Dominions

18-1

18

- 18 -

Rodin had never been in the sea, but he’d been close to it‌—‌at least, he’d stood on the edge of the muddy flats that spread out, apparently, to the water. And he’d only gone there because it was an easy place to dump bodies, letting them sink into the ooze. The sea itself was a bleak, cold deathtrap, an environment Rodin had no wish to enter. But, for the sake of Terrell’s character, he had to put his dislike of water to one side. He had to play his part as best he could.

And so, the next day, Rodin researched. After cleaning the rooms and serving Sertio a late breakfast‌—‌the man was feeling weary after the party‌—‌he ensconced himself in his day-room and fed his mind through his screen.

There was a lot to take in, but by the time he began preparations for the main meal of the day, Rodin knew his port from his starboard and his tack from his jibe, could describe a dagger-board, and had learnt the basic mechanics of sheets and sails.

And‌—‌more importantly‌—‌he learnt about the dangers of sailing. As Leopold had said, many people used automated systems that enabled them to control the vessel from a screen. But the Councillor’s preferred hands-on approach involved many acts such as manipulating the tiller, pulling on sheets (and Rodin constantly shook his head at such a stupid way of referring to ropes‌—‌why not call the things what they were?), and ducking under the boom. There were tales of mishaps, of those who misjudged a turn and capsized, of the risks of a blow to the head knocking a sailor overboard, of the dangers of entanglement if those sheets were not secured properly.

Accidents that could surely be encouraged with a little fore-thought.

“You appear pensive today, my friend,” Sertio said as they ate‌—‌nothing too fancy, just a simple salad that would not upset the artist’s delicate constitution. “You did not enjoy yourself last night?”

“On the contrary. It was an experience not to be missed, but it was so rich in fortuitous meetings,” and wasn’t that the truth? Rodin thought, “that I’m still somewhat overwhelmed.”

and wasn’t that the truth?“Federick does put on a wonderful show, I’ll give him that. Wasn’t his creation inspired?”

Rodin let Terrell make the right noises, and Sertio flowed into what amounted to a monologue on the man and his art. There was no substance to it, though, and Rodin returned to sailing. He recapped what he had uncovered, sought ways to remove the target.

“Incidentally, I forwarded your contact details to Leopold,” Sertio said. “I believe he will reach out to you soon, as he dropped me a line asking if you were free in a couple of days.”

Rodin smiled, and inside he chided himself for not checking his messages earlier. “And am I?”

“Most definitely. How can I stand in the way of you bettering yourself? Our erstwhile Councillor might have ideas that rub some up the wrong way, but I have never found him anything less than congenial company. From the way you two were talking, I can see you getting along famously!”

Try infamously, Rodin thought.

Try infamously“But you were not the only one to have a fortuitous encounter yesterday.” Sertio smiled, clearly wanting Rodin to ask for more information. Rodin couldn’t deny the artist his little game.

“You met someone?”

“I met a great many people‌…‌but I’m getting ahead of myself. I was inspired, by both conversations and surroundings. I saw my latest project in a new light. You, my finely-sculpted friend, lit the fire, but last night provided both kindling and a fresh rush of oxygen.” Sertio waved a fork in the air as his enthusiasm grew. “I believed this piece would be confrontational and blunt, much like your scars. But now, I see subtleties. From a distance it might be viewed as a throwback to my safer works, but there will be a depth to this piece, secrets revealed only after careful study and contemplation. In fact‌…‌but no, it is too early to predict where it will stand in relation to those pieces.”

He took a sip of his drink, then continued. “Contrast! Much like the contrast in you, my friend. Your scars show a hardness, but your cooking is sublime, and you are a gentle and kind being. There is the contrast in the vulnerability of a n***d body, but also the strength in the confidence with which you hold yourself. And I can‌…‌nay, I will go further. To counteract your masculinity I require femininity. I can develop this, through more contrasts‌—‌perfection and imperfection, hope and despair, longing and dread.”

willRodin expected Sertio to dissolve into further inanities, but the artists held up his hands and stopped.

“And it is on that point that I must tell you of my encounter last night. This woman‌—‌and there is no need to look at me like that, my young friend!” Rodin was certain he had shown nothing, but he smiled apologetically‌—‌let Sertio think what he would. “This woman captivated me with her charm, and her most wicked nature. Miss Shae‌—‌and isn’t that a wonderful name, hinting at so much but admitting so little? Her name is perfect for such an unbridled creature, with such good nature that her most provocative comments can only be taken as playful flattery. Oh, we got along famously!

