Everfull Cup

by Nobilis Reed

Chapter 1

Andreyn watched as the newlywed couple rode away in their brightly decorated carriage, cheering even as a tear rolled down his cheek. The most important person in his life was happily leaving him behind. After all the adventures he had come through with her, she was gone. Still, she was happy, and it wasn’t like he wouldn’t see her again, just…not as often. His adventuring life was probably over.

Someone cleared their throat behind him. He wiped off his face before turning to find a middle-aged man dressed in fancy livery, bowing as he held out a folded square of heavy paper. Andreyn took it and uncertainly looked it over. There was a bunch of complictated curlicues on the face, and more inside. The man stood there, watching him.

"I'm...I'm sorry?" said Andreyn.

The man rose to stand perfectly erect. his dour expression was emphasized by his beak-like nose and scowly eyebrows. "Duchess Lauressa would like milord's answer, Sir Andreyn."

He looked closely at the wad of scrolls and twists on the front of the paper. Writing. Harutagar, former guildmaster of the wizard's guild, had taught Andreyn enough letters to read labels and book covers, but the words had never looked anything like this. After a few seconds, he recognized his name embedded in the fanciful script.

Andreyn flipped the square open. The writing inside was a bit easier to read, but not much; it felt like wading through waist-high molasses. He read it aloud, sounding out the words. "Her grace, Duchess Lauressa of Standumar, invites Sir Andreyn, Knight of the Cobblestone, to a formal ball at her residence this evening, to celebrate the marriage of her nephew, Henrio par Crandlin and Baroness Tretoine of Wilburborough. Furthermore, she extends her assistance in preparing for the event."

He looked up. The messenger was still there. "Oh, a party eh? Uh, yeah, I suppose I'll go. Nothing else to do, right?"

"She will be glad to hear it, milord. A coach is waiting to bring milord to the residence." He turned sideways and gestured up the street.

"What, right now?"

"It will take some time to prepare, milord." The messenger's gaze flicked over Andreyn for a moment, and he detected a hint of disapproval in the man's face.

Andreyn looked down at himself. He was dressed in the finest clothes he had ever worn. Sure, the shirt was too big, borrowed from Henrio for the occasion, but it was nearly new, clean, bright white, and soft as goose down. His trousers were baggy but given his magically enhanced endowment below the waist, that was a requirement.

And to top it all off, he had the shiny gold medallion hanging from a chain, that the prince himself had laid around his neck that very morning. It was a symbol of his new rank, "Knight of the Cobblestone," a reward for his assistance in revealing the plot to remove the prince from the royal line of succession.

Then he looked back at the messenger, and Andreyn understood. The man was covered, head to toe, in trim and bric-a-brac. His bright blue velvet doublet was festooned with polished brass buttons, ribbons spilled from his poofy muffin-shaped hat, and his tightly fitted hose gleamed with what looked like silver threads.

And he was just a servant.

"So we're about getting me some better duds, eh?"

"Among other things, milord. Many other things."

The messenger led Andreyn to the coach, climbed in after him, and sat in the front seat, just behind the driver. As the coach lurched into motion, Andreyn asked, "So, what's your name, mate?"

He turned his head only slightly in responding. "I am Florian Cleedrowe, majordomo at House Standumar. Her grace has given me the task of preparing milord, as best I can, for tonight's festivities."

"Well, that's very kind of her."

"I will convey milord's gratitude."

"You don't like me much, do you mate?"

"My personal feelings are entirely irrelevant, milord."

Andreyn leaned forward. "Look, I didn't ask for any of this, right? That high wizard, Harutagar, caught me breaking into his mansion. Caught me red-handed. And instead of turning me over, he made me his personal servant, right? Only he wanted to humiliate me, so he gave me a potion that made my cock grow down to my knees. Then he strung it through one of his magical gateway things, pierced it so I couldn't take it out. Made it into a goddamn bell-rope he could keep in his pocket. Ever had the Duchess grab your cock to summon you, eh? No? I didn't think so."

"My apologies, milord, if I conveyed the impression of disapproval."

"Oi, Florian. Look at me."

The majordomo turned in his seat, with one elbow over the back. "Yes, milord?" His expression hadn't changed.

"Listen. I'd have been happier if his highness had clapped me on the back and given me a nice fat sack of gold for my troubles. Then I could have gone on my way back home, thrown a big party down at the Watery Tart, and gone back to something like my old life. But no. Instead, he gives me this." Andreyn jangled the medallion between his fingers. "Said because I'd risen to his defense, he'd raise my rank to match my service, or some old rot like that. Truth is, I never gave his nibs a single thought. Everything I did there, that was all for Tretoine.

