by S. M. Welles
She stared at the door a moment, her heart going out to Sauna for the loss of his friends, then she scanned the vulgarly-decorated room. It was clean enough, with the stray pubic or head hair here and there. There wasn’t any mold or mildew—just caulking between tiles that wasn’t pearly white anymore. The lockers were all closed. The place smelled of soap, water, metal and male body odor. Jessie crossed to the far right one and plucked a beige towel from the top of the pile, then braced herself to enter the closest shower stall.
The stalls were laid out like a gym shower unit, with a bench to sit on, or drop her clothes on just inside a slide lock door, and then a large stand-in shower just on the other side of the plastic curtain. A waist-high steel bar stretched across the shower curtain. Maybe it was there for safety for anyone dumb enough to wash in rough seas.
Jessie shut and locked the stall, plopped her fresh clothes on the bench, then sat next to them and reached for her shoes. She’d never noticed how dirty, worn down and falling apart they were before. Holy crap. Her now brown sneakers were white two years ago, the laces ready to rip in a few places, the soles peeling off both at the heel and toe, and the padding worn down to the thickness of a packaged condom. No wonder her feet hurt all the time. She chucked her sneakers to the opposite side of the stall, then removed her socks, which matched her shoes, and chucked them aside as well.
She unlocked the stall and peered out a half-inch crack, just to make sure no one had been hiding in the shower room the whole time. Seeing no one, she opened the door wider and checked the rest of the room, then locked the door once more. No one was standing or crouching in any other stalls either. She gratefully removed the banana peel of filth known as her clothes, then ducked under the bar and entered the shower. The ceramic tiles chilled her bare feet, but she didn’t care. She was about to take a long, hot shower and use a whole bottle of soap. She pulled and twisted the shower knob, then pried a bottle from its shelf and began cleansing herself of two years of grime and abuse.
* * *
Somewhere around half an hour later, Jessie persuaded herself to shut off the shower, then spun around when the hiss of water fell silent. She’d just heard the shower curtain rustle. No one was there but one side was swaying a bit. She tried to sneak closer to the curtain but her feet sloshed in the small pool of draining water. There was a whimper, followed by a fleshy slap on the tiled floor, and then rustling as someone slipped under her stall door.
“Hey!” She shoved aside the curtain and socked herself in the stomach with the metal bar as she attempted to give chase. She doubled over and wrapped her arms around her ribs as she listened to someone run away. A locker door opened, more rustling ensued, and then the locker door slammed shut. Jessie took a deep breath and exhaled. That pig was going to pay for the show he got. She ducked under the stupid bar and grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her torso. It would take only one fist to beat up someone stupid enough to wedge himself in a locker.
Once she opened her stall door, Jessie could hear muffled whimpering coming from the lockers. The monkey-like noise struck her as an odd sound for a man to make, but right now she was hoping the pig was pissing himself in anticipation of the beating she was about to dish out. Jessie ripped open the trembling locker door and cocked a fist. A red-headed man screamed and shielded his head. Jessie socked him in the gut twice. The man doubled over and fell out of the locker. Jessie was about to start kicking him until she realized the redhead had started crying. What the heck? She’d never made any of the pigs she’d beat up cry; just moan in pain. What was wrong with this wuss? “Get out of here!”
The redhead pushed to his feet, one arm wrapped around his stomach, then looked at Jessie and began bawling like a two-year-old. He ran to the shower room door, heaved it open and ran off without closing it.
Jessie stood there, dumbstruck, staring at the ajar door. She’d never seen a full-grown man behave like that before. What…?
Then the realization that she was standing around with just a towel on galvanized her legs into moving towards the door. She pushed it shut, then returned to her stall. Jessie had a feeling that man had been planted in the shower room as some sort of prank organized by her new dear captain. But then why did Mr. Prankster make a noisy scene of hiding in a locker? That’s something a kid would do. And that was… Well, the captain could supply her with an explanation pertaining to his poor hosting skills after she got dressed.