“But in our conversation, she spoke of her niece, and this creature piqued my curiosity. My new acquaintance did not go into details, but she said enough to let me know that this young woman had experienced difficulties and, much like yourself, has recently arrived from another Dome. She is, apparently, a frail thing, with all her qualities and hopes hidden behind a nervous exterior. Miss Shae is naturally helping her become an upstanding, confident member of Society, but she informs me that it will be a long process, rewarding yet also hard work.

“And that is when the spark ignited in my mind, and the muses came together. Here was a young woman of contrast, one who shared so much with my other model, while also being her own person. Here was the femininity to offset the masculinity, the fragile exterior to contrast your hardened outside‌—‌and maybe a tough inner strength to play against your inner warmth?”

Rodin made appropriate expressions. He believed he saw where Sertio was going with this, but it was hard to follow him when he grew so animated.

“So I have invited the young woman round, with a view to her becoming a second model‌—‌of course, if she is amenable to such a notion.”

The artist leaned back, his hands resting on his stomach and a broad grin on his face. He looked at Rodin in a manner that expected a response.

“I’m pleased you had such a beneficial evening,” he said, at a loss to add anything more.

“You would not be opposed to modelling with another person?”

“In truth, I’d never modelled before a few days ago, and so this is all new to me. Modelling with someone else would simply be another fresh experience, and every experience is an opportunity to grow.”

“And excellent attitude, my young friend. I must say, it appears that the troubles in your youth have granted you a wisdom that many twice your age are sorely lacking. I must thank Daventree once more for securing your situation here. He has surpassed himself! But returning to this young woman‌—‌I have invited her round later this evening, to talk things through.” He glanced at the screen on the wall. “Oh, and I really must apologise for not forewarning you. She’ll be here in an hour’s time, and I had envisaged some kind of light spread.” He tilted his head, opened his eyes wide, trying to look pathetic. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can conjure something up, is there?” And he smiled in anticipation.

Rodin was tempted to say that he had no time, or suggest dry bread. But he couldn’t do that to the man. “I did experiment with a recipe yesterday,” he said, thinking of the time after he’d finished his chores and before Sertio was up. “It’s not the best of cakes, but it might suffice. We still have fruit, and an hour will provide time to purchase other delicacies. I’m sure I can lay an adequate spread.”

Sertio beamed. “Oh, my friend, you’re an angel! And I’m sure it will be far beyond merely adequate.”

Rodin shrugged. “I’ll do my best.” It wasn’t as if the artist was particularly fussy‌—‌if the cake was sweet and plastered with sickly icing, he’d be content.

Sertio pushed himself away from the table. His grogginess from earlier was gone, and he practically bounced to his feet. Like a child, Rodin thought. And, like a child, he’d planned something, and only told others at the last minute. Probably wanted it to be a surprise. Not that it meant much to Rodin. A young woman, possibly modelling. She might be pleasant company, but it was only another distraction.

Like a childProbably wanted it to be a surprise.She arrived exactly an hour later, the buzzer sounding as the lift arrived. Sertio had retired to his room to prepare, and was still behind his door. Daventree had turned up, possibly responding to a call from Sertio, and Rodin heard his office door open as he went to greet their guest. He heard footsteps, and they entered.

“Mister Terrell, may I introduce Miss Paskia.” Daventree turned to the woman. “This is Mister Terrell, Sertio’s assistant and model.”

Her features were small, but that was only right‌—‌anything else would be out of place. Her skin was smooth, with a redness to her cheeks that might have been applied, or might have been a nervous reaction. Her eyes were shaded beneath with a deep blue which seemed to amplify their depth, and Rodin found himself drawn to them. They possessed a sheen, like the surface of a still, clear pool, hinting at the depths below. He wondered if this were natural, or if she were wearing enhancements of some kind.

But he pulled back, forced himself to take in the rest of her appearance She wore a deep green robe, or maybe a cloak‌—‌it fastened near her neck, reached almost to the light sandals she wore on her feet, and had a hood that hung to the back. It was difficult to catch a clear view of her clothing under this garment.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Paskia.”

She looked at him coolly, polite but showing no emotion, and instantly Rodin saw this was taking some effort. When she spoke, her soft voice was frail, on the verge of cracking.

“Thank you, Mister Terrell.” She took a step, leaving the safety of the doorway, entering the artist’s domain.

Daventree leaned in. “If you’ll excuse my poor manners, I have pressing business to attend to.” He turned to Paskia. “Please forgive me, my dear.”

“Of course,” she said, absently, as Daventree backed out of the room.