Nicolas danced to Ariadne’s cell first. She had proven quite entertaining earlier in the night, so he could not fathom what she was carrying on about. He did not ask her either, largely because he did not care. He danced outside of her cell for a few minutes, then scraped his cane up and down the bars. Ariadne paid him no attention. She had not been in Corax long enough to understand the etiquette expected by Nicolas, and the other inmates did not warn her as it amused them to see newbies get a good beating. Nicolas attempted to seduce her with his strange and largely uncoordinated dance again. His gangly legs jolted up and down, and his arms twisted into eerie theatrical contortions, yet Ariadne was unmoved.

Nicolas stopped dancing and shoved his face between two of the bars.

‘What ails you, Madam?’ Nicolas asked.

Ariadne shook her head and twisted her arms against the chains, which only caused further discomfort. She winced and sniffed. Nicolas grew impatient.

‘I said what is wrong?’

Ariadne pursed her lips, then sobbed,

‘My arm.’

Nicolas widened his eyes and lowered his chin.

‘Is it… Very painful?’

Ariadne nodded. Nicolas pushed himself away from the bars, positively glowing.

‘Why didn’t you say?’ He smirked. ‘I have just the thing. CHIVES! CHIVES!’ His bellowing perforated the entire wing. Chives rapidly hobbled to him from the darkness at the far end of the corridor.

‘You muttered something, Sir!’

Nicolas skipped about in a circle.

‘Yes Chives, get me a chair. Our fine tribute is in pain and needs diagnosis and treatment immediately.’ With that, Nicolas danced back up the corridor and disappeared. Chives hobbled after him.

The tributes, like the Immolesses, were largely ill-prepared for any interaction with the Immortalis. An agreement had been made after The War Before the Dusk, between The Electi, The Darkbadb, and the local lords, that extreme or even mild preparation may cause upset or risk the sort of talk that no bureaucracy wants to hear. Talk of torture, death, cannibalism, and the like. Concerns were fairly raised that such things may result in civil unrest. No party wanted that, as it would impact taxation and spending. As such, neither the tributes nor the immolesses were told of the true horrors that awaited. Instead, the immortalis were depicted as brooding, darkly seductive vampires, and their habits highly romanticised as a sensual ritual. Unlike the tributes, the immolesses were aware that no one survived the immortalis, so they had a more grounded understanding that they had been bred into a death cult. This dashed their hopes, whereas the tributes arrived living in dreamland. This suited Nicolas as it made the suffering all the more entertaining.

Chives returned with a chair. It was more a throne than a chair. A magnificent creature carved from the finest Ashurrel oak, and painted in yellow and black plaid. To the average person it would perhaps be deemed tacky, but to Nicolas, it was a reminder of how important he was. Nicolas arrived soon after Chives. He was no longer dancing, but marching with an air of professional arrogance. A pair of round spectacles sat atop his nose, and he carried a large book, quill and inkpot. Chives placed yellow and black cushions on the chair, and even pulled it out for him for no reason in the world. Nicolas sat down, rested his utensils on the arm of the chair, and made a huge gesture of wriggling his fingers.

‘Shall we begin?’

Ariadne had no idea what was happening, but nodded in the hope that he may attend to the throbbing sensation stifling both arms, and causing a sickness in her belly.

Nicolas opened the book and placed it on his lap. He dipped the quill in the dark red ink, forced a cough, and then presented the first question.

‘What is your name?’

‘Ariadne,’ Ariadne answered, knowing that Nicolas knew her name full well as he had placed a nameholder on the door for the Nicolai.

Nicolas peered over his glasses.

‘And your surname?’

‘I don’t know what that is.’ Ariadne replied.

‘Chives, fetch another chair, and send for Dr Von Riesigerschwanz.’

Chives nodded, causing his skeletal neck to crunch.

‘Very good, Sir.’

Nicolas looked down at his book and began to write whilst muttering just loud enough for Ariadne to hear,

‘Does not know who she is.’

‘I do know who I am,’ Ariadne argued.

Nicolas continued to scribe,

‘Argumentative.’

The red-head in the next cell, who, according to her name label, was known as Zena, sniggered. Nicolas dropped his chin and looked over his glasses at her.

‘Do you want to be next?’ Zena shook her head and retreated from the bars. ‘I thought not.’

Nicolas snorted, then returned to his diagnosis. ‘Now. Who did this to you?’

Ariadne hesitated.

‘Speak up, woman!’

‘You did, Sir.’

Nicolas’s lower jaw dropped, and he shook his head.

‘Me? Me? Madam, I have done no such thing. I visited you, I was courteous. We had some fun, but I never broke your arms.’

‘Are they broken?’ Ariadne asked in panic, then the tears came.

‘No, we are not starting that. Let’s stick to the facts, not amateur dramatics and waterworks. Let’s try again. Who did this to you?’

