by E. C. Jarvis
She let out small moans of delight before he’d so much as begun, the anticipation of his attention rattling her. As he bent down to kiss between her legs, she lost focus. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate on each stroke of his tongue, each movement of his fingers, her efforts failed. Breathing became effort between deep gasps and quiet moans of pleasure, and as he slipped his fingers in deep, a final flick of the tongue over the most sensitive spot, her back arched away from the desk. The world disappeared in a bundle of sensation. Her legs shuddered and her lungs screamed for air and new tears escaped her, but for a very different reason.
Holt settled her leg back down and climbed back onto the desk. His hands clasped her hips, pinning them, and she reached out to grip onto the sides, digging her nails into the ridges of the wood. As they came together, it didn’t matter that her notions of romance were abandoned. She didn’t care that they hadn’t said those precious words to one another. All she could do was focus on the intensity of the moment; the heat of their bodies and the rhythm of their joining. The air in the cabin turned from stale and cold to hot and dense. The sound of the propellers on deck were drowned out by their relentless movements; flesh against flesh, sharp breaths and restrained moans of pleasure. The heavy desk shifted reluctantly with their ferocious actions.
“Please,” she cried between breaths. His pace increased and she felt the rush building again within her core.
The tips of her fingers turned white as she sharpened her grip upon the desk and squeezed her eyes shut. She imagined screaming, shouting his name, begging for more, pleading for it to never end. The world disappeared into a blur of red lines and white heat as her senses came tumbling back all at once. She let out a cry of pleasure. He gave out a moan, their passion descending into nothing more than heavy breathing and thumping hearts.
Holt bent forward to rest his forehead on her chest, and she let out a final shudder of pleasure. For all her doubts, she knew this had been what they both needed.
She reached up and knotted her fingertips through his hair once more, gripping him as though he were some precious thing she daren’t let go of for fear of losing him altogether. They lay together, their slowing breaths filling the space as minutes slipped past. She mindlessly scraped her nails across his scalp. His lips brushed against her stomach before he climbed off the desk and dressed himself.
She watched him in silence for a moment, studying his body as he moved. He didn’t look at her, and she wasn’t sure if he intentionally avoided doing so, or had just slipped straight back into Mister Indifference. She wanted so much to understand him and read him correctly, but it was an impossible goal. She wished for a moment that she could be as aloof and hard-to-read. Not an easy task for a woman burdened with a blushing affliction.
As he attached the final button on his shirt and she swiftly covered her body with her borrowed jacket, there came a determined knock at the door. Seconds later the door opened and Grubbs strode in.
“Ah, yous all fixed up, Cap'n Rissa? Holt do a good job on you?”
She bit her tongue.
“You know, it’s customary after knocking to wait for an answer before you open the door,” she said.
“Oh, 'tis? Sorry about that. Only Captain before you liked his food, ya see, and he always wanted to know the minute dinner was ready.”
“Dinner? You made dinner?” Her tone was harsher than she’d really meant for it to be.
“Yes, Sir, Miss, Cap... That’s why they call me Grubbs. It’s nothin’ fancy, mind, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“This should be an experience,” Holt said quietly.
“Seems to be a day for experiences.”
Larissa and Holt held each other’s gazes for a millisecond before they both followed Grubbs towards the smell of baked pork and apples.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Larissa was perched atop a barrel on deck, her legs curled up and crossed beneath her body. Pale light from a swinging oil lamp nearby bathed one side of her face in an orange glow. She stared across the black horizon as it skittered by sideways, dotted with distant mountain peaks—the clear and cold night sky, outlined by starlight. A plate of food rested on her lap. Imago sat beneath the barrel, looking up at her expectantly, and she tossed him a small chunk of baked pork.
“You almost look like a Dolanite Priestess at meditation,” Cid mused as he approached. “If you weren’t stuffing your face with that Gods-awful slop that Grubbs made, of course.”
“It’s not that bad. And I didn’t really take you for a religious man, Cid.”
“Well, I am. I missed prayers today. It’s Saints Day, you know.”
“Is it really?”
“Young things like you don’t bother with it all that much, I suppose.”
“I’m not that young...and you can’t be that old.” She stared up at him, wondering if he would take the hint and offer up his age. He only seemed oblivious to such subtleties.
“How old are you, Cid?”
“Fifty-two.”
“And...the Professor? How old is he?”
“You never asked?”
Larissa felt the familiar rush of blood to her cheeks. Now that she thought of it, there were an awful lot of things she should have asked the Professor before she had let her heart be so overcome by him. She shook her head at herself, and then looked up and shook her head at Cid.
“He’s forty-five.”
“Forty five,” she repeated, testing the number out loud. It seemed a little absurd, perhaps even obscene, compared to her mere twenty-two years; he was indeed old enough to be her father.
“And he’s never married?” She looked at Cid and his expression had shifted as though their conversation now tread on shaky ground.
“Perhaps you should have asked him these questions.”
“No doubt, and if he were here I would. But he’s not here, and all I have is you. You aren’t betraying him anything, you know. I’m sure I could check out some tome on the family lineage of the aristocratic line of Watts to find the answers, only there doesn’t appear to be a library nearby.”
