By Jane Carver
Majestic cream-colored sails billowed then slackened as the astral tides played tag among the sheets. Captain Merlo stood next to his helmsman while he maneuvered the ship’s large wheel.
The captain gave Gambrel permission to stand beside him. The process of playing the wind, using it, fascinated him. His curiosity peeked, he vowed to learn more about this great vessel. In the meantime, he asked Merlo if he could change his sleeping situation.
To his surprise, the captain did not oppose him sharing a cabin with Vangee.
“Why? We are not mated, and I fear others will think wrong thoughts.”
Merlo’s chuckle caught him off guard. “Don’t get me wrong. I do not laugh at either of you. Rather I consider those who might think Vangee would do anything inappropriate while in your care. For one thing, she thinks she fancies Boratax.” The captain frowned. He did every time he mentioned the explorer’s name. “If she declared you a friend and considers herself safe with you in the cabin then you are.”
Merlo closed the subject.
Deckhands scurried along the railing, pulling ropes to maneuver the enormous sails. “Captain, with all the technology aboard this ship, why do you handle sails by hand?” Gambrel pointed to a trio hauling a thick rope.
“Love of the tides, my friend. Love of the tides.” Merlo did not elaborate. His eyes roamed endlessly from sails to rails to crew who tightened ropes here then slackened them other places. At times, the man listened to the voice coming through a personal communicator tucked into his ear.
“You communicate with someone?”
“Yes, my pilot below in the control room. He steers us and warns of danger. He stays in constant contact with the others in the fleet.”
An idea occurred to Gambrel. Handid possibly sailed on one of those ships. Perhaps the captain could help locate him.
“Captain, do you have a list of those who sail in the fleet?” The reality of finding his greatest enemy grew better when the man nodded.
“Would it be possible to find out which ship a man might be on?” Another nod sent his spirits soaring.
Before he showed too much interest, Gambrel left the captain to return below decks for a morning rise meal. Few tables stood in the open area. Others had eaten earlier, and these remained for latecomers. A cool tankard of ale and a plate of hot meat and rolls satisfied his hunger. He rose when a group came to break down and store the planks. Surrounded by cleaning women and chattering young ones, he climbed back on deck. His belly filled, he assessed his next move.
Sailors worked on the deck while passengers leaned against the rail or talked in small groups. Many played games and others read. He would get bored soon enough if there was nothing more to do than this. Quick reasoning and non-stop action filled his life.
Across the deck in the corner where he spent his first afternoon, he spotted a woman sitting alone. She held a vid-square. A large green-laced shawl draped her head and fell over each shoulder. When out of her room, only Vangee covered herself in such a manner.
“‘Brel.” Pleasure echoed through the small area when she spotted him. Today she wore a dress of sorts, a long tunic over leggings. The restful green suited her dark eyes with their narrow slits of gold. She patted the deck beside her. “Join me.”
“What are you reading?” He suspected a story of some kind.
“The manifest for our ship and others in the fleet.”
Her answer surprised him. “Is this list your concern?”
“It isn’t. Not really. But my father proposed this voyage, and I should be aware of what is going on.” She pushed a button to skim past several rows of supplies.
“Do you have a list of passengers aboard the ships?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I seek an acquaintance from a long time ago. We lost track of each other, and I recently discovered this person might be living on Ancade. Since I was on the planet, I decided to find him. By then however, most inhabitants were aboard ship. I have no idea where to look now.” He gave her his most appealing glance. “May I view the lists?”
“Of course. Perhaps later in the morning rise we can go to the cabin, and you may scan them there.”
He nodded and rose.
Pessios and his friend Canfanto walked up. “Join us, Gambrel. This sailor—Zamour is his name—will show us how to tie the kind of knots the sailors use. I try to learn something new each day.” The man’s snake-like hiss emphasized his Lazzard origins.
When he hesitated, Vangee leaned nearer. “Make the most of these men, ‘Brel. Jacon said they traveled Ancade and other near planets as free merchants. They may know the man you seek.”
He joined the two though he didn’t like being part of a group. He glanced around for the men he met the night before. But they weren’t among those on deck.
“You look for Gastrojan and his friends.” Pessios’ words surprised him. He must be careful around the Lazzardian because he observed much and guessed more. He said nothing. Perhaps Pessios was of a like mind regarding Gastrojan. Gambrel would not worry too much about the obnoxious man or the two with him if that were true.
He shrugged. “Let’s say it’s better to locate your enemies before they find you.”
“Enemy. You see Gastrojan like this?” Pessios hissed low.
“He is no friend. An un-friend makes him an enemy where I work.”
“Last even tide when he spoke, I took his scent. I will be aware if he is near even if he does not show himself.” Pessios nodded once with a decided jerk of his narrow head. His forked tongue flashed out in an agitated way, flicking around his face. A distinct odor like desert sand filled the air. “Sorry, the distinctive smell comes from me. Our people give off this aroma when we are troubled. I try not to offend.”
The man apologized often, but his ability to present a threat if needed did not diminish because of it. Would Pessios be a good man to have at his back if necessary?
