Scoundrel

by Zoë Archer

  No rest, then. No enchanted bubble of lovemaking and revelations. Not yet.

  There would be, by God. As Bennett and London gathered with Kallas and Athena on deck, Bennett swore to himself that he’d see this mission through to the end. He would ensure London’s safety, carve a secret place out of glaciers or granite mountains for himself and her. He always took his duty to the Blades seriously. Now, his motivations were multiplied a hundredfold. Find the Source. Protect London. Love her. These demands were branded onto his heart, now and forevermore.

  Late afternoon and the sky was aflame with blue, the sea burnished copper. The quartet of colleagues and friends massed around the wheel. Bennett had always liked being at sail, but now this caique had become a home to him, the people on it bound together with their own kinship. The Heirs wouldn’t harm them. He refused to let that happen. The alternative—no, he wouldn’t even consider it.

  “We’ve got to find the Black Temple the Colossus spoke about,” he said.

  “But not even the Colossus knew where to find it,” London noted, standing beside him. She was unaware that she played with his fingers, unconsciously stroking and fondling each with her own slender fingers, and consequently, a goodly portion of Bennett’s thinking capacity settled warmly in his groin. But her touch felt too damned good to make her stop.

  “If there ever was a written record of such a place,” said Athena, “it is either lost or buried beneath centuries.”

  “Sailor lore holds nothing,” muttered Kallas. “And I’ve heard everything. It could take a lifetime to find the damn place.”

  Bennett growled. “We don’t have a lifetime.” Even with the Bloodseeker Spell broken, the Heirs would find some way to track them. The faster the Eye of the Colossus was found and secured, the better for everyone.

  London frowned in thought. “If not a sailor, who then knows the sea?”

  “Someone who makes it their home,” Athena answered.

  “Fish,” Bennett said, only half in jest.

  Grinning with sudden understanding, Kallas whipped off his cap and slapped it on his thigh. “Yes.”

  Athena raised her brow. “You cannot mean to ask the fish about the Black Temple.”

  “Fish?” Kallas scoffed. “No, that’d be ridiculous—no offense, Day,” he added.

  Bennett shrugged, affable. “No man has ever called me ridiculous. Son of a bitch, sometimes. Bastard, usually. But not ridiculous.”

  London bumped her shoulder against his arm. “And what do women call you?”

  “I can’t remember anyone before you.”

  The witch hadn’t the patience to listen to Bennett and London’s affectionate banter, perhaps because she always argued with the object of her own grudging interest. “Not the fish,” she muttered. “Who, then?”

  “You’re a mainlander,” Kallas said, smiling with white, straight teeth around the stem of his pipe. “But now it’s time for you to learn respect for the sea.”

  The sails were lowered as the captain gathered an assemblage of things from the quarterdeck house and cargo hold. A bottle of wine. A jar of honey. Another jar, this one filled with olives.

  “All gifts from the earth,” Kallas said, setting them by the rail. “They want these delicacies, having nothing like them of their own.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” Athena demanded.

  The captain only gave the witch an enigmatic look, making her throw up her hands in frustration. Bennett hid his smile, but London saw, her own lips twitching in response. If Kallas and Athena ever made it over the hurdle of their pride and into bed, there wouldn’t be enough water in the world to douse the resultant flames.

  “Don’t think you’re the only one who knows a bit of magic,” Kallas chided. “When sailors find themselves in trouble, they have an ally. Fifty, actually,” he amended. “But they might not all show. Depends on their whims.”

  Athena, determined not to give Kallas any further response, merely folded her arms over her chest, clamping her mouth shut sullenly. Bennett bit the inside of his cheek. She was a far different creature than she had been when setting off from Piraeus weeks ago. Even her immaculate coiffures were long gone, and now her hair streamed wild about her shoulders. Bennett wondered if Athena the Greater would either congratulate Bennett for the changes wrought in her daughter, or daily send an eagle to tear out his liver, another Prometheus.

