The Pirate Fairy

by A. J. Llewellyn

  “Barthelmass said to bring this to you. He said you needed it.”

  “Is that nectar?”

  Frogmorten nodded. When Denny reached for it, he snatched it back. “How am I to be paid for this elixir of life?”

  Denny worked hard not to act on the kind of violent thoughts that had gotten him into so much trouble in the past.

  “If you let me have the nectar now, I can show you how I intend to repay you.”

  “I—” Frogmorten blinked as Denny held his gaze. They exchanged the kind of silent contract only men can sign between them. He gulped. “Okay.” He let Denny take the goblet.

  Denny drank every drop, ecstatic at the taste of the nectar. Oh, it was the most delicious thing that had ever touched his tongue. Wait a minute. The perpetual ache from his wings went away. His muddled thoughts vanished. Nothing hurt. He felt fantastic.

  “Can you get me more?” he asked, excited that he could move his wings with total ease. Denny was learning how to stretch his wings, literally, without hitting the wall. I can’t wait to see if I can fly.

  “I’ll get you more. You pay me first.”

  Denny didn’t hesitate. He sat on the bed and undid Frogmorten’s cotton pants. The bumblebee man’s cock was half hard and very generously proportioned. His entire body from the neck down was human and he was quite sexy underneath his clothing. The sight of that huge shaft made Denny drool. He was surprised at the sweetness of the gigantic cock in his grip. Did all of the men here come so well endowed? Now that Denny thought of it, bees consumed only nectar and pollen. He longed to drink a long, cool glass of nectar. It was his new drug of choice. This was what he thought about as he brought Frogmorten carnal pleasure. Denny enjoyed giving a man the ultimate satisfaction with his mouth. Frogmorten’s ropey juices flowed quickly down Denny’s throat. He moaned, and his cock wouldn’t go down.

  “You want it again?” Denny asked.

  Before Frogmorten could respond, Denny dipped his head and began the whole process of sucking and licking the huge cock again. Frogmorten had made no sound during the first time around, except for the occasional, delirious sigh. This time, he groaned…the sound so unusual yet so erotic to the seasoned pirate that Denny was soon on his knees, moving his hand to Frogmorten’s balls and squeezing them. Frogmorten twitched at this unexpected contact, but did not otherwise resist. In fact, he seemed to thrust even harder into Denny’s open mouth.

  Frogmorten came hard and reached out one massive hand to hold Denny’s head to him. When at last Frogmorten stopped coming, Denny knelt back on his haunches.

  “I think you enjoy paying your debts,” Frogmorten murmured.

  “Very much.” Denny looked him right in the eye. He was aware of a rush of heat to his own cock and wished he could jerk off quickly, but Frogmorten had other things on his mind.

  “I will bring you more nectar. And you will give me more…joy.” He left the cell, taking the empty goblet with him. When Frogmorten returned later, he was about to receive payment for the second goblet when Ebba and Barthelmass arrived.

  “They’ve stepped up your trial.” Ebba looked upset.

  Barthelmass was carrying another basin of water and set it on the table. “The prince has a keen interest in this case and he only leaves the castle at night. He won’t come to court in the morning.”

  Ebba grimaced at Denny. “And I am sorry to tell you that my brother is one of the crown’s witnesses against you.”

  Denny shrugged. His wing felt wonderful.

  “It’s twitching!” Ebba gasped. “You got it to work!”

  “I did. With Barthelmass’ help.”

  “Good, good.” Ebba pointed to the goblet. “Drink that nectar. Each cup lasts about two hours. We may have time to get you another cup before your trial starts.”

  Barthelmass stepped forward and said, “I’ll shave him while you coach him.”

  “Okay.”

  “But first, Denny’s going to wash his teeth. His breath smells like he ate a dead person.”

  Denny said nothing. He swallowed his nectar then grabbed the toothbrush and the canister of dental powder Barthelmass handed him and brushed. After using the bowl of water that Barthelmass had brought to swig and gargle, he spat the contents into his empty nectar cup. His mouth felt a lot better afterward and he tried to remember the last time he’d practiced good oral hygiene.

