She reached to touch it. Smiled at the whimsical carving. “Must be the same artist who did my mirror. Oh! My mirror! I think one of the dyers stole it!”
“No, I have it. I don’t know how it ended up left in my cabin, but I have it safe. I’ll see it returned to you before the party is done. Meanwhile, take this. I saw it and knew it was for you.”
Relieved to know her mirror was safe, she grinned. Turning, she drew back, eyes following the stark white carving descending to her chest.
“Do I return this Kraken when you get the mirror back to me?” she teased.
“No, dear Mrs. Pawes, this is yours. Promise me you will not remove it. I feel it may carry good luck. Not as mine, but good luck with no tricks.”
She stroked the pendant and nodded. “An Old Monster, eh?”
He tilted his head at her. “Yes. Quite astute of you. Shall we head for the tailor’s?”
Glad to know her mirror was secure and warmed by the simple gift, she merrily strode down the hill.
The day dawned with light mist. He directed her attention to the north, where threads of vapor lingered despite the brightness of the day. “That is the swamp. The zombies seem quite content there. They gather ingredients for Mama Lu, and she takes care of them.”
“Did she create them?” Emily asked casually, taking care to set one foot in front of the other. Her sandals were growing tattered.
“No one creates them. They are the nearly dead who choose to fade into the wilds instead of leaving with fanfare. The swamp takes them in, eases their last years. I understand zombies have a different evolution where you come from.”
She paused, then turned to look up at him. She chuckled. “You could say that! They are the dead, raised by evil voodoo practitioners to be mindless slaves with a hunger for brains. In some fiction they are the result of a virus or pathogen that infects the living and the dead, turning them into mindless monsters. And they generally remain near the graveyards. Let me think, our swamps are said to be inhabited by lizard-like monsters. Or sometimes wandering mummies.” She waved her hand. “All fictional, none real.”
“There is little actual fiction here, Mrs. Pawes. Keep that in mind and you’ll be safer than if you deny the reality of the Kraken’s Caribbean constantly.”
“That was said with such seriousness!” She waited for him to climb down next to her.
He kissed the side of her neck. “I am serious. It’s best if you heed what others tell you regarding what you might see as nonsense and fairy tale.”
“All right, Alan. I’ll work at reining in my natural skepticism. You will keep us away from the Quill today? Or maybe I should go to the ship and check in?”
When she was with him—when they were alone together—uncertainty didn’t enter into her thoughts. It wasn’t that he made every decision. Though that was part of it. Tom had been so fair he’d often driven her mad by offering too many options, until making decisions was a burden. Alan simply led the way, and she wanted to follow him.
If they remained together, there would be more conflict, of that she was certain. Right now, she was a visitor. But she’d want to lead, eventually.
The closer they got to the city, the more nervous she grew.
He took her hand. “I think it best if we remain on the outskirts. I will have your dress sent to the Tortuga Grotto, where the ball is being held. I have arranged a room for the day. You can rest, bath, and dress in comfort.”
“You won’t be there, right? At the ball?” Her heart tightened at this question. Because she wanted him there. Wanted to dance with him, wanted to see him dressed in finery. But she also didn’t want him there. Didn’t want to see Mick grow agitated and put himself in danger by attacking Alan. Didn’t want to be revealed as a couple. Not yet. Not ready.
Alan shook his head. “Don’t worry, Emily. I may linger out of sight long enough to see the glitter, but nothing more. I have a journey to make. You won’t see me for some weeks, my dear.”
“Oh.” She took a deep breath, both relieved and disappointed. Turning, she looked into his face. “When you return, we must talk. Figure out a way….”
He set his fingers at her lips. “I know. We will talk, I promise you.”
He kissed her again and quickly took her down a path that led toward the southern edge of the city.
Emily had done a fair amount of exploring the several times the Quill docked at Tortuga, but she didn’t recognize a thing around her. The rock walls grew steep around them. One side of the path still presented buildings, store fronts and small shops though they grew sparse and a young forest took their place. But the rocky wall grew steeper and more formidable. She worried they were descending rather quickly.
