“Did he tell you what life was like on his pirate crew?”
“First of all, he would never allow anyone to call him a pirate. The word has a negative connotation. He preferred the term freebooter. It sounds better and is truer to his cause, for he and his crew were free men, running their own successful business, with no one to answer to but each other.”
“It looks like he did a good job and sounds like he was proud of his profession. I guess these freebooters treated him better than the merchants, huh?”
“Oh yes. They treated him fair and eventually voted him in as their captain. With his position, he showed them respect and rebuilt the pride that he and many others were robbed of along their previous journeys. They were a jolly bunch all around.” She smiled like she was reliving good memories.
“That’s good. I’ve seen too many good men treated poorly by the wealthy, and I like hearing that Levi and his men found their own way.” I took another sip of gin, then chuckled to myself. All this time I had been fantasizing about getting saucy with Pauline, yet, now that I was alone with her in that room, all I wanted to do was ask about her dead husband’s life of piracy. “So, how did the townsfolks accept him upon his returns?”
“I know some of them whispered behind his back, but he was so generous with his earnings that he quickly won the favor of the merchants at the market and craftsmen in town. Before long, his arrival was applauded at the docks.” She winked.
“What a turn around.” I started daydreaming about how good it would feel to pull into port with enough loot to not only buy what I wanted, but to repay those who had helped me and even help other downtrodden souls. Then, I thought of how differently Nathan told this tale than Pauline. “How did Nathan feel about Levi’s way of living? He seemed upset about the whole thing.”
“He wasn’t fond of Levi’s profession, but he accepted the pilfered loot as payment for our rent, and even let Levi pay his property taxes when times were slow. Yes, he was and is upset about it, but overall, Nathan loved his little brother and I honestly think deep down he understood, and even respected the choice Levi made.” She took a sip of gin, then said, “Now, I did not invite you to my room to talk about my late husband.”
“What do you want to talk about?” I finished off my cup.
“We could talk about how we should probably have sex soon.”
I almost spit out my gin as I laughed. “Damn, woman, you have no shame at all, do you?”
“Ah, life’s too short to be prudent.” She winked at me.
“And here I am trying to be a gentleman.” I shook my head dramatically.
After refilling my cup from the pitcher of gin we were sharing, she said, “I don’t need romance, honey. I married once for love, and what I lost can never be replaced. Nowadays, I’m just looking for a good time, and you’re the best time I’ve had in a while. So, if you’re interested, whatever happens between us before you leave doesn’t have to be anything more than just that.”
Liking that idea, I raised my cup to cheer with hers.
Drink after drink, we talked and laughed like we did every night. With my mind abuzz and my vision ablur, she became even prettier, and all the more alluring in every way. Besides being gorgeous, and shapely, and serving me like I was a king, she was also funny and had me laughing more than I had in years.
As drunk as I had become, I was unsure of who started it, but the next thing I knew, she was straddling me in that throne of a chair, moving her hips across my lap as she kissed me. Damn, she tasted good, felt good, and looked better than ever under the candlelight of her Moroccan lamps. Her lips were warm and her touch was hot, singeing my skin as her hands moved from my cheeks and tickled down my chest. Slowly and smoothly, she undid my belt and dropped to her knees.
After sucking the sense out of me, she took my hand and led me to that big ol’ bed of hers.
Kissing me again, she pulled me down on top of her, and then started undressing herself. As her shirt came off, her massive tits bulged out above her bodice, sliding to the sides while still staying plump and round. Kissing them all over, I thought of how every woman should have mounds like this. Things only got better when I unlaced her bodice and slipped off her skirts. Her body was full and curvy. There was so much to grab and pinch and squeeze. And once I was inside her, I loved the way her flesh jiggled against my thrusts.
As she moaned and wiggled beneath me, matching my movements with her own, I thought of how different she was from other girls I had been with, in every way. She did things I had never thought of before. She knew just what she wanted and where she wanted me. And she wasn’t quiet about any of it. By the time we were done, the whole damn town had to know that Mason Bentley made Madam Pauline’s night.