  “The more flower nectar you drink, the better your teeth will get. When you manifest your full powers you’ll never need to brush them again,” Ebba said. She stood at Denny’s side as Barthelmass lathered up Denny’s head and face. He shaved Denny with a double-edged razor. That was a delight he had previously only ever experienced on the rare times he had visited a barber. His skin stung until Barthelmass dabbed his hands with some kind of tonic from a brown bottle and pressed his palms to Denny’s cheeks. The tonic smelled unusual but felt very good.

  “What is that?” Denny took a deep sniff.

  “Witch hazel. Very good for the skin.” Barthelmass turned Denny’s chair around and leaned him back, washing his hair and scalp with the cold water and a bar of white soap. He tilted Denny’s head up again and dried his head with a rough cloth.

  Ebba kept grilling Denny, who could hardly concentrate on what she was saying.

  “Don’t forget to mention your mother leaving you. Oh, and your dad deserting you. There are four women on the jury and they will feel sympathy for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “And mention your sister. Don’t forget to talk about the workhouse and your years working as a child slave in the factory. Keep your stories of thieving to a minimum. Oh. I will talk about your freeing the slaves. By the time I’m done with you, the women on the jury will be weeping to save you.”

  “And the best I can look forward to is life in prison?”

  “Maybe not that long. You might get time off for good behavior. But I can almost guarantee I won’t let you be executed.”

  “Thanks.” Denny was worried now. She could almost guarantee it?

  Barthelmass clipped at Denny’s hair with an expert touch. Denny was drowsy from the sensation of having another man touch him again. And anyone touching his head brought a sense of physical comfort. If he could spend the rest of his life in this cell experiencing moments like this he could die happy.

  When he was done, Barthelmass stood back and said, “I think I’ve missed my true calling. You’re very dashing now, Pirate Denny.” He hoisted the mirror from the wall and put it into Denny’s hands.

  Denny was thrilled with the way he looked. His hair was cut close to his scalp and wasn’t so unkempt-looking anymore. He had remnants of a three-day growth on his chin and upper lip but no longer looked like a pitiful old man straight out of a Charles Dickens story.

  He bantered back and forth with Ebba, whose intense questioning gave Denny an unpleasant taste of what he should expect in the courtroom.

  “Is there anything I should know about you? Some big secret that could get you the death sentence and me looking like a buffoon?” Ebba asked, as Denny dressed in the smart-looking clothes she and Barthelmass had brought him.

  His entire ensemble was black. Black pants and shirt and soft, moccasin-type shoes in black. They were the most comfortable things Denny had ever worn. If one was to receive a death sentence, at least the locals wanted you to go out with ease. He thought of other pirates he knew who’d faced horrible trials with stocks and gallows. If he were to die this day at least he didn’t wobble in his broken heel. He missed his boots, though. They made him feel sexy and stylish. The moccasins just made him want to curl up and sleep.

  “I have many secrets. But there’s one I guess I should tell you. My name isn’t really Denny.”

  She frowned. “What is it then?”

  Denny hesitated. It was true that Denny had secrets. Plenty of them. The worst was that his first name was really Dunstan Derrick. “My name is Dunstan,” he said.

  Ebba and Barthelmass exchanged uncomprehen
ding looks.

  “With the British habit of condensing every single name in the book, I became Dunny. And dunnies are toilets. I could not live with their ridicule had they known my real name. Therefore, I could not keep sharing a name with a bloody lavatory. So I became Denny.” Aye, he had secrets. And he had plans. If he could wheedle himself a prison conviction he could cope with that. It would give him hope that he would see his prince again. Not that he could mention that in court. But also, while he waited, he wouldn’t mind indulging in his wild fantasies of being handed around by a bunch of horny men to use. He craved men. Not that he could mention that in court either.

  One way or another, he would escape and find his freedom again. He could change his name. Reinvent himself. He’d done it before and he could do it again.