* * * *
“The fleet is divided into smaller clusters. Each captain reports to a designated leader, and he reports to Captain Merlo. These vid-squares are divided according to those groups.” Vangee laid numerous viewers on the table in their cabin.
“Who are you looking for? Perhaps I know her?”
A quick glimpse at the screen before Gambrel shot her a mocking glance. “What makes you think I look for a woman?”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head. “I seek a man. Remember? I told you earlier.”
“Oh, yes. I forgot.” Her teasing said she had not. “May I help?”
Without taking his eyes off the screen, he pushed several squares her way.
“Who are we looking for?”
“A man named Handid. I doubt he will use his real name.”
“Why would he change?”
“Perhaps he hides something. I don’t know. It’s just a guess.” He avoided her gaze. Her curiosity might get her in trouble. Better to go easy on the search if she helped.
“What will you do if you find him?”
“Do you always ask so many questions?” Exasperated, he again slipped into a more comfortable role with her, for a moment forgetting their positions aboard ship.
“Not usually, but this is interesting. And there’s not a lot to do, except help you.” She slumped in her chair.
Did his disapproval bother her? He noticed, experienced regret at his inhospitable question. Boredom bothered him too.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be rude. I appreciate your aid.”
She brightened, and her eyes twinkled. Intent on the information before her, she sat straighter and leaned forward.
Several 60-brace went by while they searched for Handid. Occasionally Gambrel showed her a name. Did she know that person? She recognized all but one, the being a Rossicradic, a flying creature. Gambrel snorted. Handid did not fly.
At some point, she brought drinks. He tasted the brew and nodded, smacked his lips, and drained the mug. A loud belch rocked the room. When he caught her lifted brow, he realized what he had done.
“I apologize for my rude behavior. I told you before I am a rough wanderer, not accustom to being with someone like you.” His face warmed in a hot blush.
Vangee graciously didn’t mention his embarrassment. Instead, she bowed her head and accepted his apology. “Men act so in the tavern where I sometimes met Jacon and Father.” At her idle comment, she blanched. Had she forgotten her father’s death?
One hand covered her face for a moment while she calmed an inner struggle. “I miss him. So very much. He’s all I had.” A sob escaped past splayed fingers.
Gambrel reached over and touched her. Despite its cool appearance, her skin seemed hot. “You are ill, lady?”
His concern got her attention. “Ill?”
“You are too warm. Perhaps you have done too much since we set sail.”
“I am always this way, ‘Brel. It is my nature. Nothing to be of concern.” For a few seconds, her fingers remained locked in his.
He slowly removed his hand. No sense teasing himself with thoughts of her lithe body wrapped around him, her hot hand warming his balls, threading through his hair, and cupping his face.
He bit his lip to prevent the sigh threatening to escape. Time to change the subject. “How does one tell time here?” He sounded grouchy but couldn’t help it.
She kept her eyes on the vid-square. “Listen. The ship’s bell tells us. We have clocks of course, and can get one if you prefer. But I like to hear the bells.”
In the middle of her explanation, her stomach growled. She blushed while he laughed. “Time for you to eat.” When she left her chair and used the shawl to hide her face, he remained seated.
“You’re not coming?”
“I will finish this passenger manifest. Come later.” He ducked his head, hoping she asked no more questions. She did not, but neither did she leave.
“Why do you avoid others?” One hand on the door, she seemed to accept the fact he refused to join her for eventide meal.
“I do not avoid others. Many become nervous in my presence. I seek to ease their discomfort.” His explanation left a lot to interpretation, but he thought she would understand.
“Your generous heart hides an injured soul, I think.” So saying, she slipped out of the door.
He didn’t think he had a generous heart, but his essence had been blasted apart long ago and had never come back together. Injured wasn’t the word for his soul. Non-existent fit better. He finished viewing the list then reached for another.
* * * *
After a short time, he drew on his coat and left the cabin to find food. The air on deck smelled fresh. A result of the atmospheric bubble they traveled in.
Pessios hailed him from across the way, but Gambrel waved him off. The other invited him back later. Jacon met him on the stairs and spoke regarding his day and what he planned for the days ahead. When Gambrel entered the dining area, only three tables remained.
He secured a plate and a cup of ale and sat at the end of the last table near the wall. He scanned the room, constantly on the alert to danger. No one bothered him, and he caught no one’s eye.
Vangee wasn’t there, but he spotted Effie and her daughter. Dara sat with a toy in one hand and a large slice of bakery in her other. Her back to Gambrel, she didn’t notice him. He made no attempt to attract her attention or her mother’s.
His hunger satisfied, he braced his elbows on the table and sipped his ale. Conversations buzzed in every corner, none of them loud enough to make sense of. He needed no extra skills to know Dara approached. Her hide footings slapped the planks as she ran to his side.
She only came to the top of his thigh so she propped both arms on him, overlapped her hands then plopped her chin on top. Her head once again tilted far back. One curly wave fell over her forehead when she plunked her head down so firmly.
“Name?”
He might choose to ignore her, but the tiny one refused to go unnoticed. She wanted his name?