"She and I, we grew up together. Watched each others' backs in the orphanage, and then on the street when we got too old for Saint Jilla's. She's the closest I've got to family; my sister, near as makes no difference. So if I'm a hero, it's because I defended my sister, not for some service to the goddamn crown. And I treasure her smile more than a thousand fancy chains around my neck.

"And now she's married. Henrio--he's a true gentleman, in every way. Couldn't have picked a better husband. I'm happy for her, truly. But she's not going to be part of my life anymore, is she? That's over now. I wish it weren't that way, but there it is. So neither of us wants to be here. Alright then. Let's not make it any harder on each other than it has to be."

"Of course, milord." Florian continued looking at him, with an expectant expression.

Andreyn sighed. "That's all."

"Yes, milord." The majordomo faced forward again.

Andreyn couldn't help thinking that Florian had only listened because Andreyn had commanded him to, and every word had gone in one ear and out the other. He wondered what Unger and Yuthar were up to.

The Standemar Mansion stood on top of a hill overlooking the city, not quite as high as the royal palace, but close. It wasn't as bright as Kristalmanse, either, but the site made its granite walls seem much more imposing, especially from a carriage rolling up the street towards its front doors. Narrow windows peered down from the angular walls and turrets of gray stone. The heavy black doors bore the Standemar emblem, a tower with a dragon perched on top, in gleaming gold.

With another sigh, Andreyn recalled the times he and Tretoine had visited the place, climbing in through high windows and balconies to make off with whatever gold and silver came to hand. After every visit, whoever was in charge of keeping it secure had taken precautions to prevent a recurrence, and each time the pair had found another way in.

Andreyn weighed the medallion in his hand. The chain was polished brass, but the pendant was gold, as far as he could tell. Even melted down, it would fetch a few coins. Maybe that's what he would do. Just jump off this carriage, run down to his old neighborhood, and sell the medallion for whatever it would fetch. Then take the money and get drunk, and go back to his old life before all this mess with Harutagar and Kaltarena.

Except that life didn't exist anymore. Tretoine was so much a part of it, he couldn't imagine what it would be like without her. He wanted his happiness for her to be pure and unselfish, but he couldn't help spitting curses under his breath at everyone involved, including Henrio and the sorceress, Mistress Sablemoor. A tear ran down his cheek, and he choked back a sob. Then, angrily, he brought his fist down on his knee. With an effort of will, he stilled himself, wiped the tear from his cheek, and swallowed his resentment.

By the time the carriage rolled up to the doors, Andreyn was in control again. The grand doors of the palace opened, and a parade of liveried servants filed out, to stand on either side of the stairs leading up to the doors. At the top, Duchess Lauressa stood, leaning on a cane to keep her gigantic bosom from causing her to fall forward.

Florian stepped out of the carriage and stood by. "Sir Andreyn, it is my sincere hope that milord will find welcome, here at Charstone."

Andreyn stepped down out of the carriage. "Thank you, Florian." He climbed the steps in a daze, not knowing what to make of the display. What did this mean? Did they really, actually want him there? Why?

He reached the top, and the Duchess extended her hand to him. Not knowing what else to do, he clasped it briefly and then bowed to her. He felt clumsy and unsure of himself. It was only after he had let go that he thought maybe he was supposed to kiss her hand. Fancy folk did things like that.

"Sir Andreyn," she said, with an indulgent smile. "Thank you for accepting our invitation. We have a suite set aside for you. There is much to do and not much time."

"Thank you for having me, ma'am. I was beginning to think this title the prince gave me doesn't mean much."

"Oh, it means a great deal, young Sir Andreyn. A great deal indeed."

Florian led Andreyn up a broad staircase and into a corridor wide enough to admit two carriages side by side. Lamps and candelabra, shining on rugs and tapestries and polished suits of armor, attempted in vain to brighten the dark stone. There was a gloominess to the place that mere flame could not dispel.

The room at the end of the hall was somewhat brighter, illuminated by shafts of sunlight streaming in through tall, narrow windows. There was a table and chairs, a small bookcase with several tomes behind glass shelf-covers, and a full length mirror on a stand. A folding partition was painted with a detailed scene of a dragon coiled around a castle, confronted by a troop of archers and a knight on a horse. A door led to an equally luxurious bedroom.

A whole troop of servants followed them in, bringing a washtub, bucket upon bucket of steaming water, and a basket of soaps. Within seconds, Andreyn had been stripped naked except for his medallion and plunged into hot water. He noticed a few of the servant girls glancing at his ridiculously huge cock, but they were gone before he could say anything about it.

