by A Van Wyck
Heads swung back to the madam.
“Hmpf,” she snorted, unimpressed, as she bore down on him. He was further annoyed to see she was a good half a head taller than he. Trying to intimidate him, she pressed in much too close until they were literally toe to toe. He let her. Braving the danger posed by all her sharp angles, he held his ground. And his smile. He bore up beneath her saw-toothed regard unblinkingly. He’d stared down merchant princes. A glorified pimp wasn’t going to scare him. She leant down to openly study his face, her brow slowly crinkling to match her mouth. Her nose twitched. After an interminable moment of study, she straightened.
“Alright,” she admitted. “Young man,” she corrected grudgingly, looking him up and down. “You smell of the sea,” she accused. “As a rule, we don’t take sailors. Unless they’re captains,” she qualified. “It invites the wrong element. You, sir, are no captain,” she stated.
There was no point denying that.
“Indeed not, madam, but my tastes are every bit as discerning and I was told that the best in Genla could be found here.”
A little flattery couldn’t hurt. The madam’s features didn’t soften though.
“Told?” she questioned. “By who?”
Oh, well. The boy had said to mention him.
“I… happened upon… a street urchin named Gav.”
Beringed hands went to bony hips.
“Well,” she admitted, “at least you didn’t wander in by mistake.”
But she still seemed undecided on whether to serve him or swat him. Mentioning Gav had seemed to put her in a more favorable mood. He decided to follow the rest of the boy’s advice.
“I was told to ask for Merly.”
Her expression cleared instantly. One downturned corner of her mouth twitched into what could have been a smile. Hidden by the gloom, someone giggled. A hint of unease crawled up his spine.
“Merly,” the madam called over her shoulder and there was nothing muted about her smile now, “come have a look at this one and tell me what you think.”
The restful music fell away mid-strum to some polite applause. Staring at the madam, trying to decipher her expression, he sensed more than saw the musician, Merly, approach through the gloom. She stepped into the dubious light behind the madam.
He looked over. He’d planned to look her in the eye but he’d misjudged. It was incredibly hard to drag his riveted stare further up and find her face. He’d seen tall women before – more since leaving home. But this Merly wasn’t just tall. She was… Large wasn’t the right word. Large too easily implied fat. If there were a thimble of fat anywhere on this woman, it must be feeling very lost and confused. It was as if some pagan god of fertility had taken an already magnificently beautiful woman and decided he needed more of her. Mischievous eyes flashed down at him from a smooth cheeked face and primal muscle rippled as she crossed her arms. His eyes couldn’t help wandering slightly downward again to admire the effect. Teeth flashed in a smile somewhere far above him.
“I’ll take him.”
Her voice was husky. It did strange things to him. He could feel his blood reverse the direction of its flow, aiming for his groin with all possible speed. He swallowed hard.
“I’ll leave you to it,” the madam interjected, sounding smug. “Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” were her last words as she turned back to the bar. He was left alone with the suggestively smiling Merly, oblivious to the quiet hilarity rounding the room.
“Come on, sailor…”
She moved past him, collecting his hand and towing him along.He was, quite literally, powerless to resist the muscled young woman as she led the way up the stairs. The knowing smile on Gav’s face suddenly took on a whole new light. If he ever saw the little urchin again, he decided, he’d kill him. Then the hypnotically swaying rump ahead of him occluded his higher funtions.
If he ever saw Gav again, he thought as he collapsed among the tangled sheets, he’d kiss him. He lay staring at the wooden ceiling, supremely content and fighting to regain his breath. His heart was pounding fit to burst from his chest. He was sheathed in sweat, not to mention an impressive collection or bruises and bites. Some, he couldn’t even remember how he’d come by. As it turned out, Merly’s strength was as prodigious as her appetite. When combined with her breathtaking stamina, these created an unholy triumvirate any man would be lucky to never escape. Even so, he took great satisfaction in the heavy breathing coming from the heap of bedding next to him. Either Merly was an extremely gifted actress – difficult to believe of her forthright and seemingly artless manner – or he’d outperformed himself. He chose to believe the latter, knowing full well that he was, in all likelihood, deluding himself.