Were they going underground?
They turned a corner and broad steps were before them, leading down toward a huge opening, where cascading ferns disguised how high the arch climbed. She gasped, “The Grotto?”
“Yes, the Great Tortuga Grotto. Home to the yearly celebration, and said to house many portals. Obviously, not yours or you would know this place already. Do not be surprised at who or what you see at the ball tonight.” He led the way down the steps, to a smaller side opening. He rang a bell, and they waited.
A lovely Asian woman rushed to greet them, bowing low to Captain Silvestri and taking Emily’s hand shyly. “You come with me? We help you get ready.”
“Go with her, Em. I will see your dress fetched and meet you in a few hours. You will enjoy the pampering.”
“Alan?” She paused, took a deep breath and blew it out. “Can some word be sent to the Quill that I’m fine and will see them tonight?”
“I will take care of it. I look forward to seeing you polished.”
She snickered. “If I have anything left to polish.” She raised a hand. “Don’t get on me about it. I look forward to seeing you bright and shiny, too. All right?”
He nodded. “Until this afternoon.”
She let the woman drag her down the tunnel.
Three hours later, she’d been bathed, buffed, scrubbed, lubricated, dusted, polished, massaged, and scraped. She ran out of ways to describe it to herself. Oshi and Ishi, the first being the woman who’d brought her to the room, started it by leading her to a steam room.
Emily wasn’t a prude, but it was a bit disconcerting to be stripped by two women, who then stripped themselves and insisted she allow them to take care of her. She was plucked and stroked. Her hair was washed six times, then dried and pulled back from her face with intricate combs. It amazed what they accomplished with so little length to work with.
Finally, she was given a robe and led to another room, where Silvestri sat waiting for her. A covered gown hung from a hook on a wall. He also wore a robe, but explained he’d barely begun to prepare, as he’d been running errands.
“First a good meal. It will be nearly midnight before they serve any food at the ball. And before you ask, yes, I sent message to the Quill. They’ve shifted the ship away from the pier. Other ships arrived and needed to unload items for the party, I imagine. There will be cutters available to get you aboard after the ball.” He handed her a narrow box. “Your mirror.”
“I thought you said it was on the Immortal. It hasn’t come into port, has it?” A surge of worry tried to overpower the wonder of the day and her belly tightened at the thought of any confrontations.
“No. I’m sorry I didn’t make that more clear. I found it in a room I’d taken. The Immortal is anchored miles away. Don’t worry.” He sat back when Oshi brought in a tray.
They shared an intimate lunch, deep in the rock carved rooms Emily gave up trying to understand why they were well lit, why the water was hot—all of the impossible aspects of what surrounded her. He’d said some portals opened to the future. Future technology might do this, she assumed.
He pushed away from the table and walked to a large padded bench, set against a wall. With total nonchalance, he dropped his robe and sat down. He leaned to one side, draping hi
mself on the cushion. He gazed at her. “I want you now, before we dress. Come to me, Emily.”
A sudden and unexpected self-consciousness rose in her. She’d been naked in front of her husband, but that was the years ago. As they aged, those times came less and less. But now, with Alan…. He lay before her, gloriously naked, posed to make her mouth water, and she wanted to be naked with him. But…she was old! Droopy boobs, stretch marks, and her belly sagged and her thighs dimpled and…she just couldn’t move. This was stupid; she’d been naked with him, walked and talked and everything else. What made this different? Why did this feel so formal and even intimate? He sat back on the bench and tilted his head at her, totally relaxed with his nudity.
“Last time it was dark. I want to see you, Emily. All prettied up, polished and fine.”
So easy for him to say. Sure, his body held some flaws. Wrinkles, scars, gnarly, ropy veins and even a bit of a belly. But he was a man with a ready cock, and that was all he needed to feel confident.
She needed more. She turned away, knowing she couldn’t hide behind the robe forever. She wanted to be on that bench, with him. She needed to be with him. Slowly, she let the robe drop to her waist. Her back wasn’t unattractive—maybe she could slide backward. Not face him.