“Fine. He’s never married.”
“So why—”
“Do you want the truth?” Cid blurted. Larissa blinked up at him, stunned yet intrigued.
“Yes, of course.”
“He’s never married, though don’t think that means he hasn’t been with women. Many women.”
“Oh.”
“They come and go. He does whatever he wants with them and sends them on their way. They’re nothing more than a momentary distraction from his work.”
“Oh.”
Long minutes passed by in silence; even her mind fell quiet, as though she had indeed been thrown into some form of meditation. Nearby, two of the new crewmen broke into snorting hysterics over some menial jibe. As they realized how much noise they made, they looked up at Larissa briefly and bowed their heads back down to recreate the quiet. She didn’t even need to speak a word, hadn’t so much as scowled at them.
What an odd crew this ship has...
“If I was just to be another worthless conquest, a distraction, why did he ask you to name his fine airship after me?”
“Changed.”
“What?”
“He asked me to change the name of his airship. It was called Carise before I think, and Rebecca before that. Then there was Jemima—Gods she was a lovely one. Great big—”
“All right, stop. I get the picture.” Larissa sighed and unfolded her legs, placing the plate on the floor and leaving Imago to devour the remaining food. She headed towards the wheel where Holt stood steering the ship.
“If it’s any consolation,” Cid called to her, “I don’t think he ever promised any of the others all the things he promised you.”
“You said I deserved a knife in the eye if I was stupid enough to believe that tripe.”
“Perhaps, though he’d never been as keen on the others as he seemed for you. Spoke very highly of you once or
twice.”
“Once or twice? Gushing praise, indeed. Are you trying to console me, Cid?”
“Bah, I dunno what I’m trying to do. I don’t know the first thing about you women. Gods know what’s in your brains, but I’m damned sure it isn’t cogs and gears, otherwise I could figure you out in no time.”
Larissa passed Cid a sideways smile and resumed her approach to Holt. She stood beside him for a moment, looking across the horizon, trying to figure out if he saw anything different than her untrained eyes could spy. Holt unexpectedly broke the silence first.
“You said he was not your Professor.”
“I did...he’s not.”
“And yet.”
“What? And yet what?”
“You are upset to learn of his womanizing.”
“Womanizing? What—how did you hear our conversation from all the way over here? It’s not even like we were downwind.”
“I have good hearing.”
“No shit.”
“Cid’s bad language is rubbing off on you.”
“Why do you even care? What difference does it make if I love the Professor or not? What does it matter to you if I start to swear like some common pirate?”
“It...doesn’t.”
“You’re right it doesn’t. Just because we... Gods, I don’t even know your first name. You haven’t told me anything about you, like how come you’re out of the military, or what’s on that piece of paper you keep checking when you think no one is looking, or why you’re so hell-bent on killing Orother, or anything at all.”
“William.”
“What?”
“My name.”
“Oh. William.” His name sounded odd.
“Call me Holt.”
“Oh. Holt.”
“And don’t tell anyone else.”
“Like a secret?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“Well I wasn’t planning on telling everyone about what we did in the Captain’s cabin earlier, so I think I can manage to keep your name private as well.”
“Your cabin.”
“My cabin.”
“Where you should be.”
“And why is that?”
“To rest.”
“Oh. Are you dismissing me? Are you dismissing the Captain from the deck of her airship?”
“Suggesting. I’m suggesting a possible course of action to the Captain.”
“And if I were to ignore your suggestion?”
“I would become more persuasive.”
Larissa laughed, a full-bellied, deep, and refreshing laugh that lingered in the air, and everyone on deck turned to watch.
“Perhaps you’re right. I will rest. How long until we reach Meridina?”
“At this pace we will arrive some time tomorrow. Do you have a plan yet?”
“No. No idea. You?”
“Other than going in and killing everyone who gets in my way?” Holt said with a smirk.
“Yes, other than that.”
“No.”
“Well, let’s call that plan B. Goodnight, Holt.”
“Goodnight, Captain Markus.”
She carried a lantern back to the cabin. Long, dark shadows danced off the silvery, wooden wall panels as she walked along the corridor. A shudder wavered down her spine as she passed the storage room and she tried not to wonder whether the men had disposed of Hans or not.
The cabin was still an uninviting place despite the nicer memories it invoked. In the husky dark of night, the creaking of old wood and metal seemed much more pronounced than during the day. With every delicate step she took inside, scrapes and cracks echoed within. Her body responded as though someone drew long fingertips across her shoulders, teasing the downy hairs on the back of her neck. The lantern light wavered as she placed it atop the desk and reached into a drawer to look for candles, anything to help illuminate the darkness.
Once Larissa lit every candle she could lay her hands on, extinguishing virtually every shadow within the cabin, she began to relax. The papers and trinkets had been replaced atop the desk. She pulled the lockbox containing the Anthonium from her coat and rolled the dials over with the pads of her thumbs, running through the code in her head just to be sure she could remember it.