Husky laughter came from under the tousled hair atop the pillow next to him. From the blankets emerged a shapely leg to hook around his hips. If only that, it would be not much different from any other tryst he’d ever had. But that leg then flexed, bunching with delicious muscle… He felt himself sliding across the covers and back into her arms. He laughed.
“Again?” he asked, fearing she’d say yes. Another session would lame him. Possibly cripple him for life. She moaned in his ear and, despite his bruised and pulped flesh, he was surprised to feel a familiar stirring in his loins.
She sighed. Her sweet breath tickling his ear.
“Not unless you plan on paying for a another sounding of the bell, sweet thing.”
He glanced at the small stack of coins already on the dresser. His purse lay flattened next to it.
“You’d bankrupt me,” he laughed.
She pushed herself up on one elbow, trailing a long finger over his hairless chest, her eyes playful.
“You’d be the happiest pauper in Genla,” she promised.
He nodded seriously, in full agreement.
The sunlight fighting its way between the shutters had lost its luster. The gentle blush of twilight filled the room. Had he really spent that much time here already?
“But,” he sighed, “I need to get back to my ship before dark, otherwise I’m liable to get lost.”
“Aww,” she groaned breathily, moving down from his neck. She nipped at one of his ribs with her perfect teeth, making him cringe and groan. Her tousled mane popped into view again.
“Do all desert men taste of fig leaves?”
He combed his fingers through her hair, marveling at the light color.
“I wouldn’t know, would I?”
“Hmm,” she agreed laconically, falling back into the heaped sheets.
With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of bed, finding himself slightly dizzy. Some of his joints felt loosened in their sockets. He’d never been the one pinned during love-making. It had been a novel experience. And not one he was absolutely sure he ever wanted to repeat.
Behind him, the bed creaked. A fond slap rang off his right buttock. At least, he supposed it was meant to be fond. He staggered a step to his left, smiling in spite of himself. All in all, he was well and truly sated. Not to mention drained… in the fullest sense of the word. He reached for his flaccid – dammit, stop that! – purse and fished out its solitary gold piece. It was an absolutely extravagant price for a whore, even more so as a gratuity, but today’s memory was worth much more than a single coin. And money was not terribly hard to come by with his skills. He tossed in onto the covers.
“Thank you,” he told her with a smile.
“You missed,” she mocked coyly, batting her eyelids at him and leaving the coin where it lay.
“Yeah, well, I aim to please.”
He went in search of his britches. His clothing was strewn all over the room. Growing up on the underbelly of Oaragh, he’d had occasion to meet many whores and he’d thought he knew all the stereotypes: the overly flattering seductress; the foul mouthed groper; even the world weary cynic. This girl didn’t fit into any of those categories. Hopping around with one leg in his breeks, he found his shirt. He lifted it up to the light in mild dismay.
“Th
is is completely ruined,” he commented wryly. Torn to shreds would be a more apt description. Merly was nothing if not direct.
She rolled onto her back, spilling her hair over the edge of the bed and pointed with one long arm. The position did interesting things to her ample breasts.
“Have a look in that drawer over there,” she bid him.
Turning away with difficulty, he opened the drawer in question.
“Are all these yours?” he asked dubiously, sifting through what appeared to be an odd assortment of men’s clothing.
“Just some odds and ends I’ve collected,” she informed him, rolling onto her stomach. “You’d be amazed what some people leave behind. Especially when they’re in a hurry.”
She could make anything sounds lascivious. He smiled as he rummaged through the heap of clothing, coming up with a shirt that looked like it would fit. It had flowers embroidered on the shoulders.
“I’m not sure ‘rich’ is my color.”
