“Ho-o-w?” Carlyle gasped, choking on her own hair which stuck to the spit and stomach juices mingling on her chin. “How did you know I was a Deist? Did Jehovah Mason tell you? Is that their power? Some kind of telepathy?”
Dominic shifted, kneeling more erectly now, the waves of his habit straightening like a stormy ocean gathering into tsunami. “Thou darest not face a universe without a God, but thou refusest to diminish human freedom, so thou honorest this Clockmaker, Who does not interfere with Fate or freewill, just steps in at the beginning with a happy plan, and the end with a happy afterlife.”
“The invitation didn’t come from Helo?se, did it?” Carlyle accused. “It came from you. You lured me here.”
Dominic would not let his victim break the rhythm of his words. “No commandments to follow, no angels to fear, and all religions are equally valid in the eyes of thy vague God, so thou dost not even have to say that anybody else is wrong. They’re all right, thy parishioners, thy fellow sensayers, the priests and martyrs of every faith in history, everybody’s right except the atheists, and thou canst tell thyself the atheists too would be happy with a God who does not judge or interfere. Has there ever been a faith that required less of its adherents?”
“Stop this right now!” Carlyle tried to rise, but slumped back into the corner, barely strong enough to raise her head. “This isn’t the Eighteenth Century, it’s the Twenty-Fifth, and there are rules! You can’t lure people into your house on false pretenses, you can’t wear a costume that declares your religion publicly, and only my sensayer gets to talk to me about my religion!”
No predator has ever worn so cruel a victory smile. “I am thy sensayer.”
“What?”
Dominic’s gesture brought the document before Carlyle’s lenses, a sensayer transfer, signed and validated, effective that day by order of Conclave Head Julia Doria-Pamphili. “Thou knowest well it is unhealthy to spend thy whole life seeing the same sensayer, and it is unfair to the world, too, one parishioner hogging so many of the great Julia’s sessions. She’s the most popular sensayer on Earth. There are leaders and philosophers on a two-year waiting list for one of her transformative sessions, while she wastes two hours a week on one spineless, unchanging little Deist.”
Carlyle coughed. “What did you do to Julia?”
Without rising, Dominic settled onto a three-legged wooden stool that waited by his side. “I’m not permitted to disclose what goes on between me and my sensayer.”
A sharp breath. “Julia’s your sensayer?”
“She’s been teaching for ten years, did it never occur to thee that she had other students?”
“You … ‘A coward’s religion,’” Carlyle quoted, her voice softening as understanding bloomed, “that’s how Julia described Deism too, when we first met.”
“It would be a shame if the world’s most penetrating sensayer had no apprentice capable of using her techniques.” Dominic gestured to a cup of water, waiting on his table for his victim’s need. “Thou shouldst be happy, Carlyle. As thy sensayer I can’t lay a finger on thy body or I could lose my license. There are only a handful of people in the world I’m not allowed to touch, and most of them are on the Seven-Ten lists.”
Where art thou, Mycroft? Thou promised thou wouldst race to Carlyle’s rescue.
I am coming, reader, coming, as quickly as I can.
Carlyle wolfed the water down, breathing easier as wetness rinsed the acid from her throat. “I’m never accepting this,” she began with new strength, sweeping her matted hair out of her face. “Even if you’ve forced or bribed Julia—”
“Thou dost not think she’s beyond bribery, then?” Dominic interrupted. “Thou’rt perceptive when thou allowest thyself.”
Carlyle’s fist tightened around the pewter cup, ready to hurl it like a sling stone. “Even if you have, I’ll go to the committee—”
“And petition for a transfer? Feel free. They’ll interview me if thou dost, and I’ll so enjoy telling them about thy tawdry affair with Thisbe Saneer. It will be thee who loses thy license then.”
“I haven’t touched Thisbe Saneer.”
“No judge in this world will believe that.” Dominic drummed the side of his wooden stool. “Thou’st spent thirty hours in her bedroom in the last five days, and you went to a brothel together. What wilt thou say, that thou wert there chasing a miracle child? Or wilt thou ask Mycroft Canner to vouch for thee?”
Keep in mind, reader, that Dominic’s ‘thee’s and ‘thou’s feel far stranger in print than they do in person. He does not exaggerate them as bad actors do, but mumbles the archaisms with the calm slurring of common speech, so the syllables fly past too quickly to feel unnatural. Read his lines aloud to a friend saying ‘thou’st’ and ‘what’rt thou’ as quickly as you would say ‘you’ve’ and ‘what’re ya,’ and, more often than not, the friend won’t even notice archaism rearing plain as day.
The Cousin still had fire to spit. “You sound stupid making empty threats. Thisbe will vouch for me, that’s all I need.”
“Thisbe?” Dominic repeated. “Thisbe’s ambitious. She’ll sacrifice thee in an instant if I offer to help her climb Madame’s ladder. She’s tasted what we have; she won’t turn back until she’s glutted herself. Thou must see that.”
Carlyle sat up fully now, glaring defiance, the hints of blond in her hair catching the light like old gold. “You know, Bryar Kosala had almost talked me into being okay with what Madame does here, that Madame was just using gendered sex to vent people’s urges and foster inter-Hive collaboration, but the real problem is encouraging others to imitate that. Even if there’s still sexist residue that makes it harder for a woman to get ahead outside, sitting here using sex to pull strings isn’t going to end that inequality, and encouraging normal people like Thisbe to do it too is just going to reduce the number of competent women that are out there trying to make things equal.” She frowned, seeing a stifled snicker twist Dominic’s lips. “Have I said something funny?”
“Thou hast it backwards. Madame isn’t here pulling strings because it’s hard for a woman to make it to the top out there, it’s hard for a woman to make it to the top out there because Madame’s here pulling strings. No one gets to the top now except the ones she chooses, and, however good she is with all genders, she finds the traditionally masculine the easiest to draw in and control. Fifty years ago half the Hives had female leaders, fifty years ago the Seven-Ten lists were always different, and fifty years ago this building was a music conservatory.”
Carlyle wiped her chin and soiled hair with a handkerchief Dominic had left on hand for her. “You’re saying Madame’s artificially re-created sexism so they can manipulate the world with it? That’s absurd. I can’t believe one brothel could have that much influence.”