Electric Velocipede 27

by John Klima

  Bloody bastard.

  “But that’s horrible!” Ondine seemed to be very interested in his arms.

  He glanced down, where there were finger-shaped bruises on his arms. Roderick had been quite large and imposing, and had had friends. Rather than explaining, he just hung his head.

  She waded into the ocean and came out with seaweed, which she wrapped around his bruises.

  “Are you a witch, Ondine?”

  “My father knows things,” Ondine said. “Things he taught me.”

  A ship’s physician, perhaps. He supposed he could ask, but she probably wouldn’t tell him.

  And then she kissed him on the nose, and he forgot his questions.

  #

  Poor Lawrence. Robbed and then thrown overboard to his probable death. Ondine wondered how people could be so horrid, but then she remembered how her father always said that mortals were mysterious creatures, the best and worst all mixed up in them in a great tangle that no one could unwind. He certainly seemed helpless, although she suspected he wouldn’t appreciate her pointing that out.

  His eyes had closed as she kissed his nose, and when he opened them they were dazzled. For a moment she remembered what it was to be worshipped as a goddess. She leaned forward and rested her head against his forehead. It was warm, and pleasantly damp from perspiration. His breathing slowed, deepened, but he didn’t make a move. He smelled wonderful, like sex, and he was looking down her shirt.

  No. She couldn’t honor him by taking him as a lover. He wouldn’t respect it. Mortals and their ridiculous taboos.

  So she smiled at him and pulled away, standing up. “Are you really so eager to be rescued, Lawrence?”

  He blushed and looked away. “Not eager, milady. But we can’t live here forever, can we?”

  No. She supposed they couldn’t. She’d tire of crabs for dinner, for one thing. “Of course not.”

  Ondine walked over to the fire, which was starting to die down, and tossed another branch into the flames. Sparks and smoke leapt up into the air, but they avoided her as a natural enemy. She’d blow a ship off course to come and fetch Lawrence. They’d take him back to Europe and his people, and she’d go home to her father and mother and sisters.

  She looked back at Lawrence. He was still sitting motionless where she’d left him, his eyes dilated.

  She’d just follow them back to shore and make sure no one tossed him overboard again. There was no point in wasting her effort saving him thus far, after all.

  Just not right away.

  Instead, she went and caught some fish, chasing them down and stunning them with spells while Lawrence lay on the beach staring up at the sky. She felt very sorry for the fish, flopping and asphyxiating on the sand. It was unnatural for them to die on the dry earth. But she was hungry and so was he, so there she was. She did cast a spell to ease their suffering, at least. When they were dead, she cooked them on a spit over the fire. She usually ate them raw, but didn’t think Lawrence would like that.

  Lawrence’s nose twitched, and then he sat up and opened his eyes. “I thought I was dreaming. How did you catch a fish?”

  She just smiled.

  “You are from the Caribbean, aren’t you?” he asked. “Do tell. I promise, I won’t tell a soul your secret.”

  Ondine laughed. “I’m originally from Greece, but I spent some time in the Caribbean, among other places.”

  “I knew it!” he said. “What is your father, a ship’s captain? An officer? A governor?”

  “Something like that,” she said, and turned the fish.

  Lawrence sulked. “Why won’t you tell me? He’s not a pirate, is he?”

  She burst out laughing. “No, nothing like that.” The fish was ready, so she handed Lawrence the stick.

  “It’s too bad we don’t have plates,” Lawrence said, and took a bite.

  After dinner, they lay on the sand side by side while he pointed out constellations to her and told her the old stories. She knew the stories already, having heard them when they were new, but it was interesting to hear how they’d changed over time. It was warm and balmy and smelled like the ocean, and there were gentle breezes and the sounds of palm trees in the wind. His hand reached out and touched hers. It was adorable and shy of him.

  She could get used to this all too easily.

  #

  When Lawrence woke up the next morning, he was alone. And then he saw the ship sailing by.