But it was either that or a silken maroon number. And he wasn’t wearing that. So he shrugged into the embroidered shirt which, at least, didn’t have baggy sleeves. His hip jacket would cover the flowers. He watched her as he laced up the front of his leggings. The supple curve of her back, the smooth calves as she scythed her legs like a girl. To his astonishment he felt the beginnings of arousal again and turned quickly away to stare out the window. A low laugh sounded from the direction of the bed. He wound his sash around his middle, trying not to hear.
The view over the rooftops was sublime, washed out pink in the glow of the sunset. Genla. He breathed deeply, imagining he could detect the last warm breath of the day as it receded through the streets. The scent of sex lay heavy in the room, though, overpowering all else. He shrugged. There were worse things one could associate with a city and it fitted with the place’s reputation. He stared out over the rooftops, wondering when he would see it again. It wasn’t Oaragh but he’d miss it all the same when he’d gone.
He realized he’d been telling the truth when he’d told Merly he had to get back to his ship. He didn’t rightly know when he’d made that decision. Why would he settle for earning a miserable sailor’s wage when he could steal himself rich before he started graying? An honest living? Him? The Surprise of Hammerham’s Dive? The King-to-be of Oaragh’s Underbelly? The Prince of the Poach and the Fahlad of the Filch?
A dead friend’s words those. He’d considered it high praise then. Praise and prophecy both. Apart from rich, laid and – occasionally – drunk, he’d never wanted to be anything other than the best thief in Oaragh. So why were his feet pulling him back toward the Spear and the sea?
He froze in the act of shrugging into his hip jacket, his gaze drawn out across the tiled vista. Away across the rooftops, something – a wind chime, perhaps, or a forgotten nail or a pane of glass – glinted in the light of the dying sun. The feeble light speared him like a lightning bolt.
Something his subconscious must have been chewing at for weeks now rose to the surface. In his mind’s eye he saw an Oaragh rooftop. The sun glinting off the cruel barb of a crossbow as it tracked him. And behind the stock of the weapon, a stoic face, taking careful aim. His mind’s eye drew closer, showing him the features he’d been too distracted to notice. The open sky behind the face disappeared to be replaced by wooden planking and he was looking at the same face, lifeless now, on the deck of the Isus Spear. Neatly manicured nails for a pirate, he’d thought at the time.
No…
His mind was playing tricks on him. It had to be! Had the marksman from the rooftops been a pirate? No. He knew enough by now to know a sailor when he saw one. The man had been no pirate.
His mind resisted the obvious conclusion. It meant he hadn’t left his pursuers behind in Oaragh. They’d followed him. They’d commandeered a ship and followed him.
Commandeer a pirate ship?
Ridiculous. The only pirates who dared sail the rich Triangle Stretch were the ones unafraid of the patrolling Heli navy. They weren’t for hire and they were impossible to cow. Spirits below! Had he pissed off people powerful enough they could browbeat the meanest pirates who’d ever sailed the sea?
It couldn’t be. They’d been weeks out from land when the attack had come. Who in their right mind would cross oceans to chase him? He was a nobody!
He wasn’t aware that he’d stopped breathing.
Would they cross oceans? That pirate ship had gotten away. It, or another just like it, could be barreling along in the wake of the Spear right now – or it might already be here.
He felt the skin of his back crawl, expecting the thrust of a dagger.
He jumped minutely as Merly’s arms circled him from behind.
“What’s wrong, sweet fig?” she asked, hands playing over his chest. “You’re pale as a sheet suddenly. I haven’t ruined you, have I?”
He thought he heard genuine concern in her voice. Their difference in height meant he felt nipples tickling his ears.
“Only for other women,” he managed, clearing his throat.
Her cheek came to rest on the top of his head. An endearing gesture, despite the coin involved. Reaching behind him, he patted her bottom distractedly. Finding it out of reach, he settled for patting the back of her knee instead.