Chapter 6
Difficult Apologies
Once the Pertinacious meandered past the tip of Long Island, I found myself stuck in the wheelhouse. It being hurricane season in the Atlantic, one good-sized storm could send the whole east coast into turmoil. By the looks of it, one had to be wreaking havoc somewhere around Florida, meaning the storm would greet us either in Virginia, or along our way to Morocco if it swung away from the coast sooner.
This trip was just getting better and better.
The swells varied between three and seven feet. They’d get bigger as my ship plodded farther south. The seas weren’t rough enough to capsize a steam frigate but they were enough to render my auto pilot wood ineffective. I’d learned that the hard way in my novice days when I’d almost beached a smaller steam ship in the night. A ship doesn’t just sail in the direction it’s pointed it. Wind, waves and tides enjoy having a say in steering. I countered the swells and moderate winds with small twitches of the joystick, concentrating hard on not oversteering.
My wheelhouse door clanged against its lock. I flinched. Sure enough, there was my unlucky charm trying to get in. She glared and her muffle voiced yelled at me to let her in. She was wearing the clothes I’d tossed her. Her attire was a bit too big and way too baggy—at least on her torso. I couldn’t see blow her stomach. Maybe the bagginess would be a good thing, hiding her coveted breasts.
I pointed the ship a little more south than southeast to compensate for the few minutes I’d be away from the wheel, then crossed to the door and slid open the window adjacent to it. “I thought you’d try to pull a fast—”
“How dare you allow someone to watch me while I showered!” Her voice was a mix of terrified and enraged. “Now let me in so I can kick your ass.” She grabbed ahold of the doorknob with both hands, ready to rip open the door as soon as I was stupid enough to unlock it.
My blank look of confusion made her hesitate, but she didn’t let go of the knob.
“Some redhead. I punched him twice and he ran off crying. Now let me in!”
Just fantastic. No one had thought of keeping tabs on him once he was free of the cargo hold. I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes. “No. That was O’Toole, my ship idiot. He’s a severely autistic person. He didn’t understand he was doing anything wrong. Now don’t hit or kick him ever again.” Of course he’d investigate the showers if he’d wandered within earshot of running water. That was his favorite place to pull pranks. I returned to the wheel and checked my compass.
“I don’t believe you,” Jessie said, her tone lacking conviction. She let go of the knob and took a step back. “Why would you have someone like him as part of your crew?”
I smiled what was hopefully a sly smile. I just wanted to yell at her to leave me alone and let me steer as I tried to brace myself for a special side trip I hated yet needed to take. But I was doing my best to be somewhat polite. I needed her to have no reason to run off the second we docked. “He’s immune to the effects of quasi-children.”
“That’s impossible.” I barely heard her subdued voice over the wind. “I’ve never heard of anyone like that.”
“Would you like a demonstration?” I patted the part of my trench coat that concealed my gun.
“No!” Jessie lunged for the window. For half a second I thought she was gonna fly through and pin me down. She stopped with one slender arm outstretched and her fearful gaze honed in on my concealed gun.
“Hopefully you’ll never see. I don’t like quasi-children any more than you do.”
She relaxed her po
sture and placed both hands on the window sill. “How is he immune?”
I looked out over the rolling ocean and sighed. I wanted to snap at her to go ask someone else. I needed to think. Everyone on board knew the story, whether they believed all the details or not. “He has a twin brother who was born a quasi-child. Whatever qualities Mother Nature thrust on those siblings made O’Toole immune to his brother’s… quirks.” I adjusted my ship’s direction again. The waves were rolling mostly south to north, but as I sailed us closer to our destination, I would have to fight westbound waves and higher winds.
After a moment of silence, I added, “And that’s it. The seas are going to get progressively rougher as we near Port Chesapeake, so I hope you’ve got your sea legs. Now leave me alone and let me steer.” Amphitrite. Her damn name was Amphitrite. Of all the times she could have escaped, she happened to pick my ship.
“Yes, Captain,” she said bitterly. Her head of dark hair disappeared down the steps, then popped up again three seconds later. Her eyes were downcast and mouth drawn in a slight frown. “Is there anyone who can escort me to the guy I hit with the oar. I still want to apologize to him.”