Finally, she placed it back into her pocket. The pirate Captain’s cabin had neither a hammock nor static bed in which to sleep. Instead, a large reclining chair had been pushed in a corner with a smelly old blanket laid across it. Larissa sighed and tucked herself into the chair, pulling the blanket up to her neck. The smell of yeasty ale and old cigar smoke assaulted her senses and the candlelight danced with the airship’s movements. Creaks and groans from the wood turned to background noise.
Larissa stared at the large wooden desk and mindlessly rubbed at the scars on her stomach, thinking how much better Holt’s touch had felt. The propeller sounds faded into the distance. Imago walked between her legs, dragging his tail across her ankles, and then he left her in peace.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Cid stared out at the black horizon, gently guiding the wheel through his hand and tugging on the rudder to steer their course. The ship was quiet, yet the atmosphere aboard did not feel peaceful. Cid leaned forward, resting his weary head against his arm, taking slow and measured breaths. He figured a little meditation wouldn’t hurt as the course ahead was clear for now. His mind settled somewhat as he methodically ran through everything that had transpired.
It was crazy—the whole thing nothing more than a bloody, crazy mess. The sort of mess he’d managed to avoid for all these years. He’d known the risks the Professor took with the Machine, though he wondered now why he hadn’t given it more thought at the time. All this could have been avoided, or at the very least his own part in it.
He thought of Larissa. Vivid images of her abused body danced across his mind and he found himself squeezing his eyes, brow furrowed, trying to force the images away. The vision shifted to another image of Larissa the night he’d first met her, sprawled out in the Hub, threatened by fire. He’d acted on impulse to scoop her up and drag her out of there. If he hadn’t, she’d have died then and there and all the chaos over the last few days could have been avoided.
He played it over and over, trying to decide which outcome was better, or perhaps which was the least bad. When he exhausted all reason and argument, his mind went blank, entering into a blissful indifference over the whole thing. Imago appeared in his line of sight beneath the wheel and Cid let out a guttural grunt at the cat.
“Fuck sake, animal, can’t a man have a moment to himself?”
As Cid looked up, he flinched and tugged on the wheel. The ship swung to the side, narrowly avoiding a large tree jutting from the mountainside. Imago padded over and jumped onto the rail beside the tree, watching it as they passed by.
“If you think I’m going to thank you for that, then you’re mistaken,” Cid said to the cat. “Why don’t you go and bother Holt?”
As soon as he’d spoken the man’s name he started wondered where Holt was. Cid thought he might be sleeping soundly, perhaps even soundly enough to not notice someone approaching. This was his chance to bring an end to the madness. Without Holt at her side, Larissa might think better of continuing on with her mad mission, especially after she had already suffered so much.
There was the Professor to consider, of course, but Cid knew their chances of actually rescuing him and escaping alive were slim. Holt had saved them from a dismal fate, but Cid couldn’t bring himself to feel graciously about the man. A strange thought crossed his mind and Cid looked to Imago.
“Where is Holt?” he asked.
Imago flicked his tail and dropped from the rail, padding along the deck quietly. Cid took a long look ahead, this time taking extra care to be sure there were no obstacles in their path, and when he was satisfied he followed after the cat with light steps.
Imago stalked around the furnace room to the stern of the ship and there, hunched in a ball on deck, lay
Holt. The back of the ship was poorly lit and Holt’s black clothing blended into the dark surroundings. If it hadn’t been for Imago, Cid probably would not have spotted the man at all. The cat walked up to Holt and Cid silently waved his arms, mouthing expletives at Imago. Somehow, the cat seemed to take his meaning and backed away.
Cid stared at the sleeping ball of the man he contemplated killing, then edged towards him. How ironic—if their places were switched, Holt probably wouldn’t hesitate. He’d doubtlessly have no trouble sticking a knife into Cid’s throat, or perhaps simply throwing him overboard. Yet Cid could not so easily reconcile the contemplation into actual action. It would be cowardly, he mused; not that he’d ever considered himself a brave man, but what if this was his only chance? Could he forgive himself later if everything went to hell and he’d let go of this opportunity to end it?
“Make your move,” Holt spoke, and Cid physically jolted backward.
For a while everything was silent, save for the pounding of Cid’s heartbeat inside his own head. Holt didn’t move, his body still curled into a ball. Cid wrung his sweaty fingers behind his back and cleared his throat.
“I just came to see if you’d agree to take a shift at the wheel. I could use a rest,” Cid said.
A moment passed before Holt uncurled himself and stood up, his facial features obscured by the darkness of the night. Neither man spoke, though Cid was sure Holt passed some dubious contemplation through his mind. Eventually, Holt headed to the wheel.
“I was also thinking,” Cid called to him, “that it might be nice if we could do something...for the girl.”
“Such as?”
“No idea. What do girls like?”
“Clothes.”
“Yes. I’m sure that’d make her happy,” Cid said.
“I don’t know of any clothing retailers in the mountains.”
“Good point. I’ll think on it, perhaps ask the others.”
Holt gave him a terse nod and then disappeared from view. Cid let out a long, shaking breath, and Imago padded around to stand at his side. He wasn’t sure if Holt believed his innocent intentions, but the fact that he was still alive was a good sign. He contemplated sleeping where Holt had slept and then changed his mind, instead heading to one of the rooms below.