Ariadne trembled and shivered.

‘Today please!’ Nicolas snapped, as his patience waned.

‘You, Sir.’

‘And how was I dressed?’

‘Like a ringmaster, Sir.’

Nicolas let out a low laugh, then drew his attention back to his book.

‘Delusions.’ He looked up at her slowly, his eyes practically glowing. ‘And possible hallucinations.’

Nicolas’s train of thought was interrupted by Chives heaving another chair up the corridor accompanied by the clicking of Dr Riesigerschwanz’s boots. Dr Riesigerschwanz, a prolific psychoanalyst and writer, was well-known throughout The Deep for his revered work on the power of masculinity. He had several best-sellers including; 1000 Uses for Cucumbers you Never Thought of, Bringing Back Masculinity, The Art of Feminine Surrender, and Nicolas’s favourite, Why Everything is About Dick. The latter book had an ethos and philosophy that suited Nicolas, and he ensured that every household in The Deep purchased a copy. It was not optional.

Ariadne looked from Nicolas to Dr Riesigerschwanz and back again. But for Dr Riesigerschwanz’s thick black facial hair, she would not have been able to tell them apart.

‘Are you twins?’ She asked.

Nicolas and Dr Riesigerschwanz exchanged amused glances, and Nicolas added another symptom to his list.

‘Struggles to mind her own business.’ Nicolas then handed his notes to his colleague. Dr Riesigerschwanz browsed through the short list several times tutting and pulling at his beard.

‘A terminal case I am afraid.’

‘I concur,’ Nicolas nodded.

Ariadne struggled against her chains. Her skin caught in the chains and she let out a shriek.

‘Add, makes an unnecessary amount of noise,’ Dr Riesigerschwanz laughed, ‘and then the honours are all yours, Nicolas.’

Nicolas scribbled down the final symptom in almost illegible writing. The medical training that he had never had, taught him that symptoms must be written in poor script or else patients would be both concerned that he was not a doctor, which he wasn’t really, not in any meaningful sense, and they might ask to read their own notes, which was entirely out of the question.

Nicolas finished scribbling, raised his eyebrows and smiled a toothy unhinged grin.

‘Now for the best part.’ The quill returned to the parchment and he wrote his diagnosis as he spoke. ‘I. Declare. You. Insane.’

‘What does that mean?’ Ariadne laughed.

‘She’s a feisty one,’ Dr Riesigerschwanz noted, ‘She needs a permanent correction.’

‘What does that mean?’ Ariadne said again.

‘Will you shut up,’ Nicolas barked, ‘Medics talking, not peasants.’

Nicolas put the feather of the quill to his lips. His eyes whitened momentarily, returned to normal and then jarred in an upwards position.

‘I have it!’ Nicolas shouted, after an awkward and prolonged silence. ‘A combination of the iron chair and the tickler.’

‘Excellent choice!’ Dr Riesigerschwanz nodded, and shook Nicolas’s hand. Ariadne’s body shook.

‘What are you going to do to me?’

Nicolas bit his lip until it bled.

‘Cut out your tongue if you speak again!’

Dr Riesigerschwanz rose from his chair.

‘Perhaps a dual experience. Zena and I have a date, I think.’

Zena let out a screech and hid under her blankets, as if the Nicolai would not be able to find her. Dr Riesigerschwanz pulled open his jacket and lifted out a four-pronged iron with hooks at each terminus.

‘The breast ripper,’ he smiled, ‘quite a divine instrument.’ Zena stifled her sobs, knowing that any reaction only encouraged the Nicolai.

Nicolas drew a master key from his own pocket, unlocked Ariadne’s door and chains, and dragged her by her arms from the cell causing a low guttural scream.

Both men removed their pocketwatches from their inside pockets.

‘Shall we say, ten minutes?’ Nicolas asked.

Dr Riesigerschwanz nodded.

‘No need to hang around!’

‘I agree,’ Nicolas grinned, then turned to Lucia. ‘I shall be attending on you in fifteen minutes, try to look presentable.’ Lucia was not sure how she was meant to look presentable, and then wondered why she was even troubling herself to think about it.

Dr Riesigerschwanz entered Zena’s cell, and entered her almost as quickly. Nicolas had a little further to go. He unceremoniously dragged Ariadne through the corridor and up the stairs to the torture chambers, or corrective facilities as he liked to call them. As they moved along the corridor he shifted from side to side shouting the door numbers.

‘Door number one. Door number two. Door number three. Door number four. Door number five.’ He stopped and pushed his face uncomfortably close to Ariadne’s. ‘What do you suppose is behind door number six?’