I stared at her, taken by surprise. “Take the hatch closest to the bow, go down, then follow your ears to the commotion going on in the cargo hold. Ask for Sam. He’ll get you a pair of steel-toed boots if we have any that fit you. New ones.” Jessie popped a feral grin and disappeared once more. Ugh. Why did being nice to her make my stomach churn? I thumped my fist down on my bolted-down chair’s armrest. My wrist started throbbing.
* * *
Jessie retrieved her sneakers from the bottom of the stairs and headed for the bow. The wood deck baking under the afternoon sun singed her feet with every step, but putting on her sneakers was out of the question. They smelled as disgusting and filthy as they looked. The second to last thing she wanted was to slip her clean and slightly pruned toes into soiled footwear.
The last thing she wanted was to see Tethys again.
The wind whipped her long hair about. She let it get stuck over her face, then slip off when the wind shifted direction. Her hair felt the softest and silkiest it had in two years. And cleanest. No more sweat-drenched hair caked to her forehead and scalp. No more natural oils giving her months and months of bed head. Jessie wanted to throw her sneakers over the railing so she could be rid of the last bit of filth she carried around. However, first she needed to make sure this guy named Sam had the boots Dyne had promised.
Jessie hopped into a jog. The toasty deck was borderline unbearable. She’d figured the wind would keep the wood colder. So much for that. The swells forced her to pause every so often to keep her balance, but no big deal there. She’d take singed feet over scraped knees and elbows. She found the hatch and heaved it open with a grunt. Another wave helped her swing it shut after she dropped inside, then she turned the inner wheel, securing the hatch closed.
Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, which were quite prickly, she heard voices yelling back and forth. It sounded like they were trying to organize a bunch of big boxes and such, and one of them was in charge of it all. Hopefully that was Sam.
Jessie snuck towards the echoing voices, filthy shoes clutched to her chest. As she drew closer she became painfully aware of her lack of undergarments. She’d dumped them in the bathroom garbage, along with the rest of her clothes. She’d wanted to dump her sneakers as well, but now she was grateful she had them to cover her chest. There was so little between her and her next potential rapist.
She pressed to the side of the path, doing her best to hide from the oval doorway’s view. Two men were bustling around, pushing big crates from one end to the other and carrying large sacks on their shoulders. Just a few feet inside the doorway stood a man with a mop of sandy hair, his back to the door. Jessie geared up some courage, put on a tough face, and stuck her head in the doorway.
The cargo hold was one huge space full of crates and pulley systems. And men. The space spanned from hull to deck. It was modestly lit with glowing cables and solar-charged lamps. The men wore construction helmets with head lamps, and protective gloves. And the steel toe boots she coveted.
One older man carrying a duffle bag over his should pointed to Jessie. “Sam, we have a visitor.”
Sam, the man with his back to her, turned around. His pale eyes widened. “Why hello there, miss. Dyne told me to expect you.”
It took all her willpower to not cower and hide. Showing weakness would be bad right now.
“Please don’t be afraid. I’m harmless. You can come in.” He waved her over. “I bark a lot but I don’t bite. What’s your name, miss?”
Jessie mentally yelled at herself to move. She stepped over the doorframe and pattered to just outside arm’s reach. She clutched her sneakers tighter and couldn’t help but notice her cotton sweatpants brushing against her butt cheeks and nether region. One yank and a pig could force himself on her. She swallowed. “Jessie.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jessie. I’m Sam.” He held out a big, calloused hand.
Jessie stared at it. A man’s hand. She couldn’t bring herself to touch it.
Confusion played across Sam’s face, then he put his hand down. “I apologize. Dyne warned us that you’re uncomfortable with physical contact. I shouldn’t have assumed a handshake was acceptable. My apologies.”
Jessie relaxed her death grip a fraction. “Don’t. It’s… I know you didn’t mean any harm. I just…”
Sam held up a hand. “No explanation necessary. Dyne informed us that you’ve been through a lot and warned us to behave ourselves. He didn’t give any specifics, but he mentioned how you escaped Tethys’ ship. That was clue enough to understand that they behaved anything but gentlemanly towards you.” Disgust crept into his voice. “You’ll soon learn that we have a better breed of men on this ship.”
