"Not bad looking, either," she said, tickling the copperhead wrapped about her arm. It was a "Her face wasn't beautiful, but she could be called pretty," and an energy crackled out of her through the clinging T-shirt. It was easy for Valentine to imagine her being the source of the bubbling spring, a kind of Lady of the Lake. Or, going back a couple millennia in the literary world, holding an apple in her bower.
"Our beloved Baron gave up on Captain Coltrane becoming a father, I guess," she said. "I don't have my glasses on, stranger, but you're a finely formed blur. Should I keep my glasses in their drawer, Porter?"
"He's chewed up, but tasty," the scarred man answered. He cupped Valentine on the butt cheek.
"Keep it off base, Private," the other said. "Just because the Baron looks the other way ..."
"My snake's cold," she said. "Let's get going."
She led them back down the path to the trailers, silent. She had a grace to her, her gait had a rhythm, even on the uneven trail. The singing had stopped and the crying had changed to the sound of a woman telling a story about an ugly duckling.
"First time in the harem?" she asked, over her shoulder.
"Yes," Valentine said.
She waved the escort off at the door. "When will you pick him up?"
"Morning," the one in charge said. "Well after dawn, so don't be afraid to-"
"Give him breakfast?" she said.
They left.
The trailer had more Grog art in it. A tiny corner kitchen at one end, with a bathroom opposite it, and a built-in folding table with a pair of small chairs covered eating and expulsion. At the other end, a long couch hid a bed. She had some bookshelves made of planks and bricks filled with battered books, mostly reference works and fiction. Several of the paperbacks were held together with rubber bands.
"Why do you do your routine in the water?" Valentine asked.
"Good workout for the legs. I had the guys bring up some sand, so the footing's not too bad, and most of the year enough water is moving to keep it clear from water weed. That and it takes care of the sweat, so I don't have to wash after."
"I practice when it's cool," she said. "They're happy to just hug my arms for a few minutes."
She had three aquariums filling a wall of the trailer, warmed by a space heater. Valentine peeked inside and recognized a diamondback rattlesnake and a cottonmouth, plus something near black he'd never seen before.
"What's your name?" Valentine asked.
"They call me 'Snake Arms.' "
He wasn't sure he'd heard the name correctly and asked her to repeat it.
"Snake Arms. They tell me it's how the Grog name is rendered in English. Tethmot or something like that, with a purse of the lips and a spitting sound before or after to signify that I'm a captive. Hope you don't mind Grog spittle, every time you get an order you'll get a sprinkle."
"I'm guessing they gave you that name."
"I'm a praise-dancer. I've got a way with rattlesnakes and such. Can we get this over with, I need to hunt mice for my creepies and if I go to the grain pits after they close they might think I'm stealing."
Valentine wondered how much to the hilt he'd end up playing this role.
"They call me Scar. You-fine reward," he said, keeping to his role as an ignorant Scrubman who was learning fast.
"Your first time in a Grog pit? The Baron's not interested in your pleasure. He wants strong, healthy babies for his next generation of soldiers. It's Orders. They want some offspring combining valuable traits."
Valentine had experience with this sort of thing. Southern Command ran a controversial program for a period before the return of a few Lifeweavers where they tried to breed a new generation of hunters by pairing up likely candidates. As one of the very few male Cats, he was called on. It wasn't unpleasant, but it made him feel like a prize bull.
"Like dogs," Valentine said.
"How do you think they ever made Shepherds. They picked two mutts with features they wanted and got a litter. The Baron's thinking long term."
"Hey, I'm off all duties but sewing while you're trying to impregnate me, so I'm happy with it. Under all the wear and rust, you ain't half bad looking, plus you have that intense Indian thing going, so I've got no problem with taking it twice nightly for a while if he wants me knocked up. Thing is, I have to check in at the doc's dripping spunk, or they'll take me off procreation and put me to berry picking or beekeeping or cleaning chicken coops and so on, and that's sticky work. We only get two hot baths a week. Otherwise it's a basin and rag, or the spring when no one's drawing water."