Maxime reminded Sheng he was hungry, too.
Sheng smiled. “Oh, yes. It will be a long time before the others arrive. I should feed you, too.” The old man returned to the cluster of campfires to obtain more fish.
Others? Imena concentrated on the activity in the clearing. A small group of islanders had begun assembling an open-sided hut on the edge of their camp, bamboo framework roofed in palm mats. The builders were women. They wore minimal waist wraps, strings of shells that dangled on their bare breasts and the inevitable flowers in their hair. Two women wound flowering vines around the support poles while two more fetched armloads of blankets. Imena recognized the type of blanket; they were woven from beaten and shredded plant fibers, and very soft, surely too luxurious for prisoners. When Sheng returned, she asked, “What are they doing? Over there, with that hut.”
Sheng pushed fish into Maxime’s mouth and said, “Oh, that’s for you.”
“For me? Or both of us?”
“Oh, for both of you. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sheng glanced at the hut, seemingly transfixed for a time by its beauty. Maxime cleared his throat. Sheng fed him more fish and said, “You can smell the flowers while you perform for us.”
Was it the smell alone that drugged the people here? How close did you have to be to that scent? Were they too close already? Belatedly, what Sheng had said caught up with her. “Perform?”
Sheng beamed. “Oh, yes. You’ll love the smell of the flowers. But you have to wait until the others get here.” He gave Maxime more fish and told him, “You’ll need your strength. We haven’t had anyone new in a very long time. I’m looking forward to it. These days, I enjoy watching quite a bit.”
Imena swallowed. “Tell me more about this performing.”
Sheng didn’t seem to be listening to her questions anymore. He nudged Maxime’s leg with his foot. Maxime didn’t react, didn’t even blink. “Does he need any rest first? Your man? He’s a big one, they tire out more quickly in my experience. I heard you were at it before Waitimu found you. Did they get to you before he spilled himself? Waitimu wasn’t sure. He can’t remember.”
Imena looked at Maxime, horrified. He looked back without speaking, his gaze heavy with irony and something else she couldn’t quite identify. He didn’t say it, but in her mind she heard, “You’re the captain.”
Sheng ran his bare foot along Maxime’s calf, then drew it back hastily at Imena’s glare. It was interesting information that her glare would be respected. She decided against demanding more information and, since Maxime hadn’t spoken, decided to try a more diplomatic approach herself. Forcibly steadying her breathing, she said, “He’ll last longer than you think, for such an old man.”
“He’s not too old, is he? He’s not nearly as old as I am, and I can still—”
“Oh, no, no,” Imena reassured him. “He’s very— Do you want to give him a try?”
The smallest of choked sounds escaped Maxime, but Sheng didn’t hear; he was backing away too quickly. “Oh, no, ma’am, of course not. Not before the performance. I can’t damage your chances at winning the competition with the others. That wouldn’t be fair at all. Captain Pauk would be very disappointed in me if I did that.” Then, to Imena’s immense frustration, Sheng wandered away.
She subsided to the sandy dirt, uselessly shifting against her bonds. The rope was old. Given enough time, and a little more freedom to move, and a sharp edge, she might eventually work herself free, but she doubted she would be given any of those commodities. And what would happen if the islanders forced the drugging flowers on them? “Well?” she murmured. “What do you think?”
Maxime’s voice was tight as he muttered back, “He treated us well, you notice. Not really like prisoners. He might have kicked us, or dumped our food on the ground. He asked after my, um, stamina.”
“Maxime! They want to watch us fuck!”
“I had gathered that,” he said. “It’s not a form of sailors’ entertainment, is it? Public fucking? If it is, I can’t believe how I missed it.”
“Not normally,” she replied, offended. “Maybe among pirates. I wouldn’t put it past Venom. But on shipboard, that sort of thing is frowned on. It makes others jealous. It can lead to all sorts of dissent among the crew. Even the newest common sailors on Seaflower have somewhere private to go. I learned that much from serving on a privateer. It’s a better solution than the navy, which simply denies the problem and punishes the offenders.” She wondered what kind of ship Captain Pauk had commanded.