Covered in sweat, and heaving for air, I flopped face down on the bed beside her. “Damn, woman. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
She slapped my arse. “You’re telling me no woman has ever had the pleasure of being bucked around by a fine steed like you?”
“Not like that, beauty. Not like that.”
“Well, if you’re interested in making a habit of it, why don’t you stay with me in my world traveled palace until you head out to sea.”
I lifted my face from the pillow. “You mean, give up my hammock in the storage room, to share a featherbed with a beautiful woman? All right.”
She laughed. “The trade is fair, believe me. And I can teach you things that will make it better for both of us, every time.”
“I’ve always been one who thirsts for knowledge.” I closed my eyes.
“Speaking of thirsty, I forgot to refill my pitcher. Would you be willing to go down and get some water for us?”
The last thing I wanted to do was get up, but if the lady was thirsty, the lady would have water.
Forcing myself out of her comfortable bed, I put on my breeches then looked around for my shirt. Spotting my waistcoat, I threw it on, grabbed the pitcher and opened the door.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she hummed as I made my exit.
Noticing how the once loud and rowdy crowd had calmed significantly, and seeing the band putting their instruments away, I started feeling like an arse for making so much noise up there with Pauline. Yet, the moment I hit the bottom step, the few men who were still staggering about, greeted me with rowdy hoots.
“That a boy!” One of them laid his arm over my shoulder.
Another patted my back. “I bet you’re thirsty after all that hard work. Let me buy you a drink.”
Laughing and joking with them as the barmaid refilled the water pitcher, I thought about how good things were going for me. One month in Bristol and I had been hired by the best known captain in the harbor, I had been making friends with sailors who were now buying me drinks, and there was a saucy woman awaiting my return to her feather bed. Though I hadn’t—and never would—forget about the family I once had, there was no denying that I was now having the time of my life at Nathan Huxley’s Stone House Inn.
Chapter 8
Where the River Leads
Spending my days hard at work around the inn, and my nights in Pauline’s feather bed—learning everything I’d ever need to know about pleasing a woman—three weeks flew by within the blink of an eye. Rising before dawn on departure day, I lit a candle and hurried to get myself ready for my journey. Once I was dressed in the clothes Pauline washed for me, I braided my hair over the shoulder of my prized burgundy and gold coat, and then eyed myself in that fine Spanish mirror.
While running my fingers through my lengthy goatee to tame the wild hairs, I spoke to Pauline through the reflection, “Can you believe I’ll be sailing away from England today?”
Stepping in front of me—hair a wild mess and red nightgown sleeve hanging sloppily off her shoulder—she wrapped her arms around my waist and said, “Of course I can believe it. From the day I met you, I knew you were the kind of man who gets what he wants.”
Grabbing her arse, I teased, “Like
this?”
“Exactly,” she giggled, then lifted her head from my chest and looked into my eyes. “Promise me something before you go.”
“Speak to me, my sweet.” I moved her hair behind her ear.
“One, never forget who you are or what you’re worth. Two, don’t ever turn your back on those who trust you. And three, know that my door will always be open to you, Mason Bentley.”
“I promise and thank you, for everything. Including this fine hat you bought me.” I adorned the black cavalier hat with pheasant feathers in the band, then kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back one day, and maybe I’ll bring you something nice to add to your fancy room.”
I kissed her hand and walked out of her door.
Thrilled about the day ahead, I headed down the stairs with a smile so wide I felt like a happy old idiot as I slipped through the empty barroom and out onto the darkened street. In the far distance, I could see a hint of sunlight illuminating the foggy sky. Though the early morning air was cold and damp, I was too excited to be bothered by the weather. While strutting along the harbor walk, with my sailcloth sea bag over my shoulder, I looked downriver and said to myself, “Today I’ll find out just where that river leads.”
