A rewrite. Emmanuelle's secret is revealed.
Let us flash back eight years to where Emmanuelle-Marie Lapoignard les Deux-Epées has been accosted by a group of henchtrolls outside the Fools' Guild. Her spirits are low because of the manner of her rejection for membership of the Seamstresses' Guild, however gently Rosie Palm handled it, and despite the offer of a door still being open for her at a later date. And the reason for her rejection still rankles.
Nom d'une biche! That bloody boy! She fumes. He most probably caught his intimate menagerie through fooling around with some diseased sale con of a parlour maid, and all the time he professes love for me and me alone!
Walled in by a troll at each corner, she walked on, head high, trying to look like the sort of woman of means who can afford to pay for hired silicon muscle, as if she is the mistress and not the prisoner.
She was led to the Street of the Engravers. She had a second's grace to read the name over the shop – Cripslock – and was ushered in by her escort, who fall in behind her.
"Downstairs" a troll voice grated.
She took the stone stair down to a working engraver's shop, with mysterious acrid chemical fumes in the air. On a large stone slab something was chained, and feebly moving, under a tarpaulin. It is making mumbling noises. Fearful mumbling noises. A voice behind her said
"T'ree of you boys, disappear! Malachite, stay wid' der lady."
"Yes, Mr. Chrysophrase."
Emmanuelle rounded on the city's leading criminal troll in despairing fury.
"I still have three days!" she hissed, trying to keep despair out of her voice.
Chrysophrase, as always radiating smoothness, as if his silicon skin were polished every morning, dressed in an immaculately tailored suit modeled on that favoured by humans, diamond gleaming from fingers and cuffs and tiepin, smiled back at her. He was sitting quite comfortably with a female troll standing behind him, massaging his neck. He laughed, like the rattling of stones that presages an avalanche.
"And tell me where a lady wit' no resources can get me my hundred t'ousand dollars from in t'ree days. I am hearing dat not even der Seamstresses Guild wants to take you, and I reckon dat was your last chance."
He paused for exactly the right length of time to let it sink in, and continued.
"Dat's a shame, as I is not an unreasonable troll, and Rosie, she good lady, she has had experience before of negociating with me on behalf of young women who is needing to pay a debt off to me. I respect dat woman and we could have come to an amicable agreement, where nobody needing to have cosmetic surgery with or without benefit of Igor."
He relaxed into the troll female's massaging paws.
"Take Dolomita here, she Seamstress. I have account with Rosie and she know exactly what a troll of means and taste appreciate in a female. When my busy schedule allow for fun and games, I talk to Rosie, she send me a Seamstress. We relax, I treat female like real lady, she leave the next day wid' der bonus. I know how it work. Just a shame Rosie couldn't make it work for you."
Emmanuelle had to admit that there was rubbing it in, and there was rubbing it in. This was rubbing it in, emphasizing that a troll female could be a Seamstress while she had been turned down…
"Don't take it so bad, honey" the female troll advised her. "There a kind of burrowing rock-mite dat trolls can catch if they ain't clean or careful. It not just human females dat get it."
Grrrrrrrr!
Emmanuelle found her teeth grating.
"We call dem lobsters." Chysoprase said, dismissively "But we in one of dem drift t'ings here. You owe me a hundred t'ousand. Now I is realistic. I don't need anudder hundred t'ousand, not straight away. Dat only small change. I could say, OK, we scrub debt, you walk away free woman and not owing me an elim, just you never gamble in my casino again, you barred for life."
The troll paused again and studied Emmanuelle's face.
"Dat is, I could say dat. But what happen next? People say Chrysophrase losing his grip, he goin' soft, he not responding appropriately to people showin' him disrespect."
The troll stood up.
"Let me show you somet'in'." He beckoned a henchtroll forwards.
"Give him some daylight, boys!"
The tarpaulin was whisked aside to reveal a very frightened troll who had been chained to the stone slab by both wrists and ankles. He had also been gagged. Emmanuelle reflected that she was now one of very few humans to have seen what goes on underneath the obligatory troll loincloth, as the creature was completely naked.
Mes dieux! Even as terrified as I feel inside, it really is true what they whisper about trolls: much bigger than human males!
"Get dat Mr. Cripslock wit' der stuff." the troll crimelord ordered. The henchtroll knuckled off.
Chrysophrase stood smiling at the chained troll for some moments. Then he said
"You make me sad, Substrate. You know I is a peacelovin' troll and a troll of faith in the honesty of other trolls. But you is disrespectful, Substrate. And where would I be as a man of honour in the community if I allow disrespect, huh? This gonna hurt me, Substrate."
An old human male was bundled into the cellar. He held a brown glass carboy gingerly in thick leather gloves. He stopped short on seeing Emmanuelle.