“I didn’t think it was common,” he said, “but one never knows everything that goes on. So other ships, not navy ships, it’s the same?” His question seemed uninterested.
Imena glanced sharply at him, wondering what he was hiding beneath the bland tone. “It’s not a ship game,” she said slowly, “but it might be an islanders’ game. I think I’ve heard of such. Small islands, not many resources. They’re easily controlled when the empire controls their trade. They can’t waste what they have in making war over disagreements, and the people here don’t seem inclined to make war, anyway. So…”
Maxime’s tone remained distant as he replied, “And perhaps they get some new blood into their groups that way. Small islands don’t take well to a steady population. They need new blood. I’m sure whatever they do with those flowers encourages them, as well.”
“That makes sense,” she agreed. She glanced apprehensively at the pavilion. The women were now busily shredding the pink-and-orange flowers down to petals, and flinging them all over the mats. Imena could smell the sugary fragrance from where she sat.
Maxime bumped his shoulder against hers, offering comfort she could pretend she didn’t need. Just for a moment, she leaned into him. He said, “Not to worry.”
She said, “I can’t make the tide in front of people. You might enjoy it, but I—” She looked away. Suddenly, she could see her cutlass and their knives away across the camp. They were laid out on a mat in the firelight, ready for her to snatch them up, if she could only reach them.
“There’s nothing to fear, Imena. Odds are, if we do as they ask, they’ll let us go.” He bumped his shoulder against hers again, and smiled at her. Deliberately, he fluttered his eyelashes in a parody of flirting.
She couldn’t laugh, not quite. “My crew,” she said, though at this moment she was worried for herself, as well. What if the islanders drugged her, and Maxime? What would that be like? What might she reveal to him?
“If we do well in their competition, we might be able to come to some arrangement,” Maxime pointed out.
“We’re not even sure they know or care about Seaflower. This is a different island, after all, and they don’t seem very aware of their surroundings.”
Do well, Sheng had said. She wasn’t sure she liked the implications of that. “I don’t see how they could have missed us, drugged or not,” she said bitterly. “We have no idea, Maxime, no idea at all, how many islanders there might be, or what their intentions truly are. The people you’re responsible for—they aren’t here.”
“Chetri and Roxanne aren’t useless,” he pointed out.
“They’re your officers for a reason, aren’t they?”
“Don’t tell me my business,” she snapped.
Maxime, wisely, kept his mouth shut.
The women at the pavilion were sitting on the ground now. They didn’t appear to be doing anything except sitting. She would have expected them to eat, chat, begin working on small tasks. They did nothing. She watched closely, wondering if she would see any coded gestures, or any new activity. They appeared to be breathing deeply. Preparing to sing or chant? Or inhaling the flowers’ scent or pollen?
The youngest of the women scooped up a handful of the flower petals and stuffed them into her mouth. The woman next to her slapped her hand, not quickly or very hard. None of them spoke. The one who’d eaten the flower petals slowly sagged to the ground. Soon, Imena heard her begin to snore.
“Soporific flowers?” Max
ime murmured. He’d been watching, too. “That could go along with the suggestibility and the odd things they’ve said.”
“The others aren’t asleep, so it might not always be a soporific,” Imena said. “We can’t assume they’ll all eat the flowers and fall unconscious.” In fact, two of the women, then three, had begun to caress each other, their carnal intent clear.
“That would leave us still tied, anyway,” Maxime said. He sounded abruptly weary, more so than she’d ever heard him sound before. He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to his updrawn knees. Given that their ankles were tied together, she could feel his beard against her leg; she shifted slightly, caressing him as best she could.
She said, “We’ll get out of this.”
His cheek still resting on his knees, he turned his head to look at her. “That was unconvincing, Imena.”