The sky brightened and the fog thinned bit by bit as I drew near the docks. Once my feet hit the wooden planks, the mist lightened enough that I was able to take in a clear sight of the ships wooden hulls and their tangled rigging lines towering overhead. Some of the ships had two masts, while others had three, and some were painted while others were plain wood. They were all so different, yet they all shared the same aspect of promise. The men hopping along the yards and scaling the rigging were just as impressive. Their jolly songs rang in my ears as the scent of tar and wet lumber filled my nose.
While taking a deep breath to absorb the awe-inspiring elements, I set sight on Autumn Moon. Approaching the three-masted beauty with the newly painted blue hull, I called up the gangway toward the two men on board, “Is Mister Dabney here?”
As they approached the rail, I saw that it was Timothy Peck and Jonathan Dennel. Those two logger-headed dolts frequented the Stone House Inn. Though I had yet to talk with them, Pauline told me they were jokingly known among sailors as the best deck sanders on the high seas.
Peck, the tall skinny blond scowled at me. “He’s here. Who’s asking?”
“The name’s Mason Bentley. Captain Burton told me to meet Mister Dabney here this morning.”
“Eh, aren’t you the bloke who’s sticking it to that old lady at Stone House Inn?” He squinted his beady eyes.
Dennel, the short, dark haired fellow scratched his groin. “Ah, that’s him, all right. I saw her sitting on his lap, rubbing that smug face of his against her bosom.”
Peck bumped Dennel with his elbow. “I knew it. See, he likes his wenches old, like you, Dennel.”
Dennel snorted, “Eh, don’t worry about how I like my wenches, Peck. And Madam Pauline may be old, but she sure is pretty and that bosom of hers is real nice.”
“Nice if you like saggy old bags,” Peck chortled.
Dennel shoved his shoulder. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t let Madam Pauline rub them bags in your face if she wanted to?”
“No I wouldn’t.” Peck shook his little head. “Not for a second. I got some standards, you know.”
Dennel slapped his own knee. “Standards? Ha! A bloke as ugly as you would be lucky to find a dribble-drabble hag willing to bed you without pay. You’d never stand a chance with a fine lady like Madam Pauline.”
Since they seemed to have forgotten that I existed, I made my way up the gangway and decided to find Mister Dabney myself.
Setting foot on the neatly sanded deck, and observing the way it was swaying slightly beneath my feet, I took in a whiff of tar and hemp and scanned the area. Ropes were neatly stowed near the masts and everything was placed in an orderly manner, but what intrigued me most of all, was the deck. The tar caulking the rope in between the planks was as flush as the smoothly sanded wood, leading me to believe there was some truth behind the jokes being told about Peck and Dennel; this was the best treated wood I’d ever seen.
Being how they were still arguing near the rail and no one else was in plain sight, I wandered toward the door that led to what I assumed to be the captain’s cabin. My stride was halted when someone stepped in front of me.
Suddenly staring directly at the leathered and scarred skin of a tall man’s neck, I took a step back and looked up at his face. Standing with his absurdly massive and tattooed arms crossed over his strapping chest, the man with a dark mustache and a red scarf over his head glared down at me and said, “Who the hell are you?”
Feeling threatened by his stance, as well as by his expression, I tightened my fists at my sides, but answered with an even tone, “Mason Bentley. I’m looking for Mister Dabney.”
He let out a condescending laugh and called his friends to join him. “Looky here, boys. This is the young suck the captain has been boasting about.”
Drawing near, his friends snickered and pointed at me—quite like how Billy Winston and his shitty friends used to do with the kids they picked on.
“Nice coat he has, eh, Smedley?” The leader of this ugly group elbowed the fuzzy haired man next to him.
Smedley—also tattooed, but nowhere near as intimidating in size or stature—winced suspiciously as he eyed my coat. “Why don’t you tell us where a poor young inn boy like you got your dirty little hands on such a fine piece of fabric?”