“What about O’Toole?” she said bitterly. “He got a peep show while I was showering.”
“He’s the most harmless of all of us,” Sam said, trying not to smile. “He’s autistic. He wouldn’t know what to do you. Just be mindful of your surroundings when you use the bathroom. That’s his favorite hiding place, even when we go in there.”
“Great,” she said under her breath.
“I swear on the wellbeing of my male member that he’s harmless,” Same insisted with a hand up as if he was swearing an oath.
Jessie studied him a moment. The sincerity in his soothing voice was eating away at her defensiveness. She wasn’t afraid of men per sé; just ones she didn’t know or trust. Even while trapped on Tethys’ ship, she’d prayed for a knight in shining armor to come save her sorry rear. Men weren’t all bad, but the vast majority were pigs. Sam came across as an exception. There was no mistaking it. She’d become an excellent judge of men while on her last ship.
Two men on Tethys’s ship had tried sweet-talking her. One had sounded sincere, but his body language and hungry eyes had warned her otherwise. The other man had brought her food and kept a respectable distance between them. Sadly, Tethys had fired the genuine guy once he found out he’d been “wasting” food on her. Sam had the same vibe as Mr. Genuine.
“I believe you,” she said, “but I can’t promise I won’t accidentally punch him again. I’ll do my best not to.”
“Thank you, ma’am. All of us would really appreciate it. He’s a really important crew member.”
Jessie wanted to draw inside arm’s reach but fear held her at bay. There was something about Sam’s demeanor and personality that put her somewhat at ease. Maybe it was his gentle voice, maybe his older age, or maybe it was him being almost the same height as her. The taller the scarier no matter how kind and unthreatening they behaved. That aside, she felt a need to speak quietly about O’Toole’s immunity to the quasi-children. “Is it really true that he’s immune?”
Sam nodded. “Runs right up to ‘em. They just vanish. He’s never touched one and they avoid touching him. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen—besides the
quasis, of course.”
Jessie stood in numb amazement. “I lost my father to them. He was only trying to hand the gun over to them.”
“I’m sorry to hear. My condolences.”
“Thank you.”
“We lost one crew member to them as well, years ago. He just accidentally backed into one. Went mad and killed himself a week later.” He shook his head. “Enough of such talk. I need to finish suiting you up.” He looked her up and down but without hunger in his pale eyes. “More like retry. You’re about as tall as me, but nowhere near as broad.” He held out a hand in front of her sneakers. “I can take those off your hands. You won’t be needing those anymore.”
Jessie turned slightly. “I want to throw them overboard after I get the steel toe boots I was promised.”
Sam gave her a knowing smile and tapped the side of his nose. “How ‘bout a sailor’s burial?” She gave him a confused look. “To the depths with them…”
“Ah.” That sounded like a great idea.
* * *
Jessie marched to Scully’s bunk with her new boots clanking along the metal floor. They fit perfectly. She almost wished one of the guys would step out of line just so she could test them out. Almost. As much as she enjoyed making a man fold, she preferred sweet words and respect.
She was garbed in all men’s clothes, including tube socks and boxers. Still no bra, but no surprise there. Bralessness, aside, it felt strange wearing what felt like a thin pair of shorts under cargo pants pulled all the way up to her bellybutton. In order for a pair of pants to fit past her hips, she had to go a few sizes too long to compensate. Sam gave her a leather belt and a few more plain shirts, then sent her off with simple directions to Scully’s cabin. They’d give her sneakers a sailor’s burial after dinner. Right now they needed to work—that and a few of the crew would be happy to help formally send her shoes off.
Jessie smelled the sleeping cabins before she saw the postcards and calendars Sam had described. The place stank of what men did when they had no holes to fill. The smell made her almost turn around. It triggered bad memories she desperately wanted to forget. Still, she wanted to apologize to Scully as soon as possible. Hopefully it would suffice and none of the men would feel a need to punish her and put her in her place for hurting their friend.