A pair of young men with brushes scrubbed his body while another leaned his head back and shaved the stubble from his chin. Then the bath was over, he was sluiced down with hot water again and vigorously dried off with soft towels. The whole operation was supervised by Florian, sending servants scurrying with hardly more than a glance.

When he was clean from head to toe, and anointed with something that smelled like flowers and mead, the troop of servants returned, armed this time with bits of string marked in black at regular increments, which they wrapped around every part of his body, calling out numbers as they went. The measurements were written down by a bespectacled old woman who stood next to Florian tutting and shaking her head.

"A codpiece is entirely out of the question. It would be, ugh! Vulgar. And besides, there isn't time to make it."

Florian considered with a finger on his chin. "How about doubled back on itself? In a coil, perhaps?"

Andreyn scowled. "Oi? You two talking about my cock?"

"Yes, in terms of what to DO with it."

"Mostly, I piss out of it. Which is rather a bit difficult if it's wrapped up in a knot, thank you very much. So hold on for a minute, eh?" Andreyn grabbed his belt, and opened the pouch hanging from it. From inside, he withdrew a leather strap about six inches long, with a silver buckle. He wrapped the whole affair around the root of his cock, tapped the buckle twice with his finger, and his cock and balls dropped off into his hand. "One of Harutagar's little toys. Picked up a whole set when Tretoine and I were in his laboratory. Convenient, eh?"

Florian took a deep breath, evidently holding back a horrified reaction. "Indeed."

Andreyn held out his organs like they were a prize. "Now you don't need to get all inventive, do we?"

The old woman raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "That does simplify things."

"All we need now is a place to put it," Andreyn replied, smiling at Florian's unease. It wasn't easy to get a reaction out of him, and Andreyn found himself feeling a bit of satisfaction at having accomplished it. "Someplace comfortable would be nice. Oh, and safe would be good, too. Trust me, not a good idea if someone else gets hold of it."

Florian swallowed, and the unease drained from his expression. "Perhaps a cushion next to a chamber pot?"

"With a blanket on top, I think. Gets cold, you know? One of the reasons I don't use it all the time."

"Indeed."

Florian clapped his hands and barked instructions. More servants bustled in, fetching the necessary accoutrements for his penile arrangements.

After his member was properly situated, another troop of servants arrived, bringing one garment after another for Andreyn to try on. Most of them, the majordomo rejected for being the wrong color or style. Those that he found acceptable, the old woman said couldn't be altered quickly enough. After a half hour, though, they assembled a poofy white shirt, lace cuffs, a pair of checkered hose, and a bright green doublet with gold clasps and embroidery. Nobody asked him what he thought, but at least the clothes were clean. With a few stitches here and there, the ensemble was complete, and Florian dismissed the gaggle.

Then, Florian directed Andreyn to sit in one of the chairs. "There will be quite a number of important people at tonight's event, and it would be well not to offend any of them. Your status as hero of the day will only buy so much indulgence." The majordomo immediately began a lecture on the status of the different titles noblefolk carried, their modes of address, and proper comportment during introductions. Andreyn found it all tremendously boring, but he had a talent for memorizing things, and focusing on learning it kept his mind occupied.

After a few hours of this, servants arrived with a lavish meal of soup, slices of roast pork, carrots with herbs and butter, and a loaf of bread fresh from the oven. Andreyn wanted to dive right in--he hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast--but Florian insisted on taking the opportunity to teach him proper dining etiquette. Everything had to be held just so, whether a fork, knife, spoon or goblet, as if the utensils were irreplaceable holy relics which might shatter if you gripped them too tightly. Furthermore, chewing and talking were never to be mixed, which seemed like a real waste of time.

But the most important lesson, according to Florian, was that there was an art to conversation at an event like this. "One must never speak of anything directly; all must be nuance, implication, and metaphor." Andreyn had to ask what nuance and metaphor were. In the end, Florian decided that the best course of action would be to avoid talking as much as possible.

Then a servant came to the door with news that guests had begun arriving for the ball. In spite of the delays Florian's lecture had inflicted, Andreyn had gotten enough to eat, so the two of them went down to the hall where guests were beginning to assemble. Duchess Lauressa met them at the bottom of the stairs. She straightened up, thrusting her prodigious bust out in front of her, and gave Florian a questioning glance. "Well?"

"Milord has performed adequately, your grace. If milord remembers the lesson, there should not be overmuch embarrassment."

"Good, good. Tend to your duties, Florian; I have someone Sir Andreyn needs to meet."

"Of course, your grace." Florian bowed with a graceful flourish and hurried toward the doors.