But her ass! It drooped as flabby as her boobs. She sighed. The longing buried deep inside pushed her to just let go of the fear of rejection and just move. The last time she was in his bed, none of this mattered. Or in the water, at the island pond, she didn’t feel naked there. He’d bathed her! Why now? Within the confines of this palace, her insecurities assailed her.
Let it go, let it go! She shouted at herself to release the baggage from a world she’d left behind. How many times would it take for her to hear he wanted her and that she wasn’t old, wasn’t useless and undesirable? Her head rang with the cacophony of the past. She wanted it gone!
Holding her breath in some vain attempt to keep her flesh tight, she dropped the robe to the floor.
Turning, she covered her face. She wouldn’t watch his reaction. Moving slowly, she approached the proximately of the bench as he chuckled. Could she peek? Was he chuckling at her, at her boobs, her belly, her flaws? Now, in the stark light where nothing was hidden by shadow or water, she was totally revealed.
A warm hand touched her waist, drew her close until her knees touched the upholstery. His breath crossed the back of her hand. She shivered, ready to bolt, wanting to run. And at the same time, never wanting to be anywhere but with him. It was confusing. Why had this insecurity risen? Because he’d told her about his next voyage and she would miss him less if she could find fault with him? She must stop trying to protect herself and embrace this place and time. He’d return. He said he’d come back and they would talk of what was next.
He enticed her onto his lap and spent an inordinate amount of time kissing and touching her before urging her to open her legs and bring an end to the extensive foreplay. All her nerves disappeared once he held her—once she held him. He was an anchor of confidence. “I’d take you on the floor, but Oshi would skin me alive if I mess up your hair,” he admitted. “I swore I would not touch your head.”
Emily snickered, all discomfort gone. A relief to have it banished. She swore to get over past nonsense. He could have anyone, but he wanted her. She found proof of her desirability every time he met her eyes. She smiled. “I have no idea what they’ve done. They won’t let me see a mirror. Oh, wait!”
She reached for the box he’d set on the table. He set a hand atop it. “Don’t spoil their surprise. Trust me, you look wonderful.”
He quieted her with a kiss, keeping his hands at her neck. When he revealed the dress, Emily stared. “Uh, that’s not a blouse and skirt.”
“No, of course not. But your fabric is here.” He gestured at the bodice. “The rest compliments it, and you.”
She carefully approached it, worried she might damage it. “It’s thoroughly lovely, but I’ll trip—it’s too long.”
He reached down and hiked up the front with several fabric ties. “No, you won’t.”
“Oh, that will work.” She touched the bodice, laced with soft cord like a bustier. The skirt wasn’t too full. She’d be able to handle this much fabric. The tailor managed to match the piece she’d fallen in love with. The skirt echoed the gold and red of the blouse. A deep red, almost burgundy belt crossed the waist. And a bag matching the sleeves was secured to the belt. A reddish petticoat peeked out from underneath the gold. The period slip was gold, but not quite. She examined it, trying to name it correctly. Like the shade of well-made Bavarian cream from a cream-filled donut.
Her mouth watered. She missed donuts.
She swallowed. The bodice was terribly low cut.
“I’m going to spill out.”
“No, you won’t. You ready to let them help you dress?”
“I’m going to need help? How will I get this off later if I need help now?” She snorted. Normally her clothing consisted of easy fasteners, like zippers. This dress had ribbons and ties and stays. “And damn, I have no shoes to do this justice!”
“Yes, you do.” He pointed to a box off to one side.
She gave up trying to act surprised. She knelt and pulled the box over. Lifting the lid, she sighed in appreciation. The shoes were lovely. They matched the skirt perfectly. A pair of delicate short boots, with a stacked heel. Laces. She touched them. “Oh. Alan!”
He knelt and kissed the back of her neck.
“People will begin to arrive soon. Some are already gathering—the drinking starts quite early. I’ll call Oshi in to help you while I see to myself.”