“Come and see me again,” she invited. “This was fun.”
Repeat business.
“Nothing would please me more,” he said fervently, fearing he might have bigger problems ahead of him than choice of brothel. “But right now,” he steeled himself for what might be coming, “I’ve got to work.”
Work to stay alive.
If an entire pirate ship could be bought or bullied, a whorehouse certainly could. He went down the stairs like a cat in a kennel, eyeing the vapid blonde at the front desk suspiciously as he strapped on his knife brace. He skirted the wall on his way out, keeping a wary eye on the beefy bouncer. The vicious madam was nowhere in evidence. The skin of his back itched like he had fleas.
“Thank you, come again,” the cheerful blonde’s voice followed him outside.
To his dismay, proper night had fallen and he cursed the brain hanging between his legs for not having the sense to… pull out earlier. He winced at his own wording. His boast to Gav, that he’d find his own way back to the harbor, rang hollow now. He looked up and down the dark street, festooned with alley mouths and doorways big enough to hide... almost anything. He growled deep in his throat.
Fine then.
Shrugging to feel the comforting weight of his laden scabbards, he set out. The darkness was dud of familiar looking landmarks. But at least it kept him reasonably well hidden.
The hiss, when it came, did not catch him off guard. He was completely willing to skewer a feral cat by accident rather than risk letting a six foot thug within clobbering distance of him. His lead knife was already in his left hand as he spun towards the sound. In his right, twin daggers fanned between his fingers. Ready for a side-armed throw.
Silence.
The flat blackness of the alley was absolute. His throwing arm vibrated with coiled tension. The sound repeated.
“Psssst!”
He squinted into the gloom.
“Who’s there?” he shot harshly.
“It’s me!” the voice hissed urgently. “Gav! Get out of the street before someone sees you!”
He hesitated for a full breath while thoughts of double-cross and ambush clamored frantically for his attention. He sprinted for the alley, nearly colliding with the crouching form of Gav.
“Ow!” the little urchin complained. “What are you trying to do, kill me?”
“It did cross my mind,” he admitted severely, sheathing his knives.
“Haha, very funny,” the beggar boy drawled, looking askance at his blackened steel. “You’d better be careful with those. You could put somebody’s eye out.”
“If my aim is good,” he agreed. “Now, why did you just drag me off the street?”
The scrawny boy took a s
tep back, extending his hand palm up, a huge smile playing around his mouth.
“Pay up,” he said.
“What for?”
“Saving your life.” The grimy smile didn’t waver.
“I just spared yours, so I’d say we’re even. But, just for interest’s sake, what exactly are you saving my life from?” As if he couldn’t guess.
The boy frowned in frustration at this.
“From the armed bands of knockers camped all around your ship, is what. Word is out. Lookout is for a short, desert man with a clipped earlobe who arrived on a ship today.”
“I see,” he mused. This was worse than he’d thought. “And you naturally thought of me?”
Short?
The boy shrugged.
He scowled.
“I see…”
The outstretched arm wavered.
“And why are you helping me, Gav? I’m sure there was a fat purse promised to anyone who could lead them to me.”
They would literally have caught him with his pants down.
“A full ten gold,” the boy grimaced longingly.
He hid his shock. A full wheel? In gold? Salt and silver!
He quashed his burgeoning pride at being flattered so. A wheel in gold… He should be trussed and served up already. He narrowed his eyes at Gav.
“And what? You thought I could do better? Outbid ten gold?”
“Yeah, well,” the boy shrugged nonchalantly, refusing to meet his eyes, “maybe I like you.”
“And,” he drew on his own experience, “you didn’t think they’d pay up to a twiggy kid.”
He saw from the sour twist of Gav’s mouth that he’d guessed right. The beseeching arm dropped and clenched into a fist.
“’m not twiggy!” the urchin insisted, drawing himself up and scowling fiercely. But the jutting bottom lip gave the lie.