Though I felt the need to defend myself against their tones and laughter, there was no way I was going to ruin my chances with this job because of a cocksure group like this. Acting aloof, I held my shoulders straight as I continued with my business. “Might any of you know where I can find the man I am looking for?”
Looking annoyed by my lack of concern, the leader furrowed his brows. “Dabney’s in the cabin. But I’m the bosun aboard this fine vessel, and the moment we set sail, you’ll be answering to me. And I’m not so easy to impress.” He poked my shoulder.
Slowly and calmly, I flicked his hand off my person. “All right. What can I call you?”
He flexed his massive arms and said, “You can call me Boa.” Since his shirt was sleeveless, I plainly saw the boa snakes he had tattooed around each of his bulging upper arms.
Smedley added, “We call him Boa because of them arms. He’s been known to wrap them around necks like a boa constrictor and squeeze the life out of bodies just the same.”
The group all booed and hissed like snakes, and even reenacted the choking scenes.
Though I’d rather not have the life choked out of me by those absurdly large arms, or have any trouble with the men I would soon be stuck in the middle of the ocean with, I knew better than to let them think I’d continue as a fool for their amusement. Just as I figured I’d step around and continue on my mission, the door I had been aiming to reach opened.
A well-dressed man wearing his long brown hair tied back, stomped up the stairs and scowled at the group of laughing men. “What is this nonsense?”
As the crowd settled down, the man stepped out, hands on his hips, and scolded Boa, “Don’t you have work to do, Mister Mills? We will be making sail in less than an hour and I believe there are far more important things you could be leading your herd to accomplish.”
Like children in trouble, Boa’s men lowered their heads and offered their apologies to the man they called Mister Dabney as they shuffled away. As for Boa, he simply nodded at the man I’d been seeking. As he walked away, he shot me a wicked squint that assured me that the problems he wanted to start with me were far from over.
Seeing me still standing there, Mister Dabney said, “I apologize for their behavior. Bosun Mills and his men are not the friendliest fellows, but it is hard to find good help these days and what they lack in manners, they make up for in skill.” He shook his head. “So, how can I help you, young man?”
Removing my hat, I politely sta
ted, “Hello, sir. I am Mason Bentley. Captain Burton sent me here to meet with you this morning.”
“Oh, yes.” He reached out to shake my hand. “I am Alfred Dabney, Captain Burton’s first mate. Are you still interested in joining our crew?”
“I certainly am.”
“Good. Very good. Captain Burton told me all about you. He said you were big for your age, but you are much larger than I imagined. Our crew could certainly use this kind of muscle, without that kind of attitude.” He glared toward Boa and his men, who were now beginning their ascent up the shrouds.
“I’ll be happy to help however I can, sir.”
“Glad to hear it. If you’ll kindly step into the cabin, we’ll get you signed on right away.”
I followed him in.
Grey morning light shone in from the open windows, illuminating the wooden walls of the small room. Everything was tidy and plain, but the table in the center of the room was littered with maps which were surrounded by burning candles. There was another well-dressed man standing at the table. He appeared to be making marks on one of the maps. Mister Dabney introduced me to him. “This here is Mister Aaron Jenson. He is our newly hired navigator.”
Stepping toward the table, I shook Aaron’s hand. “Mason Bentley. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” he said then quickly returned his attention to the maps. I followed his gaze. Eyeing the charts he was working on, I asked, “Did you draw these?”
Without looking up from his tools, the clean shaven fellow who wore his long, sandy hair tied back tight, answered, “No, I did not. I am a navigator, but not a sea artist.”
“What’s the difference?”
“A sea artist draws maps and a navigator marks and studies them. Some do both but not me.”
Enamored by the artwork and intrigued by the marks and notes scribbled along the shorelines, inlets, channels, and passages from place to place, I wanted to ask a million questions, but Aaron Jenson did not seem the least bit interested in talking to me. Plus, I had not come here to bother the navigator.
King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories Page 11