  “We’ll mention it under the guise of your coming clean and being honest,” Ebba said.

  “I am coming clean and being honest.”

  “No other secrets?”

  “I have some, but nothing I wish to declare,” Denny said.

  The cell door rattled and the green-winged man entered. “Ah,” he said. “You look much better. How’s our wing project progressing?”

  “We’ve got it sorted.” Denny showed the green-winged man that he could make his wings open up and flap, and he even rose a little from the ground.

  “Have you mastered flying yet?”

  “I’ve been locked in this cell. Not much room to fly.”

  “Oh, yeah. Of course. Right.” He scribbled something in his book, and Denny had a hunch it wasn’t flattering.

  “Are we ready?” the green-winged man asked.

  “We are.” Ebba sounded a lot more confident than Denny felt.

  Being executed had never been on his to-do list. Ever. He knew one day he would die but he’d become excited when he’d learned that being a fairy had given him immortal powers. He had to explore them and enjoy them, didn’t he?

  They all left the cell and walked down the corridor. Denny realized everyone in his little party was wearing black and white clothing. He soon became distracted by a heavenly scent on the air. A spicy stew of some sort. I hope they give me a last supper if I’m condemned to die. And maybe one last shag. Food and sex. His favorite things in the world. Denny and the others passed from the jail to a bridge that hovered over a moat. He thought he saw a dead man’s body floating beneath him but didn’t look too hard. The bridge was flimsy and made of rope and wood. He grasped the rope handles, remembering his hard work picking oakum. He’d been a marked man since day one.

  The others also clutched the bridge’s handles.

  “Everyone all right?” Ebba asked.

  “Yes, thanks,” the others reported back to her with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

  Denny was scared now. This wasn’t too far from walking the plank. For the first time in his adult life, he knew mind-numbing, stark-staring fear. It didn’t taste too good. He said nothing, though, and followed the others into another section of the building. Lit sconces held by invisible hands lined the corridor. Denny couldn’t see the people holding them but heard their whispery voices.

  “Let me see them,” Denny murmured to his fairy wings. The wings twitched and vibrated, and Denny gasped, holding his breath as the beings materialized. They all looked like black fairies with spider webs for wings and red eyes.

  “He can see us,” one of them said to the others. All eyes trained on him, and Denny gave them a wave. They were quite beautiful actually, even though they projected a naughtiness he hadn’t expected from fairies. They smacked and spat at each other and at others walking past them.

  “That’s the Unseelie Court,” Ebba said, turning around to Denny. She came back and walked beside him. “I’m glad you can see them. It bolsters your case.”

  “How so?”

  “You’re tapping into your magic and leaving your human side behind you.”

  “And that’s a good thing?”

  “Of course it is. The Unseelie Court members are the naughty ones. Those that are here are doing community service for small crimes.”

  “What’s a small crime?”

  “Frightening cattle, starting thunderstorms, hiding old ladies’ wigs, putting boils on people’s bottoms, having sex with humans. Oh, here we are.” She stopped speaking and led Denny into the most gorgeous room he had ever seen. The place was teeming with winged creatures of every kind imaginable. A winged horse stood at the front of the court on the left side. A centaur stood on the right.

  “We’re case number three,” Ebba told Denny as a see-through pink fairy flew over to her and tossed Ebba a black and white envelope marked with the number three.

  Ebba and Barthelmass flanked Denny as they took their seats. For the first time, Denny wasn’t troubled by his wings. They seemed to know what to do and hugged his back like soft pillows.

  “Nice,” Ebba said to him. “Your wings are working with you. The only ones allowed to fly in the court house are the Seelie fairies, the goody-two shoes who work for the judge.”

  “What’s he like?” Denny asked.