She wasn’t sure what had led to his change of mood, but it was clear to her that he needed a distraction. She made a decision. “You do the talking. When they come to us again.”
“You’re the captain.”
“And you’re the diplomat.”
Maxime sat up and brushed her cheek with his, a momentary shivery pleasure. “Imena, I think we’ll have to do what they ask. We could refuse, but—do you want me to tell them we refuse?”
She swallowed. “You’re better at this sort of thing. Do what you think is best. I trust you.”
Maxime breathed out slowly, and leaned his shoulder into hers. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll get you through it.”
He sounded sure of himself, but something in his tone betrayed him. Attempting humor, Imena said, “And you’d better make me like it.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NOTHING ELSE HAPPENED FOR THE REMAINDER of the night. Imena watched the islanders as closely as she could while they ate fish and sometimes flowers, copulated, sang badly and eventually fell to sleep punctuated with quantities of loud snoring, like a houseful of drunks. She was grateful for their physical distance from these activities. She would also have welcomed a blindfold. She wasn’t sorry when, eventually, the untended campfires went out.
She and Maxime weren’t expected back to Seaflower until the following day. There might be a chance of rescue after that. She didn’t plan to wait that long, and felt sure Maxime didn’t, either. She utterly hated being helpless. Even worse, being helpless on land. On a ship, there was always something to be done, even if it was only polishing the brightwork. Here, she could do nothing.
Maxime leaned into her shoulder. “Stop thinking about it,” he said.
She supposed if she could have an extra sense about his feelings, he could have the same. She gave in, leaning back into him. Their ropes rasped together. “We’re going to be cramped in the morning,” she said.
“We’ll be better for some sleep,” Maxime said. “We can lie down here. Close your eyes. I’ll watch.”
“You need sleep, too. Wake me in a while.”
“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”
“I’m the captain.”
“You said I was in charge.” He kissed her temple.
“Now, go to sleep.”
Imena wanted to continue arguing—anything to keep back her thoughts and his—but for his sake, she curled uncomfortably on her side, Maxime at her back. She closed her eyes, listening to the soft sound of his breath. Eventually, she slept.
Just past dawn, a dozen new people arrived at the camp, nine men and three women. Ignoring the islanders still sleeping around the dead campfires, the visitors marched into a pattern, an arched grouping that opened to briefly reveal a litter and its occupants, two more men. The litter was then transformed into a shelter similar to the one built for Imena and Maxime; two women lifted poles and spread woven palm leaves, obscuring Imena’s view of the people inside.
“Ratshit,” she said, straining to see.
Maxime’s voice in her ear startled her. “Pretend they’re officious customs agents.”
“This situation is not the same. Though…either way, we’re going to get fucked.”
Laughter burst out of him. Imena relaxed a little. Perhaps he was feeling better than he had the previous night.
Several of the visiting islanders turned to them, and she finally had a glimpse of their opponents: two men, both burly as foremast hands, both naked except for crowns of flowering vines. One of them stepped from beneath the shelter and stretched upward, showing an impressive array of muscle and, on his lower belly, a tattoo of an octopus.
“Maxime!” she hissed.
“A very nice specimen,” he said approvingly.
“His tattoo!” The octopus was a symbol of Maxime’s duchy, and tattoos of the animal were common among a range of professions, including soldiers, sailors and prostitutes. If the man was a prostitute, who knew what range of special skills he might possess?
She, too, had a tattoo of an octopus, nearly hidden among the designs on her thigh.
“I see it,” Maxime said. “He’s proud of himself, isn’t he?” The man was now stretching downward, his back to his audience, showing off his long, lean legs and powerful buttocks tattooed with sharks. The sharks’ jaws moved with each flex of muscle. “The sharks are far too showy. More traveling fair than brothel.”
“I appreciate that you’re trying to distract me, but that wasn’t what I meant. Do you think it will help, that he likely came from your duchy?”
“Not a bit. He probably doesn’t even know the duchy is a duchy again. None of these people look like recent arrivals. Their clothing would be in better condition if they were.”