The entry hall had at least a dozen people in it, standing around in small groups, but the space was so huge it looked nearly empty. Duchess Lauressa maneuvered past all of them, answering greetings with little more than a nod of her head, her cane tapping on the stone floor with every step. None of them were her intended destination, it seemed.

They stopped, instead, at a lone figure in a shadowed corner, dressed in a black robe with light green velvet stripes on the shoulders. He recognized the garment; this was the uniform of a student at the magic school run by the wizard's guild; the stripes indicated a journeyman rank, though he couldn't remember what the green represented.

"Sir Andreyn of the Order of the Cobblestone, I present Miss Shesta Hollybranch."

The young woman curtseyed awkwardly. "Pleased to meet you, my lord."

Andreyn blinked. He hadn't even seen her as female, at first, so slight was her frame. He had been spending too much time among the mountainously constructed nobility, he decided. The bowl-cut hair and prominent spectacles didn't help. "Oh, ah, right--the same, I'm sure," he replied.

"Miss Hollybranch is an expert in the brewing of potions," said Lauressa, with a knowing, sidelong glance.

"Oh, is that right?" said Andreyn, restraining the urge to take a step back.

"You don't look happy to hear that," said Shesta.

"Well, you know...potions and me, we've got a bit of history."

"Ah, yes, I heard about that." There was a flicker of her green eyes toward his crotch. "But that's been sorted out, I take it?"

"A temporary solution," said Andreyn, remembering what Florian had said about not being too direct in talking about things.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," said Lauressa. "I'm sure you have so much to discuss."

Andreyn watched Lauressa go. "So what's that about?"

"She's talking about the formulary that you and Tretoine took from Harutagar's mansion."

"Uh, yeah, what about it?"

"Are you aware that every wizard's magic is just a little different from every other one? Wizards need to keep spell books, it's how magic is organized and empowered, but it's intimately tied to their own understanding. You can't learn how to work a spell just by reading it in another wizard's book. The same is true for potions."

"So now that they've used his book to prove he was in on the conspiracy, it's worthless? I suppose that's no great loss, though. Most of what he made were pretty silly. I mean...making knockers the size of beer barrels is great and all, but hardly a cure for the plague."

"No, not worthless, entirely. Careful study by someone familiar with the effects can learn to adapt the text to their own understanding. Translate it, if you will, from one wizard's particular affect to their own.

"So...what you're saying is that you've got Harutagar's book? And you're translating it?"

Shesta smiled. "Yes. And I need your help." She definitely wasn't playing the game Florian warned Andreyn about.

"What do you need me for? I don't know anything about magic. I was the old fart's fetch-and-carry boy, that's all."

"You were the last person to associate with Harutagar before he was brought to justice. You could very well have clues to deciphering his formulary."

"Seems an awful lot of trouble for a bunch of silliness."

"Oh, it's not silly," said Shesta with a twinkle in her eye. "There is a lot of money to be made in those potions."

"I like the way you think," said Andreyn. "So, you'll cut me in for a share, then?"

"How about twenty percent?" she replied. "After all, I'm the one who's going to be doing most of the work."

"I do know my way around a potions lab, you know. If you're going to recreate Harutagar's tit growing formula, you want someone you can trust helping you out. Not only that, you're going to need ingredients, some of which are really fucking rare. He had a whole passel of suppliers, none of whom knew who the others were. I know all of them, and the things each one was supposed to fetch on the regular."

"You make a good point. If that's true, then I can see going fifty-fifty."

"Deal." Andreyn thrust out his hand. She took it and shook. Andreyn was not a big man, but in his grip, Shesta's hand felt small.

Florian's voice boomed, echoing through the hall. "Milords and ladies," he shouted. "Her Grace, Duchess Lauressa of Standumar bids you welcome, and invites milords and ladies to a repast!" A huge pair of doors opened, and the crowd, which had thickened up considerably while Andreyn and Shesta were talking, began making their way through to the dining room beyond.

Andreyn looked at Shesta. He couldn't put his finger on exactly why, but being around her had lightened his mood. "You staying for the whole thing?"

"Well, I was really only here to talk to you about the formulary."

"You know the food's going to be incredible."

"That's true. But I don't know how to dance."

"Neither do I. We can look foolish together."

"Alright. Deal. Give me your arm."

Andreyn thought of the straps in the pouch on his belt. "What? No, I need it! Can't cut up my meat with just one hand, can I?"

Shesta giggled. The sound made him smile. "No, I mean--stick out your elbow." She pointed to the couples walking by. Each lady was holding the arm of a gentleman.

Andreyn imitated them. "Right. Can you tell I've never done this before?"

"It's alright, neither have I."

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