  “He doesn’t say much but when he does, he’s brutal.” Ebba pored over the contents of the envelope and lapsed into silence. Denny had never sat in anything as comfortable as the chair in which he reclined. He was afraid he’d fall asleep so he focused instead on the long, black and white bench at the front of the room. It looked like it was made of marble. Its harlequin pattern mirrored the designs on the wall. This motif continued across the ceiling with black and white glass showing images of fairy wings, treetops and the occasional bird breaking into song. The court seats were luxurious, plush white velvet. Many people had removed their shoes. There was much scrunching of toes in the thick black carpeting. Denny wished he could do it too, but decided that since he was on trial defending his life, he should act with a little decorum.

  The chattering and the swoop of birdsong ended as a judge in black robes entered the courtroom and sat in the middle of the long table up front.

  “Pegasus, please alert the jury that we’re ready,” he said, sounding feeble and weak.

  “Who said that?” the judge shouted, his gaze sweeping the courtroom.

  Everyone froze.

  “Who said I’m old and past it?”

  A quiet panic seemed to descend on all those present.

  Pegasus, the winged horse, whinnied and stamped his foot. Doors on either side of the room opened, and four men and four women entered, taking their seats beside the judge. Finally a blue-winged male fairy raised his hand.

  “It was I, Your Honor. I humbly apologize.”

  “Well, since you spoke up, I’ll forgive you. Next time you lose a wing.”

  The man’s face turned red. “Yes, your honor. Thank you, your honor.” He took a seat, his face bright red.

  Denny watched him and saw the poor man’s hand was shaking as he ran it over his face. Oh, boy, this judge is gonna be a barrel of laughs. Denny slumped in his seat, wondering how quickly into his trial the judge would have Denny killed.

  “First case,” the judge bawled. “Come on. I want to go home. I’m missing the dragon-slaying semi-finals for this!”

  The courtroom broke into an ethereal titter. The judge banged his gavel. “Where’s the defendant?”

  Every head turned as a man rose and walked down the stairs. He wore similar prison-issue clothes to Denny, who recognized the guy with the eagle head and one wing.

  “What’s with everything being black and white?” Denny whispered to Ebba.

  “The judge sees the world that way. Everything is black and white.”

  That wasn’t a good thing when Denny knew there were many shades between the two. This judge was going to be tough and probably merciless.

  The man picking his way across the crowded courtroom seemed frail and shaky and finally reached the witness box, a wooden affair that rose from the ground. Once the man stepped inside, the box sprouted wrought-iron bars and hovered high above the co
urtroom participants.

  Denny was petrified, but also fascinated. He glanced at the jury members but realized he could get a better look at them once he took the witness stand. He tried not to fret as he took in the fortress-like cage.

  “Why are you here?” the judge asked the eagle man.

  “Because I was arrested, your honor.”

  “I know that, funny man.”

  The crowd tittered but the judge spoke over the ripple of laughter, “What are your charges?”

  “Ah. Piracy.” The eagle man looked pleased with himself.

  The judge folded his hands and leaned on the bench, studying the accused. “Do you dispute the charges?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard them yet.”

  The judge glanced up and down the row of jurors, who kept leaning into one another, whispering. Denny had never seen women on a jury before, but he’d also never seen jurors gossiping and giggling during a trial either.

  “You are charged with capital crimes. You are a menace to the high seas. Do you deny it?” the judge asked.

  The eagle man said, “Your honor, there is a French proverb that states, ‘One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it.’”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I tried to make an honest living, but being a pirate is a lot more fun.”

  The courtroom erupted with appreciative laughter. Denny hid a smirk, frightened that any display of support of a man on trial might harm his own case. He stared at the eagle man who continued to banter with the judge. It was only when the eagle man said, “Your honor, I was cursed by the princess of this island,” that Denny saw the anger behind the careless quips.

  He didn’t know how it was possible, but Denny recognized him in that moment as the Pirate Howard deGacy. He had been caught and tried and was supposed to hang in the United States several years ago. Somehow he’d escaped but his longtime pirating buddy ‘Don’ Pedro Gilbert, with whom he’d pillaged and plundered up and down the Florida Straits had been hanged for piracy in Boston, Massachusetts six years ago.

  “For the record, what is your name?” the judge asked him.