harald set about the work he had to do.
“My dear Sororis, your references are excellent, what is it that appeals to you about my simple studies?”
They were seated in the Dean’s study, surrounded by ancient books stuffed onto shelves designed to take less than half the number. Papers and scrolls piled high on every flat surface overflowed onto the stone flagged floor.
Harquilla crossed and recrossed her ankles, furtively tugging the skirt of her gown so that the hem rode just above the tops of her patent leather ankle boots. Her shapely calves were encased in sheer black hose and she saw the Dean’s eyes flicker down and linger. She took a few breaths for effect before she answered, drawing his eyes reluctantly back to her face.
“I am an admirer of your work My Lord Dean. Your paper in the Proceedings of last quarter was magnificent. The connections you made with the Tablets of the Ancients and the Kisha Temple Scrolls were illuminating.” Harquilla had in fact read the article in the Proceedings of the Society for All Knowledge but found it to be tedious and repetitive. In her mind the Dean made his reputation from stating the blindingly obvious and finding obscure evidence to cite in support his turgid words. She watched him as he preened himself in response to her flattery. Time to wind things up a notch she thought.
“It is a trifle warm My Lord might I trouble you for a glass of water?” she asked, flapping one hand languidly in front of her face while with the other beginning to unbutton her tunic.
When the Dean turned back with a glass filled from a jug on his desk, Harquilla had slipped off her jacket and sat with a straight back, her unfettered breasts swelling the bright blue silk of her sleeveless blouse. The collar buttoned up to under her chin but the fine cloth was like gossamer and her nipples were clearly defined as were the smooth contours of each firm breast. Harquilla saw the water in the glass swirl briefly before the Dean regained his self control. She deliberately pressed her chest against the cloth of her top as she reached for the glass. She allowed her fingers to rest on his for longer than necessary as she said.
“You are so very kind to me My Lord, I am honoured by your attention.”
Harald wiped traces of gas oil from the ball just as the President’s armourer had shown him and lowered it gently into the mouth of the mortar tube. Topping off the compressed air in the bladder with two strokes from the pump he disconnected the pipe and coiled it back in to his bag. Checking for the fourth time the mortar’s angles for range and arc, he twisted the clockwork timer to arm it. Holding his pocket watch in one hand he peered at the sweep hand in the light from the pit. As the second hand reached the top he pressed the timer release. Swiftly, but unhurried he slipped back into the tunnel and kept going until his mental count told him he should be far enough away. Still silently counting he lay down and flattened himself between the rail with his bag between him and the Pit.
The armourer had been very specific about the device and its power. When Harald had asked him for his most potent small weapon the soldier had not hesitated in passing over the top-
Just a little after he stopped counting he heard a low cough from the tunnel mouth. So quiet he only heard it because he knew it was coming. The compressed air in the bladder had propelled the ball into the air high above the pit. Harald was counting again and inserting ear plugs into both ears. In his minds eye he saw a fine mist of gas oil being dispersed as the rapidly spinning ball arced above the Adepts in his way. The oil was blending with the air above the busy people and machinery below. As the ball reached the top of its arc Harald knew it would fall back into the carefully calculated mixture of fuel and air. Just a few seconds later the clockwork in the ball triggered by being accelerated from the gas mortar would cause a flint to spark.
Harald stopped counting and pressed himself into the dusty ground between the rail tracks.
The hellish explosion sent a shockwave thundering down the tunnel towards Harald. He gripped the track pads with frantic fingers and toes desperate to prevent being torn loose by the blast of hot air roaring over him. He knew that the intensity of the pressure wave was crushing organs and bursting bodies. All the living creatures in the pit would be dead instantly from the blast shock before the heat of the short-
Harald gathered up his things and walked back toward the Pit and on towards the City.
Harquilla felt the Dean’s cock twitching in her throat, so she sucked him a little harder and gently squeezed his balls in her fingers. His hands on her head pulled her face closer to his belly, grinding her nose into the fragrant fur at the base of his cock. She stroked between his buttocks with her other hand and was rewarded by his groan and he thrust harder in her mouth. She sensed it was time and slipped a finger tip into his ass while using her teeth to gently scrape his shaft.
His semen was a hot flood washing down her throat as he ejaculated, his hands twined painfully in her hair as she milked him with practiced tongue and lips.
“Oh, my Dear, oh my Dear,” was all he could say as Harquilla delicately wiped some drops of spilt seed from her chin and licked her fingers as he watched.
Harquilla was pretty sure that she had got the job.
To be continued…
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