"This ain't no part of the agreement, sir!" he burst out. "When I let you use the cellar for little chats with other trolls, I didn't mean for you to bring a human woman here for…"
"Peace, my friend!" Chrysophrase boomed. "You is a good friend to me, Mr. Cripslock, and I look after my friends. Is dat nosy young woman of yours…"
"Staying with her aunt, sir, as usual."
"Lovely girl, Sacharissa. A lovely girl. But too keen to push her nose where it shouldn't go. If dere a career out dere in bein' nosy, she'll find it."
Chrysophrase beckoned his henchtroll, who gingerly took the carboy. An acrid odour arose as he uncorked it. All the trolls in the room leaned forward, as if savouring the smell of roses.
Emmanuelle remembered Rosie Palm's warning about trolls and acid. Engravers used acid.
"No. No, no, no…" she moaned, and tried to look away.
Dolomita, the troll seamstress, came up behind her and took her in firm but gentle hands.
"Mr. Chrysophrase want you to look" the troll woman said. "We don't want to disappoint Mr. Chrysophrase."
Emmanuelle looked. Heard the troll scream. The thrashing of the chains as it writhed. Smelt the effect of the strong acid on troll-hide. Saw the effect of the acid on the troll-hide. And would have fainted, were it not for the strong hands holding her up.
"And dat only one little teeny dribble." Chrysophrase remarked.
He turned to Emmanuelle.
"I been givin' thought as to how you can repay my hunderd t'ousand." he said. The henchtroll stepped forward with the syringe he had been using to drip acid on the unfortunate troll on the slab.
"Sir! This is going too far!" Cripslock protested. "Not on the girl! Please!"
"I'll remember you said that, mon vieux!" Emmanuelle said, shaking with fear.
The Alpha Troll patted Cripslock's back with a gentle hand.
"You hear about the Omnian Inquisition? What you humans devised so as to show other humans the error of their ways? We trolls, we come to the city, we learn from you."
He turned to Emmanuelle.
"I t'ink I got a position for you in my business. You earn that money pretty quick doing… jobs… for me. You do me a hundred t'ousand's wort' of jobs, we say the debt is clear and your contract is finished, you can go your way again, you can also call Chrysophrase a friend and he will help you if you call for his help, like one of der family. I hear as how you is good wit' swords and blades?"
She nodded, resignedly. "Please… that poor creature on the slab. Hasn't he suffered enough?"
Chrysophrase turned back to his henchtroll. "Fill a beaker wit' dat acid."
And then to Emmanuelle again: "Don't flinch, this ain't meant for you. From what clever people read to me, I hear the Omnian Inquisition had t'ree levels to it. Der t'ree degrees. Degree one, der first degree, is where you show somebody the tools and der equipment and you explain what it for, what it do to the body. Then dat person left to think for a while, as to what their best course of action. Den if dey prove stubborn, you take them back to the dreadful place and let them see the tools bein' used on somebody else. Dat der second degree."
The troll nodded at the unfortunate Substrate.
"Some human religions believe in der circumcision. You know what dat is? Dat when the boy sacrifices the skin on the end of his wikwak to prove his devotion to der God. Normally der priest use a very sharp knife. But very sharp knife don't work on troll. It go blunt. So we circumcise you, Substrate. We dip you wikwak into acid and let it burn skin away. We learn so much from humans, about der civilization and der essential humanity!"
"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?" screamed Emmanuelle, her nerve gone. Substrate was also screaming through his gag.
"You know, this your lucky day, Substrate. I not want to distress a lady. So you not circumcised today. But tomorrow, if I not see that Slab you try to cheat me out of! Unchain him, let him go. But if he try to cheat me again and if he can't replace der merchandise, he back on this slab!"
The hapless troll was unchained and helped to his feet. Chrysophrase gave his face a gentle caress on the cheek.
"Remember, Substrate. Half a pound of Slab wit' der capital "S", or you back on this slab wit' der lower-case "s". Now say thank you to the lady who asked for me to be merciful to you, you owe her too!"
The troll left quickly, after stammering "thank yous". A distant door slammed and running feet were heard in the street.
"You not want me to tell you what der t'ird degree is?" Chrysophrase asked. She shook her head.
"That's when the prisoner proves so obdurate in their heresy that it is no longer sufficient to show them the instruments, nor to force them to witness use of the instruments on others. The Third Degree is when the games and the threats are over, and the instruments are used on you." She said, dully, remembering a long-ago history lesson.
"You clever girl. I need clever girl like you to work for me. You see, sometimes warning people ain't enough. Sometimes you need to make a real example. What der Assassins call inhuming."
"you mean… why not get the Assassins to do it for you, if you need it?"
"I go to the Guild, they charge a disrespectful amount of money. Also, people not get message that this person seriously disrespected Chrysophrase. And some people will think: he going soft. He cannot deal with disrespectful people himself, he gets Assassins to do it for him, he getting weak. And in dis line of business I can't afford dat."
The troll crime lord paused and looked shrewdly at Emmanuelle.
"Besides. In seekin' to engage you, I'm getting somebody who was trained by the Assassins. Dat is gold to me!"