  He scrambled to his feet and shouted and waved. “Here! Over here!” and “Ondine! Ondine! They’ve come to rescue us!” and “Hello! For pity’s sake, hello!” When the rowboat headed towards him he was so happy that he almost cried.

  “Ondine!”

  The two sailors came up on shore, and one of them, a tall thin fellow, said, “Well, come along, then.”

  “Wait!” Lawrence said. “There was a lady! We can’t leave without her.”

  “Where is she, then?” the other sailor asked. He was short and stocky, and missing teeth.

  Lawrence glanced over at her side of the fire. His shirt was lying there. He walked over and picked it up. “She was wearing this.”

  “What?” the stocky sailor asked. “There’s a naked lady wandering about?” The two sailors laughed. It was an ugly sound that made Lawrence’s lip curl. “Come along, then.”

  “But . . .”

  “People often imagine things when they’re stranded alone,” the thin sailor said. “Keeps you sane, it does.”

  “Come along or stay behind,” the stocky sailor said. “It’s your choice.”

  “I can’t leave her behind,” Lawrence said.

  “We’ll have to carry him,” the thin one said.

  “I won’t carry him,” the stocky one said. “If you won’t leave him behind, you can carry him after I knock him out cold.” He cracked his knuckles.

  Lawrence put up his hands. “I’m coming, I’m coming.” He looked around and thought maybe it would be safer for Ondine if she didn’t show up naked with these two brutes about.

  “Let’s find the naked lady,” the stocky sailor said, and smirked.

  They searched for hours, but they never did find Ondine.

  #

  Ondine watched Lawrence’s protests and struggle, and saw the men search for her. His concern was very sweet, if unnecessary. Her hair floated around her like seaweed as she followed the rowboat to the ship. How slowly these mortals rowed!

  The rowboat was pulled up onto the ship, and she swam up and flattened herself against the prow, like one of the carved figures above. It took little effort to cling to the front of the ship with the water pressing her back against the prow, just a small amount magic sufficed. She only needed to be aware enough of her surroundings to notice if someone was thrown overboard, after all.

  After dark, she rose up above the waterline and looked up at the ship. She wondered where Lawrence was, if they’d given him some place to sleep or if he was lying on the deck looking at the stars. She thought she heard someone sobbing up on the deck, but there was no way to tell who it was without climbing up and looking. She hoped it wasn’t Lawrence.

  Ondine transformed her tail into legs and climbed up the side of the ship. She peeked over the edge of the railing. Lawrence lay there on the deck, bruised and weeping. Three sailors stood over him, menacingly.

  “I haven’t anything to give you,” Lawrence said, his voice choked with tears.

  “That pretty accent and you haven’t any money?” They laughed.

  “Not a farthing,” he said.

  “I don’t believe you,” one of them said.

  “Oh, certainly you haven’t any money on you,” another said. “But back in England, there must be people who would pay for you.”

  “If you can’t pay,” another man said, “you’ll work. You’ll work, or you’ll taste the lash.”

  He stepped towards Lawrence, and Ondine hopped over the railing. She raised her arms and the wind rose. The men stepped closer, leering. Her hair whipped a
round her in the rising wind, almost like she was still underwater, and lightning struck overhead.

  “Ondine,” Lawrence whispered.

  Lightning struck the man menacing Lawrence, sending him overboard along with the smell of singed hair and clothing. If he was still alive to struggle against drowning, she couldn’t hear it.

  She took a step towards the other men, and they backed away, then scattered—much like the clouds. She knelt next to Lawrence and petted his hair.

  “What are you?” he asked.

  “You imagined me,” she said.

  “I do not think so,” he retorted.

  “If the sailors give you any trouble,” she said, “tell them you’re under the protection of a sea witch whose mother wears necklaces made out of dead men’s hands.”

  Lawrence passed out.

  Ondine snorted. She wouldn’t actually make necklaces out of their hands to give to her mother. Hand necklaces had been passé for years.