The other man had emerged from the shelter to join his partner. His buttocks tattoos were snakes, writhing with each clench of his muscles. He bore no octopus, but a more ordinary sailors’ anchor decorated one shoulder blade. When she looked up at his face, she realized he was staring at them, his expression revealing only vague disinterest. Imena bared her teeth at him; he reared back. At her shoulder, Maxime snorted appreciatively. “That’s the way.” Pointedly, he smiled at their competition, a patently false smile demonstrating defiance more than friendliness.
She swallowed hard. “How are we going to do this?”
“I’m not sure yet. I do hope they untie us first.”
She hadn’t considered that. “If they untie us, I could cause a distraction, and you could flee.”
“I won’t leave you.”
“If there’s a chance—”
“I won’t leave you, Imena. You told me I could lead, remember?”
“I’m in charge of escape attempts.”
“And I say we won’t make one. This will work out better if we don’t.”
Their opponents were standing, arms outstretched, before their audience while attendants fed them flower petals and massaged them lightly with coconut oil, the smell strong even this far away. The sleeping islanders had begun to wake and stumble about their morning routines. Someone out of her line of vision had begun playing a drum desultorily, and a bamboo pipe joined in, preparatory short flutters of sound.
Imena breathed out slowly, and paused before she spoke again. “I wish I hadn’t said you could lead.”
His voice full of mock hurt, Maxime said, “You don’t trust me?”
Looking at the sand, she said, “I do. Truly, I do.”
Maxime nuzzled her shoulder, his beard prickling pleasantly against her skin. “You wish you’d had more choices,” he murmured. “You dislike handing over command, but it was the best thing to do here. That doesn’t mean you have to like it.”
“Yes,” she said, relieved he understood. She took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember what it was like being a starmaster’s mate, and how to take orders.”
“Suggestions,” he murmured. “Orders would be another type of encounter altogether. Entertaining, but not as useful for our purpose today.”
Copying his lighter tone, she said, “If it seems otherwise, feel free.”
“Really?”
“Only thi
s once,” she said. She leaned against him.
Sheng walked over to them, trailed by a much older man who leaned on a tall, carved stick decorated with flowering vines. Maxime whispered in her ear, “Don’t forget to express the proper awe when my cock reaches its full glory.”
While she sputtered with laughter at his deadpan tone, she missed the first words the old man said. Maxime answered, “If we win, Captain Pauk, you will of course free us.”
Imena straightened her spine at the authority in his tone. She blanked her expression and eyed Pauk. He didn’t look like a pirate to her eyes, but that proved nothing. She was fairly sure he was not drugged; his eyes were too bright, his expression too sharp. In appearance, he might have been an imperial, from one of the western provinces, or just as likely from one of the more mixed populations on the empire’s fringes. His white hair hung straight nearly to his waist, and his withered chest was tattooed with faded blue fish in a mass of waves. Around his hips, he wore a length of bright indigo silk that hung to his knees.
Pauk said, in imperial-accented patois, “We will discuss your freedom once you’ve done what I ask. You will perform to the best of your ability and make sure all those watching enjoy themselves. No tools are permitted beyond your own bodies. You will have one hour and one hour only, by hourglass.”
“Is anything forbidden?” Maxime asked. “What if we offend one of those watching?”
Pauk chuckled. “I doubt that’s possible. Nothing is forbidden here.” He glanced back at the group of islanders preparing the visitors’ shelter. “We have few other entertainments available to us here, you see.”
“And if we lose?”
Pauk looked down his nose at them. “We’ll keep you for a while. We need a pair of champions. But you must realize my folks’ approval is fickle. I can’t speak for how they might react if you…disappointed them too many times.”
Maxime said, “We won’t lose. After we’ve won your battle for you, you will set us free.” His gaze didn’t waver from Pauk’s. “Or we will not win for you.”
The Duke & the Pirate Queen Page 19