Ariadne shook her head. Her body froze, and little pimples formed everywhere. Nicolas’s eyes locked on her breasts. His lower incisors dug into his upper lip. His eyes shifted from side to side. Suddenly and without warning he bit into her left nipple and lapped at the warm juice that flowed from within. His feed was interrupted by the notable sensation of Dr Riesigerschwanz accelerating his trajectory faster than planned. The synchronisation of the Nicolai was more art than science.

During the first century P.V., when Nicolas was first adapting to the link between himself and his other selves, there had been several notable embarrassments. Nicolas had not learned to switch off at that point, nor to control his own responses to what the Nicolai were indulging in. To be blunt, when one of the Nicolai was heavily engaging a tribute in matters of the libido, Nicolas’s own body would forget itself, causing a momentous sensation, followed by a public emission in his own trousers.

This was all well and good in private, but one particular occasion brought the matter to a head, and a plan built on self-control, synchronicity, and pocket watches was developed. During the overwhelmingly hot summer of 47 P.V. Nicolas’s brother, the regal and suave Theaten, had condescended to visit Nicolas to complain about someone cranking up the heating systems in the already run-down Ashurrel hospital, south of Sapari. Nicolas had no idea why this was his problem, but Theaten’s pompous friend Count Tepes had received complaints from the administration staff at the hospital, and had forwarded these, via raven, to Theaten. Theaten, for some reason, blamed our hero, Nicolas, and spent the morning in his office whining about it. It just so happened that at the same time, Nicolas’s alter, Nicodemus, a renowned medic practising the art of female anatomical response, had declared a red-head potter living in Threnodyl as insane and was rutting her like a stud bull in the Threnodyl nature reserve. It was difficult for Nicolas to manage the perceptions of all the Nicolai at once as, in his head, the noise often collapsed into a monotonous drone. Just as Theaten had finished his tedious speech on civil relations, both Nicodemus and Nicolas exploded simultaneously.

It was by no means a small explosion, as Nicodemus had over-excited himself with edging and delays. It was quite a magnificent and volcanic show. Nicolas was mortified, at first. Theaten was even more mortified, and took to staring with a half frown riddled in disgust at his brother. On the plus side the problems at the Ashurrel hospital were never mentioned again. Nor was Theaten’s impromptu visit that day.

Nicolas dragged his teeth from Ariadne’s breast, tearing a chunk off in unison with Dr Riesigerschwanz and Zena. Ariadne was dragged quickly into the torture chamber, and, without any foreplay, Nicolas pulled a hooked, iron claw from the wall, splatted Ariadne down in the spiked chair, which she did not particularly like, and flayed the rest of her breasts at great speed. Ariadne’s initial screams softened into shock-laden whimpers. Nicolas cursed under his breath as his colleague downstairs was being a little too quick for Nicolas’s liking. He pulled Ariadne from the chair, tearing her buttocks open in the process, and threw her face down on the floor. Nicolas shoved himself in with absolutely no elegance, and pulled her up onto all fours, licking the blood from her derriere. Bits of flesh hung from her breasts and buttocks, which gave Nicolas the momentum he needed to catch up with Dr Riesigerschwanz. Once the two were in pure tandem, Nicolas calmed and relished the build up. The tribute had clearly been fed on red meat, which was most satisfying. His stomach throbbed. The sensation about his person spread. His fingernails warped into black talons. He dug these into her flesh, clawing like a wild beast. Then came the payoff. Both gentlemen peaked in throbbing ecstasy simultaneously, the double orgasm rocking Nicolas so much that he yelled out his own name, which some people considered strange.

Once the moment had subsided, he dumped Ariadne back on the chair and summoned Chives.

‘Chives! Chives! Chives!’

The door handle turned and Chives peered into the corrective facility.

‘Yes Sir?’

‘I should like to serve cluster two with this tribute,’ Nicolas organised the Nicolai into clusters for feeding purposes, so that the chef, Meatcleaver Pierre, also a Nicolai, was not overwhelmed. ‘Add honey, balsamic dressing and custard, and skillet her so that she is still alive when they are seated.’

‘Very good, Sir.’ Chives sighed. ‘Will there be anything else?’

‘Like what?’ Nicolas asked.

‘Anything else at all?’

‘Such as?’

Chives did not know how to answer, and elected to end the conversation.

‘I shall have her prepared immediately.’

‘Oh, and Chives,’ Nicolas muttered.

‘Yes sir?’

‘Put on a tuxedo, you don’t look very butlery anymore. Not in those rags. I suspect we shall have a very important visitor arriving in due course, and she doesn’t want to be welcomed by some rag and bone ghoul.’

Chives almost smiled.

‘Does sir have a lady friend?’

Nicolas smiled.

‘Sir most certainly does.’

‘Does she know about this?’

Nicolas’s eyes narrowed.

‘Know about it in what way?’

‘Know about it in the way of perhaps being aware that she is your… Lady friend? We have had this issue before sir and it never ends well.’