Read The Factory Trilogy 01 - Gleam for Free Online

to dull their vision, or confuse it; I use them to sharpen it.’ She grinned. ‘Come. It is time for the next entertainment.’
    Daunt swept past him. She had her naked attendantson fine chain leads, Alan saw now. They followed her, their hard, lean bodies glistening, and Alan rushed after, then past them so he was walking at Daunt’s side.
    ‘Your first audience in my halls,’ she said. ‘They enjoyed you. I enjoyed you. You did well. I will have you back.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Your reputation is not entirely undeserved.’ She looked sideways at him. ‘Your reputation as a singer, that is.’
    Alan took a deep breath. ‘What other reputation do I have?’
    Daunt smirked again. ‘You know fine well. Do not play the fool with me. I intend for you to be one of my men tonight. There is no need to fence.’ She pressed herself against him and kissed him full on the lips. He could feel her breasts through his cold damp shirt. She broke free and undid his uppermost done button. ‘You may as well just take that off,’ she said. ‘It is foul. Your body is much more pleasing without.’ And around them, people were indeed removing their clothes, some as they danced, some as they kissed. The beating of the drum was louder and faster now. Alan’s skin felt hypersensitive; every brief contact sent waves tingling across his whole body. Something he’d drunk, perhaps. Some fungal liquor he’d downed unknowingly in the mindless space between songs. Or spores in the air. Daunt’s parties were legendarily debauched, and the provenance of her power probably had something to do with it.
    What was the next entertainment?
    Alan followed Daunt through one of the archways into a long rectangular space. People were squeezed onto the little floor space that bounded a pit in the middle of the room. In the pit were two small silver bowls, their surfaces pitted, each full of fragments of something that looked like dried orange peel. The bowls rested on a surface of some fine grey dust, possibly ash.
    The crowd parted for Daunt. Alan remained at her side, and she did not motion for him to be removed. He had expected greater security than this. Though presumably the masseurs were also bodyguards. He certainly didn’t want to provoke them. He had no doubt that the chains were decorative, and as insubstantial as cobwebs against the slabbed muscle beneath.
    He watched as two similarly built – and equally naked – men jumped down into the pit. Daunt clapped delightedly, and the drumbeat accelerated to an aural blur. A woman dressed in rags and covered with mushroom tattoos held out a platter of small red things that smelled deliciously of spices. He took a handful and thanked the woman, but she was gone, offering food to the next spectator. The morsels were meaty at first, but melted into nothing. Some kind of offal, fried in something bright. Luxury food. He watched as the men in the pit bowed to their queen, sat cross-legged opposite each other and tipped the silver bowls to their mouths. They inhaled the orange fragments and chewed furiously. Alanlooked across at Daunt, who was rapt. Her empty throne was bobbing its way into the room, carried by enthusiastic members of her following, and when she noticed it behind her, she quickly climbed backwards into it, trying not to take her eyes off the men in the pit. They were getting to their feet. One made claws of his hands and snarled at the other. The men collided, one lowering his head and smashing his skull into the other’s, and the room erupted into a roar that nearly knocked Alan from his feet. He could tell from the men’s expressions that they were howling and screaming, but he couldn’t hear a sound from them. It was disconcerting. Their nails drew ribbons of blood across each other’s taut flesh. They grappled and punched and kicked and bit. Yellow drool ran from their mouths. Alan watched, his jaw dropping, as one headlocked the other and thumped him repeatedly in the face.