She froze. An icy finger traced down her spine. He knew her secret! As she opened her mouth to bluff it out, she heard the troll say
"It too late to say "what you mean?" and pretend to be ignorant. A little birdie tell me dat once upponna time, dere was a student at der Assassins' School. He was from Quirm. He was good wit der sword. He came from nowhere but der school took him in as a pupil. And just before he take his final exam, he disappeared. Dere was no trace and nobody know what happened to him. A friend, him good at findin' things out, found me a class list for Viper House. One dat had not been doctored to look as if dis mystery pupil never had been. And he discover this pupil was called Emmanuel-Martin de Jeannedarc.
At same time, young girl name of Emmanuelle-Marie Les Deux-Épées, she disappear completely from Quirm, no trace. Now dis could have been one of dem coin-see-dence fings, but…"
"Enough!" said Emmanuelle, calling a halt to the agony. "You are right. For four years I was Emmanuel-Martin de Jeannedarc." She made a point of enunciating the name in correct Quirmian. She knew it was stupid and petty and the pronunciation had been good, by troll standards, but she could not help herself.
"I masqueraded as a boy to attend the Guild school. My patron paid the fees. I was not fully in my adult body then and the deception was possible in a way it is not now. It was only by accursed bad luck that I was found out. They quietly expelled me so as not to bring disgrace or laughter on themselves."(1)1
Chrysophrase grinned.
"Dat show style! Dat resourceful! I could use you!"
"You have trolls. Why not use them?" she asked.
" So I send trolls in . Der Watch not stupid. They see someone, disrespectful to Chrysophrase one night, killed by troll the next, they add two and two and make many. Der Watch, dey getting' good dese days. And dey have troll sergeant. He careful to nod and show respect if we meet, but Detritus, him copper to his core. I can't buy or bend his deeper respect. Him worryin' me."
The troll paused. "And humans disrespect me too. This grieves me. I think about this and I realise I need human enforcer to take my message to other humans and say "Mr. Chrysophrase, him very upset!" just before they have experience of Death standin' near them."
"So you want me to be your… contract killer."
"You ruthless woman. Most of time, only thing that matter to you is you and you not give a coprolite about others. You like.. human animal. Go miouw. Not give a coprolite about others if it warm and well fed and dry and gets lotsa sex. You a cat among women. You will kill for me if it avoid the T'ird Degree for you. And every time you take the message that I am upset, it so much more off your debt to me. What you say?"
Emmanuelle considered.
"The Guild charges at least ten thousand. More often twenty or higher. I'll undercut Guild prices for you but there must be an end to it, and transparent accounting. I do not wish to see interest added on all the time, so that I never quite clear the debt, and find myself working for you until the end of my life."
"As you work for me, I make it interest-free loan of a hundred t'ousand dat you repay. We price each job , we agree on a price, dat lowers the debt each time. Then when nothing more to pay, you released from contract, and you have the friendship of Chrysophrase."
"Done!" Emmanuelle said. They shook hands.
She arrived home, emotionally and mentally exhausted. She was shocked her secret was out. She wondered if the Guild had recognised her, technically not an Assassin but trained by them all the same. The horrible thought sprang up unbidden that if caught performing unlicenced killings, the Guild would have even less mercy than she might otherwise expect.
At least the Troll was off her back, but at what price? And if the Guild found out she was working freelance, what would they do?
You get out of one hole by digging an even deeper one. At this rate, I'll be seeing daylight on the other side of the Disc!
And he was there. The noble lover, the one who four days ago had been professing undying love whilst passing on a minor sexually transmitted disease. He was cold, brusque, and to the point.
"My father has ordered me to give you up. Happily, as you were seen signing up with the Seamstresses' Guild, this will not be a problem."
"Oh, vraiment? And where are the protestations of love, that I am the other half of your life, that you cannot do without me?"
"That was before you were seen to be a common whore!" he added, coldly.
Emmanuelle screamed.
"Espèce de bâtarde! Sale con!" she screamed, punching him as hard as she possibly could. He staggered back.
"You gave me the crabs, you filthy unwashed animal!"
"And that's the other thing…" he muttered. "You realize the embarrassment your little pets caused me? Bloody Quirmian women, can't tell soap from cheese…"
She hit him again, screaming "Rupert Rust, you wet shit of a man!", and this time he had the grace to fall over unconscious, smashing a small table.
"I am insulted. If anything, I am a most uncommon whore!" she said to his still body.
Breathing heavily, she took the indelible pencil used for marking luggage, and wrote on his forehead:
Attention, ladies! I have many pubic lice!
and then dragged him to the street by his ankles. Here, she paid a cab driver to take him to the Rust family mansion. Aware of one job well done, she went back inside to await the beginning of her new life as contract killer for the Breccia.
1 (1) See my story The Only One? This expands on Emmanuelle's early life and her canonical years of subterfuge at the Guild School.