  While Kallas finished setting up his collection of foodstuffs, Bennett’s gaze was drawn to London, as it often did. He couldn’t help it. She captured his every thought, ensnared him without effort, and he didn’t mind in the least. Every time he saw her, that radiant happiness unfurled inside him like a standard, snapping and bright in the sunshine. This was so far beyond what he’d ever felt for any other woman, he at last understood what London meant in the difference between his old definitions of love and this one.

  As Kallas made one more trip down to the cargo, London finished dousing the sails and glided toward Bennett. She had changed into one of Athena’s skirts, and the fabric molded itself to her slim legs as the wind blew over the deck. Bennett couldn’t decide if he liked her better in trousers or skirts. Each held their own appeal. She saw the admiration in his gaze, and her own heated in response. Combustible.

  “Now, we are ready,” said Kallas, appearing with a handful of grape leaves. He stood at the rail, holding his bounty of land-grown treasure.

  “Do we need to do anything?” London asked.

  “Only to keep your respect of the sea,” the captain answered.

  Everyone nodded in agreement, even Athena. Satisfied, Kallas turned to the water and began to sing.

  It was a plain tune, the kind sung by sailors over countless generations as they mended nets or kept themselves company on long voyages. Simple, but not crude, only pared down to the sounds of a man’s voice over the waves. Bennett didn’t recognize the dialect, however, and could only listen to the rise and fall of Kallas’s song as it moved in undulations like the sea.

  As he sang, Kallas methodically emptied the bottle of wine into the water, the dark liquid spraying over the waves. The image reminded Bennett a bit too much of London shedding her blood, and he forced his breath to calm. Next, Kallas poured golden threads of honey into the water, followed by handfuls of olives. He then tossed the grape leaves across the water, the strong breeze catching them and sending them wheeling over the waves like green birds.

  Then, faint at first and then with growing strength, the song was returned. Sweet female voices answered, and Bennett could have sworn they came from underneath the water. The voices were liquid, resonant with the sounds of coral reefs and hidden palaces. His body hummed with the presence of nearby magic.

  “There!” London exclaimed, pointing to the water.

  Kallas cursed faintly in surprise. “I didn’t think it would work.”

  Dorsal fins broke the surface, carving the cobalt water clean and silver. They skimmed alongside the caique. Bennett heard a chirp, followed by another, and another. An inhuman laughter. Dolphins. Massing in playful pods, their backs slick and gray, they danced around the boat.

  Peering closer, Bennett thought at first his sight was faulty. Hands grasped the dolphins’ dorsal fins. Women’s hands.

  The dolphins, circling, rose higher in the water. Waves parted around them. The pale arms of women emerged from the sea, then their heads and shoulders. Long hair, adorned with coral beads and polished shells, flowed behind them. The women’s eyes were a fathomless green, the color of deepest grottoes. None of them wore a scrap of clothing, except ropes of pearls loosely draped over their luminous bodies. The maidens sang in their liquid voices as the dolphins whistled in chorus. Bennett caught his breath to hear it.

  The presence of immortal beauty stirred anyone, men especially. But Bennett did not feel his blood heat with desire to see the perfect bodies and lovely faces of the sea maidens, only the wonderment that such perfection could exist in an imperfect world.

  London stared a
t the maidens, almost as enraptured as Bennett, joy at their presence flushing her cheeks. He forgot to mention to her that magical beings were not always monstrous, like the rakshasa demon. Now she had proof that magic had many faces, and he was glad to share it with her.

  When the song faded, one of the nymphs called to Kallas in classical Greek, “My sisters and I are pleased by your offerings, sailor. You show proper reverence for us and our home.”

  “Your home is mine,” Kallas answered, also in classical Greek. “My father and his father and all the men of my line owe our lives to you, Nereids. No tribute is ever enough.”

  Bennett had never heard the captain speak so formally or with such eloquence. It seemed Kallas could draw upon the art when pressed. Bennett snuck a glance at Athena and saw her regarding the captain with a newfound appreciation.

  All of the maidens smiled at the captain’s deferential words. “We shall grant you a boon, in kind,” another trilled. “Ask it of us.”