  #

  When Lawrence woke up, he was alone on deck with the sun shining down on him. He moved to a shady spot and watched warily for more thieves.

  They never came.

  When he went down to the mess, men gave him a wide berth. No one seemed to want to risk angering him. Lawrence wasn’t sure whether it was because the sea witch was real or because he was mad. He supposed they weren’t mutually exclusive. But no one suggested he earn his keep for the rest of the voyage.

  He was relieved to reach shore anyway. He was lonely on the ship, and if Ondine existed she didn’t come back. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to come back, either. She was scary.

  He stopped at his nasty little flat—the poverty of his situation repelled him—and changed into something decent. Then he headed to Vanessa’s. Vanessa was a youngish widow who adored him. Her hair was just starting to show the faintest bit of gray and she had laugh lines around her eyes. Her husband had been a military man who’d left her alone for long periods of time before his death, so she was used to making her own decisions.

  Lawrence knocked on her door. She opened it, and her face lit up. Vanessa said, “I was so worried about you when your ship came back and you didn’t.”

  So he came in, and told her the whole story about being thrown overboard after being robbed, and ending up on a desert island and eating crabs. Well. Not the whole story, clearly. He sounded a lot more heroic when Ondine wasn’t in the story. He suspected Vanessa wouldn’t enjoy the parts of the story where he was stranded with a naked woman, even if he’d been a gentleman, and who was he to tell her things she didn’t want to hear?

  “My poor darling,” Vanessa said. “I can’t imagine! You were so lucky to be rescued when you were.”

  “Yes,” Lawrence said. “I can’t eat crabs for every meal.”

  “So resourceful,” Vanessa said, and put an extra biscuit on his plate. “I think you’ve lost weight.”

  Vanessa was a good woman. He could love her.

  “I thought you’d tired of me,” she said.

  “Never,” Lawrence said, and kissed her hand.

  Vanessa blushed and asked the maid to bring them more sandwiches. The maid scurried off, and Vanessa withdrew her hand.

  Lawrence looked around the sitting room. A lot of books, a lot of knickknacks from her husband’s trips abroad. The furniture was lovely.

  This was the life he wanted.

  The maid came back with more sandwiches, more than he could eat. He was sorry when it was time to go home to his miserable flat.

  There was a lady standing outside his flat. He didn’t recognize her at first because she was dressed as a proper lady, but it was Ondine.

  “Milady Ondine!” he said, and bowed. “I tried to keep them from leaving without you . . .”

  “I know.” Her clothes were quite expensive. Maybe she had more money than he’d thought. “Are you well, Lawrence?”

  He nodded. “What are you, Ondine?”

  “You know what I am.” Ondine’s smile was deep, mysterious, like the ocean. And she wore a magnificent string of pearls around her neck.

  A sea witch? It was a bit hard to believe, but he’d seen it with his own eyes.

  “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Ondine asked.

  “I haven’t a maid,” Lawrence said.

  “I don’t mind a mess,” Ondine said.

  He’d meant that she’d have no chaperone. How oddly innocent she was. One would think that a sea witch would be more worldly. Or, he supposed, perhaps not. “Do come in.” He opened the door and held it for her, then led her up the narrow staircase.

  He opened the door and held it for her, and she stepped in. It was dusty from his time out at sea, and his furnishings were cheap. He was ashamed of the rough table and chairs, the flimsy bed, the threadbare rug. She looked as out of place there as . . .

  As a sea witch.

  Well. However much money she might have—and he didn’t even know for a fact that she had as much money as her attire suggested—he certainly didn’t want to marry a sea witch, of all things. Witchcraft was hardly an entrée into respectable society, after all.

  “What, precisely, is a sea witch?” he asked.

  She just laughed at him.

  He leaned over and kissed her hand. Then he moved in closer and kissed her lips. They were soft. Ondine didn’t resist at all.

  Lawrence said, “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  She laughed. “I was never in any danger.”

