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only a pence!”
    Claudio’s head rang. The lump came with him from the street, causing Claudio to groan in pain. He stood on wobbly legs. His vision swam, leaving black streaks across his eyes for an instant, and he had a sudden urge to vomit. He looked around at a small alley adjacent to a wider thoroughfare—on market day, it appeared—and nearby was a rain barrel sitting beneath the sagging eaves of a pub. The nausea intensified, and Claudio heaved bœuf bourguignon and half a bottle of Spätburguner. Claudio thought through his sick, dizzy haze that the animal slaughtered for his meal wouldn’t be born for hundreds of years.
    The barrel reeked of red grape and hot, noxious sick, but as soon as Claudio raised his head, he smelled only the grime and horseshit. He suspected some of the latter resided on the sole of his right shoe, as there was a suspicious softness there with every other step.
    “You feelin’ a bit under the weather, luv? I got just the thing.”
    Claudio looked up to see a woman grinning at him.
    “Name’s Polly.” She batted her eyes and sidled up closer. “I got a bit o’ medicine back at me flat, if you’d like. It’s not far ’tall.”
    Claudio considered the offer. He had nothing in the way of appropriate money, but perhaps he could offer something in trade.
    The woman was snub-nosed, with her auburn hair in a messy topknot. Her clothes stank of drink and sweat, but there was a kind of devil-may-care appeal to her smile—yellowed teeth notwithstanding—that made Claudio think she could be an amusing companion for a few hours.
    Polly giggled when Claudio nodded and indicated that she should lead the way back to her place. “Won’t regret it, sir. I’m well taught in how to please a gent, if I do say so me self. Got some whiskey, too, if you’d like a nip.”
    “Sounds divine, fair Dulcinea. Do let’s make haste.”
    “Dulci-whatnow?” Polly asked. They walked together. “Oh, gov, you lookin’ for another girl? Said it was Polly, though me mum called me Mary. Never cared for that. Ah, ’ere we are.” She nodded up at one of the soot-colored buildings. A sign designating the place as an inn without a name hung half off its hinges above the door. “Not technically me own flat, but I’m paid up for a time.”
    They swept through the downstairs, part lobby and part pub. The bar area was still playing host to a few men muttering into pints of ale, and Polly led Claudio past them to a sparsely furnished room on the second floor. “Not much, but then I s’pect we don’t need much,” she remarked, indicating the thin mattress.
    Claudio chuckled and took Polly into his arms. The evening began with a hint of promise, but as the first pink streaks of dawn blossomed through the holes in the curtain, he was listening to her snore and holding his head in his hands.
    Goddammit, man, you started a revolution. So why can’t you manage this one simple act?
    He looked down at himself, at his thin form and unresponsive organ, and felt the first stirrings of rage. It was her fault, this disgusting whore, and he would make her pay. Never mind that this wasn’t the first time he’d been impotent, never mind that, indeed, he had authority and money and now powerful science behind him.
    You’re no man. You’re worthless.
    Claudio looked down at Polly and put one hesitant hand on her throat. For a moment, her breathing stopped, her face growing at first a jaunty pink to match the dawn, but then redder and darker. Claudio’s arm trembled. He tightened his grip and watched as the veins in the back of his hand stood out in angry lines like writhing snakes undulating just beneath his skin’s surface.
    A little more pressure. One last squeeze…
    Before Claudio could clamp his fingers down tighter, Polly emitted an emphatic snore and wriggled away from him. She snorted and fell back into her drink-induced slumber.
    I could do it again, though. No one would miss her. She’s of no import to