  “Your munificence humbles me.” Kallas bowed, one hand pressed to his chest. “If I may make a request, your guidance would be a great bounty. We seek a place that cannot be found. Yet we know that, of all the beings in the sea, the daughters of Nereus, truthful, compassionate, and gentle sea-god, possess a knowledge of the waters that surpasses all others.”

  This gratified the Nereids. Regally, but with a bit of preening, the first one said, “This is true. There is nothing in these waters that we do not know. What place do you seek?”

  “The Black Temple.”

  The jeweled eyes of the Nereids widened. They chattered to each other in an unknown tongue.

  One of the maidens said, regret dampening the bell of her voice, “That is a secret we keep for ourselves.”

  “But it is very important that we find it,” London said, stepping forward.

  The Nereids regarded London coolly. “Which does not concern us,” one replied, haughty.

  Seeking to add her persuasive voice to the discussion, Athena coaxed, “The fate of the world’s magic rests in the balance.”

  This impressed the Nereids even less than London’s plea. The sea maidens grew noticeably more aloof, pursing their shell-pink lips in disapproval. What could make them so unresponsive, when moments earlier, they smiled indulgently at Kallas.

  At Kallas, not London or Athena.

  Bennett leaned down and whispered into London’s ear. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked, a small frown appearing between her brows.

  He pressed a quick kiss to the side of her neck. “This.” Bennett went to stand beside Kallas. “Afternoon, ladies,” he said to the Nereids. He gave the sea maidens what Catullus Graves called Bennett’s “damp-drawers smile.” The Nereids weren’t wearing drawers, but he hoped the effect was much the same.

  “You are not a sailor,” a Nereid with earrings of branched coral said, but her voice was more breathless.

  “Alas, no,” Bennett answered. “But I’ve been taught well the ways of the sea by my friend, Nikos Kallas.” He clapped a brotherly hand on Kallas’s shoulder. “Truly, if my work did not take me far on to land, I’d never leave the sea’s breast.”

  Almost all the Nereids blushed to hear Bennett say the word “breast,” regardless of the fact that none of them wore a stitch and their own bosoms were entirely bare.

  “It would be a pity to lose you to the land,” said the first Nereid. “The sea always needs good men.”

  “Surely you’ve no shortage of able-bodied seamen,” Bennett answered.

  Some of the sea maidens giggled, the sound like chimes. Bennett cast a quick look over his shoulder, and saw London scowling. Athena, too, appeared irritated. He shrugged, man’s ancient sign of, “What can you do?” London made a shooing gesture with one hand, telling him to just get on with it.

  “I am sorry that you cannot help us,” Bennett said, turning back to the Nereids. “As my friends have pointed out, it’s rather urgent we find the Black Temple.”

  “Such a place is kept hidden from the eyes of man,” a Nereid with a diadem of shells said. “It is for the good of everyone.”

  “Very true,” replied Bennett. “Most men are greedy and thoughtless children.”

  “Are you?” asked the Nereid with the coral earrings.

  “Never a child, madam, always a man,” he answered with a flirtatious smile. It was a role he played, a role he’d inhabited most of his life, and with pleasure, but now he wanted to smile in such fashion at London alone. He would only fulfill the promise of his smile with her. Still, the Nereids didn’t know that. He hoped London did.

  Urging her dolphin to swim a little closer to the caique, the diadem-wearing sea nymph stared up at Bennett with heavy-lidded eyes. “How do we know your intentions at the Black Temple are honorable?”

  “You’ve but my word. And I don’t give it lightly.”

  “Is there anything you do give lightly?” asked the Nereid. “A kiss, perhaps?”

  Bennett thought he heard London’s growl. A tigress. Oh, he had such plans for her later. For now, though, he had to concern himself with these rather trying nymphs. He used to like the game of seduction. Now, he was impatient, wanting to be finished so they could go about their business, so he could be alone with London.

  “My kisses are given to only one woman,” Bennett said, and he was glad of it.

  “A pity,” sighed the Nereid with the earrings. “What of your handsome friend? He sings well.” She looked at Kallas.

  The captain flushed, then cast a glance at Athena. The witch turned away, feigning interest in the grain of the wooden deck. Kallas seemed to wait for an objection from her, but she said nothing.

