Ask about the nature of the training

“What, exactly, is this ‘training’ of which you speak?” Abbie asks, fearing what the answer might be. In her imagination, she would be subjected to performing any manner of sexual favors on some lecherous “tutor,” all under the guise of preparing her for meeting the king.

Delphan smirks. “You may dismiss any prudish fears, young lady, about surrendering your dignity. We have somewhat more civilized means of improving your knowledge of what is expected of you.”

The carriage comes to a stop in the courtyard, and Delphan’s explanation is interrupted as they dismount the vehicle and as he gives instructions for Abbie’s things to be taken to her new quarters.

Once that is taken care of, Delphan walks briskly into the palace, leaving Abbie to rush after him, being careful not to trip in her formal shoes.

The eunuch leads her through a number of passageways until they come to a long, winding staircase. Upward they climb for several flights. As they pass a window, Abbie looks out and takes in a breath at the view. From this height, she can see all of Central City laid out beneath her. They climb still higher until they finally reach an old door bearing the words, “Royal Library.”

Delphan knocks at the door, and after a moment or two, it opens, revealing an old man with a withered face.

“Master MacTavish, we have need of your services,” says Delphan.

As Abbie follows the eunuch into the library, she takes a quick appraisal of MacTavish. This is hardly the lecherous tutor she had imagined who would be schooling her in the art of sexual favors. He appeared to be impossibly old, but although he was stooped over and used a long walking stick, he still managed to walk easily, fairly gliding over the worn, stone floor.

MacTavish closes the door behind them, and Abbie looks around at the stacks of books, rows of shelves, and collections of strange artifacts. She hears a scurrying sound in a corner, but when she turns to look, all she sees is a stone statue of a winged baby.

She returns her attention to MacTavish. Delphan is explaining the situation to him.

“So we have someone who is truly innocent in the ways of the flesh,” says MacTavish. “How curious! You know, that used to be the norm, but I can’t remember the last time this has happened.”

He walks to a shelf and reaches a long, bony arm and grasps a thick, antiquated book. Pulling it down and blowing a thick layer of dust from its cover, he opens the books and studies it. After muttering to himself for a moment, he looks up at Abbie and says, “Young lady, you may find this a bit unsettling, but please bear with me... I’m going to teach you a few things.”

Abbie groans inwardly, but tries to keep a neutral face. “Sir, I do understand the birds and the bees....”

The old man’s wrinkled face breaks into the hint of a smile. “I am gratified to hear this, but that is not what I am about to teach you.”

Relieved that she won’t have to sit through that again, but still uncomfortable to have to be told about graphic sexual practices from these two men, she nods and asks, “Shall I take notes, sir?”

MacTavish shakes his head. “This will not be through a lecture, my dear. I want you to make yourself comfortable and clear your mind of any preoccupations. I’m going to transfer the knowledge of this book directly into your mind.”

Abbie’s face shows her surprise.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” says the old man. “I have done this many times before — even if it has been a long time. You may be quite naive in the ways of man and woman right now, but in a few moments, you will have all the knowledge you will ever need, without having had to learn it through the old trial-and-error method that most of us endure.”

His eyes glance toward Delphan as he says, “most of us,” and Abbie wonders again at the benefits of his job and how they could possibly outweigh the cost.

Still unsure of all of this, Abbie takes a deep breath and nods. “What shall I do?”

MacTavish puts on a pair of gloves and opens a drawer. He withdraws a necklace and holds it in front of Abbie’s face. The fine chain links are of some material that is the blackest black she has ever seen.

“I want you to keep your hands folded on your lap until I tell you otherwise,” he says. Once she has done that, he carefully places the necklace around her neck and fixes it closed with a clasp.

Setting the book on the table, he says, “Now, I want you to place both hands on the book and then lean down and kiss the cover.

Abbie looks at the book skeptically. Although MacTavish blew a lot of dust from the cover, it still looks pretty filthy. The title of the book, in tarnished, raised letters from the leather cover, reads, “Carnalus Practicus Totalis.” A faded picture beneath the words shows a crudely drawn woman with enormous breasts, on her hands and knees, licking the erect penis of a man whose expression suggests he is about to burst into the most joyful song ever sung.

She looks up at MacTavish doubtfully.

“I understand it is all very confusing, Miss, but it will all make sense soon enough.”

She takes hold of the book and leans down. She puckers her lips to kiss it the way she would kiss her mother on the cheek. Just as she is about to plant her lips on the book, a thought hits her. “What if he meant that I should kiss the book the way a woman kisses a man? Should I extend my tongue at all?”

She regards the filthy book and represses a shudder as she tries to decide what is best.