  That’s what she thought. Those pearls would buy a fine wedding ring for Vanessa.

  #

  In ancient times she’d taken mortal lovers. She’d watched them grow old. Usually they were lovers for a night only. Sometimes, they’d tend her shrine.

  But the ones she’d rescued were always special, somehow. Especially when they knew it. They were usually the most devoted, the best shrine keepers, the most passionate lovers.

  Lawrence kissed her again, and she straddled his lap, placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him back. He was hers. Her creature. She’d pulled him out of the sea and from certain death, after all. And then she’d saved him from the sailors. Surely, having saved his life twice, it was hers.

  Lawrence moaned, and his hands slid up her bodice and pulled her closer. Yes. She’d keep him, take him to the shore and build him a nice house there. “Do you know how to help a lady dress, Lawrence?” she asked.

  He nodded, and she turned so he could unlace her dress. It was an epic undertaking; she really didn’t care for the fashions of the age. Finally, she was as naked as she had been when she’d first arrived on the island.

  Lawrence’s eyes were hungry. His breath was rough. She reached over and pulled off his jacket, then started to unbutton his shirt. His undressing, while nowhere near as epic as hers, was still quite the project. He really had lovely olive skin though—he must have gotten that from his mother.

  He pulled her close and kissed her, his erection pressing into her thigh. They fell back on the bed together, and she climbed on top and straddled him. He was everything she’d hoped, strong and passionate. They ended up making love three times. The third time Ondine called him a satyr, which was saying something because she knew satyrs. They were good lovers, too—a bit rough, perhaps. She preferred humans. They had a sensitive quality to them.

  They slept, finally. She fell asleep with her arms around him, musing to herself how she’d set him up in a little house in Napoli or Capri, and he’d want for nothing. All of the ocean’s wealth was at her command, after all. He snored a little, but she didn’t mind. He looked so sweet and vulnerable in her arms, his hair adorably mussed and his long lashes flickering slightly from time to time. He’d grow old, of course, but that’s what mortals did.

  When she woke up, he was gone. She thought he might have gone out to bring them something to eat, but when he didn’t return after a few hours she stood up and looked around the flat. There were love letters from someone named Vanessa, and some textboo
ks, and a meager set of clothes. So Ondine dressed herself. It took quite a long while to dress, and even longer to realize that she couldn’t find her pearls.

  Surely Lawrence wouldn’t steal from her, would he?

  She closed her eyes and pictured her pearls. Ondine could almost place them on a map—three streets down, turn right, second door on the left. Bastard! She could hear thunderclouds rumbling outside.

  She stuffed one of Vanessa’s love letters into her reticule and walked to the place where her pearls were. It was a jeweler, an odd little white-haired man.

  “Where did you get those pearls?” she asked. “They’re lovely.”

  “An Italian youth brought them in,” he said. “Traded them for some cash and an emerald ring. Said he was getting married.”

  What kind of fool was Lawrence? He’d seen what she was capable of. She could strike him with lightning. She could suck the air right out of his lungs. She could make him burst into flames. If he’d asked her for the pearls, she would have given them to him. She would have given him anything.

  Lightning struck outside the shop, and rain started to pour down. She didn’t care.

  Ondine went down to the shore and murmured a spell, and shipwreck gold washed up on the beach. She filled her purse to overflowing with it and took it back to the jeweler, who was delighted to return her pearls and give her modern money for the rest of it. She told him that it belonged to her father, which she supposed was true. Then she hired out a horse and carriage to take her to the address on the letter.

  It wasn’t a palace or anything, but it was a perfectly respectable house with a perfectly respectable garden. The driver helped her out of the carriage. As she approached the door, she could see Lawrence in the window, drinking tea and smiling. A perfectly respectable maid came out of the house and shook out a throw rug.

  The maid muttered, “It’s a disgrace! A youth half her age!”

  Ondine had no cause to criticize on that count, so she turned back towards the carriage.