  “Kallas men leave women sighing in ports across the sea,” the captain said, turning back to the Nereid.

  At once, the Nereids began to chatter amongst themselves, some kind of heated debate. It reached a crescendo, then the sea nymph in the diadem silenced her sisters with a wave of her hand. Her sisters looked supremely irritated.

  “It is decided,” she said, addressing Bennett and Kallas. “I shall tell you how to find the Black Temple. But there is a price.”

  “And that price is?” Bennett asked.

  “A kiss for me, from each of you men.”

  Shocked noises of outrage from both London and Athena as Bennett inwardly grimaced. Why must magical women have such a taste for mortal flesh?

  The Nereid’s green aquatic eyes moved over both Kallas and Bennett, a suggestive perusal. “My sisters and I have met so few mortals that intrigue us, hardly any since Odysseus and Jason crossed these waters.”

  “My heart belongs to another,” Bennett said.

  The nymph dismissed this objection with a toss of her head. “I ask not for your heart. Only your kiss.” She guided her dolphin closer to the caique, so that she was a foot away, and tilted up her face with regal expectation.

  Before Bennett could respond, London muttered in English, “It’s all right. Kiss the bloody sea strumpet.”

  With an inward sigh, knowing he hadn’t a choice in the matter, Bennett leaned over the rail to place a quick, fraternal kiss on the Nereid’s mouth. Her lips were cool, beaded with seawater. He tried to pull back, but the nymph’s arms came up and locked behind his neck, almost tugging him overboard. Her kiss became more insistent, her tongue pushing at the seam of his lips to force them open. It felt a little like kissing an amorous octopus.

  Bennett managed to disentangle himself from the Nereid’s arms and leaned back. He barely resisted the impulse to wipe his mouth on his sleeve as she pouted.

  “Now, you,” the sea nymph commanded Kallas.

  The captain did as he was ordered, but, with no word of protest from Athena, his participation was a hell of a lot more enthusiastic than Bennett’s. The Nereid clutched at Kallas as they kissed deeply, and a flush crept over her body while her sisters sighed with envy.

  While Kallas was so occupied, he didn’t see Athena’s fierce scowl. It looked as though she w
as on the verge of either planting a foot in the captain’s behind or committing nymphicide. Bennett suspected it was extreme force of will, and dedication to the mission, that kept the witch from unleashing her fury.

  Finally, the Nereid released Kallas. The captain moved back, completely dazed.

  “Delicious,” the nymph said. “While your kiss,” she said to Bennett, “left much to be desired, they both revealed your inner truths regarding your intent for the Black Temple. I may disclose to you its location without fear.”

  “Many thanks.” Bennett spoke because Kallas seemed incapable of rational thought. Kissing immortal maidens had that effect on most men.

  “A day’s sail north. Three islands shall you pass, each a fortress. The fourth is what you seek. The Black Temple is beneath the Black Temple. You must bring the Oracle’s Daughter, else the secret shall burn you.”

  Ah, another riddle. But it was one he and London would solve together.

  From her sheltered spot at the bow, hidden by a large crate, London sat and watched the evening descend like a silken cloak. She had her knees curled up, her chin propped on her knees, her arms around her legs. Wind blew across her face with the scent of saltwater and possibility. Athena had wrapped an herbal poultice around the wound on London’s arm, so that its pain was hardly felt, the healing already commencing. There might be a faint scar, however.

  Even if the symbol she had carved into her arm faded completely, she would never lose the mark upon her heart. How did one go on, knowing that her parent sought her death? She thought of Abraham and Isaac, the venerable patriarch willing to slay his son for the sake of his faith. Somehow, London’s father had convinced himself that he must sacrifice her for the betterment of England, if not merely himself and his reputation. What if Isaac leapt up from the altar to snatch the knife from his father’s hand? How would the world be different?

  She was orphaned, never to see her mother again, and to her father she was dead. She could have nothing further to do with him. Or he must die. The thought made her shudder, even as she acknowledged the truth. Even though she had broken the Bloodseeker Spell, she was not free of her father, not free of the Heirs. Not until either she or her father were dead.