“But you won’t be coming down?” She looked up at him, one shoe held delicately in her hand.
“Don’t worry!” He kissed her, careful not to disturb the small bits of paint the Asian women had used to decorate her, then left the room.
She was still kneeling when the two ladies hurried in to help.
Why did the crew knowing about Silvestri scare her? Most in Tortuga didn’t look at Alan Silvestri with loathing or fear. She imagined they might if he tried to overstay his cursed allotment.
She might stay on here. She could work for the Barmy Cock—be here when he was able to make land. Would the ladies on the Quill ever forgive her? Would Mick?
The distraction lasted while they laced her up. The top didn’t bind as she’d feared it would, and she would after all be able to get out of the dress by herself if necessary. It would take some twisting, but it was possible. The sleeves reached her wrist, snug fitting and edged with lace. The same delicate lace decorated the purse, with stays in it. She lifted it, once dressed and tried to figure out what it was for. It seemed unusual to brace a purse like this.
“Your mirror, my love.” Alan spoke from the doorway. He wore a regal captain’s coat in a burgundy so dark it looked black. A shirt of old gold matched her skirt, and his breeches were black. His boots gleamed.
She glanced over at him and smiled. “You are a rare treat for the eyes, Captain Silvestri.”
“And you, a precious treasure.” He pulled her mirror from the box and showed her how it tucked into the bag. “I don’t want you to risk losing this again. The stays will protect it from harm while you carry it with you.” He turned her to a curtain and drew it back to reveal a mirror.
She gasped.
This isn’t me! This is someone else!
It reminded her much of a mix between the pirate and Goth world. Some steampunk? But in color—most of the steampunk costumes she’d seen consisted of mainly black, brown and some ecru. The skirt style she called a circle skirt, the blouse was relatively simple, save for the stays and bustier. It revealed a great deal of neck and shoulders. The girls did her hair up with delicate combs that sparkled with garnets. And he was right, the colors made her glow.
A corner of her mouth lifted. “You enchanted me, Alan. I don’t know who I am anymore.”
He stood behind her and draped a sparkling collar-
style necklace down over her head. If drifted past her eyes and they widened in appreciation. Garnets—deep, wine-red garnets. It covered her neck and dipped past her collar bone. Garnets, citrines and even a handful of peridots. She lifted one hand to touch it. “Where did you get this?”
“Does it matter?” he asked, smoothing it down and holding up matching earrings. She slipped them on, feeling tears gathering at her eyelids. He wiped them away before they fell.
The white pendant fell behind the necklace, leaving the stark white monster to peer out from below the sparkle.
“You are Captain Silvestri’s woman. I want you to always know that.”
Her heart sang when she softly replied, “Emily’s captain. I like that.”
“Good! I shall escort you only far enough to be where I can see your crew observe your glory.”
He hurried her along the tunnels. She heard the roar of a crowd and slowed. He allowed her hesitation. “We can stay in one of the side rooms for a while, until you become accustomed to the crowd. I know it is must larger than what you live with on the Quill. Shall I fetch you have a glass of wine to calm your nerves?”
“Rum punch,” she managed to choke out.
He assisted her in finding a deeply shadowed nook to wait in. She could see the room but remain hidden until she was ready. She peered out at a room that Hollywood would have loved to film. A grotto made up of several chambers, joined to a massive dome, a ceiling covered with stalactites. There were pools along the edges, peeking through rocky openings. Light reflected onto walls, tables, and people. The room shone with colors, countered superbly with shadows, giving an impression of sparkle and shine everywhere. An orchestra tuned up out of her line of sight.
The acoustics here must be incredible.
Alan returned, holding an icy glass in one hand. She smiled in relief and drank a healthy swallow. He leaned close. “The Quill isn’t here yet. Come with me; we can sneak in a waltz before they get here. I want to dance with you.”
“Where do people dance? There’s no room out there, and the floor isn’t even.” She took another deep swallow of the delicious punch.
The Kraken's Mirror Page 17