“Gambrel Sarjean.” He turned back to rest his arms on the table. A little hand patted his thigh. The child remained at his side.
She grinned at him and patted his leg again. Warmth radiated through his leathers where her hand laid. A healthy baby aroma tickled his nose.
Dara stood back and held out her arms. “Up.”
Oh, fick, not again. He really didn’t want anything to do with this child.
His eyes closed in order to calm his mind, he opened them and caught Vangee ’s grin. She stood in the doorway. Others did not see her, but his mind’s eye penetrated her hood, imagined a mischievous smile. Did she dare him to hold the tiny one?
Never one to hurt a tender heart, he reached out and scooped up the girl. He stood her on his leg. Even then she barely came to the middle of his chest.
Dara walked up his thigh. Explored his buttons and checked the contents of his coat pocket. All the time she chattered in her own childish language. Did anyone but Effie understand the prattle?
He caught Vangee ’s glance and shrugged. Her gaze shifted to Effie and motioned the mother back to her seat. Effie smiled, sat, and waved to her daughter. Dara returned her greeting enthusiastically and giggled.
Suddenly the child stopped talking. She stared at him, expecting an answer. Did he miss something? “What?”
She repeated her question. Something about bakery. By pointing, she indicated the leftover sweet on his plate.
He gave it to her, and she scooted down to sit on his lap, her short legs dangling between his. When offered a bite, he shook his head and politely said no. But she offered more than once. Checking that no one watched them, he took the miniscule bite out of her chubby fingers. Dara crowed in delight.
For the better part of a 60-brace, they sat together. She chatted and asked questions he ignored or answered as best as possible, considering he seldom understood her words. How very female of her, he chuckled, when she arched her shapely orange brow.
A fresh mug of ale appeared at his elbow. Gambrel swallowed a deep draught without questioning who brought it. Once again, a pale green hood turned in his direction. He lifted the mug and raised his own brows in question. With a regal nod, Vangee acknowledged her contribution to his satisfaction. His smile said he appreciated her aid.
While this silent communication past between man and woman, Dara fell asleep against his muscled chest. He became aware of the fact when the silence overwhelmed him. No one else around, her obvious lack of chatter startled him.
Years before Gambrel held a sleeping girl child in his arms. The passage of time had not dimmed his memories of holding one so small. Effie seemed to have disappeared somewhere so he picked up Dara and placed her on one shoulder. She looked smaller there than sitting on his lap. Standing carefully, he walked the long room toward the cabins.
He opened the door and, like magic, Effie appeared. “She wore herself out,” was all he said. He eased the sleeping child into her mother’s arms. “I didn’t hurt her.”
“Sire, my daughter knows no strangers, but she chooses carefully those she goes to. Usually, I find her with an elder. Or a youth. Perhaps a lady friend. Never have I seen her go to one so large and male.” Effie’s love sparkled in her eyes as she snuggled Dara closer. “She is all I have left. Her father died working in our fields. His heart gave out. Dara shares Flamment’s hair color. His child will be lovely because her father was a handsome man. Beauty of the spirit is another form of splendor. You, sire, have a beautiful spirit. Dara recognizes it.” Gambrel shifted from one foot to another and would not meet her gaze. Effie blushed. “Good night.”
* * * *
When he entered his cabin, the light next to Vangee ’s bed glowed brightly. She sat crossed legged in gown and robe on her bedding. A vid-square lay beside her while she viewed another.
“Good even tide, “Brel.” She greeted him but didn’t raise her head.
He still experienced doubts about being in the cabin alone with her. Why didn’t she smile, face him? He grunted by way of welcome as he shed his coat.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he removed his boots and foot covers. For a moment, he forgot her anywhere around. He lay back on the cushioned surface and stretched his arms above his head. He blew a gusty sigh of relaxation.
He lay with long legs extended across the floor and longer body stretched out across the bed. A twitter of laughter floated his way. Surely not, he groaned. She would not laugh at him. He sat up and removed the band holding his braid. Long fingers worked the hair loose. He ran his hands through it and massaged his scalp. He wiggled his stubby toes, the only thing short and thick on his body.
Again, soft sigh of laughter tickled his ear. What was so ficking funny?
“Vaangeee?” His exasperation filled each letter as he drawled her name. Clearly, she laughed at him, but he knew not the cause.
Beyond his bed, a full-blown belly laugh broke loose. She lay on her bed rolling from side to side, enjoying a private joke.
“Vangee!” Gambrel snapped her name, forgetting with whom he dealt. At that moment, he treated her like any other annoying female. “What the fick is so funny?” Hands on hips, he waited for her answer.
Chuckles and giggles prohibited a response for a full minute. Finally, she got hold of her humor and cut a purely delighted look his way. “Oh, that was so wonderful.”
At once, he realized she did not make fun of him but enjoyed some kind of memory. “And what pleased you so much?”
“You and Dara.” Another round of laughter filtered from her vicinity. “She talked endlessly and made little sense. Like any male, you understood little of what she said but answered at the right moments, keeping her happy. The tiny one had a wonderful time on your lap.”
“I’m so glad I amuse you.” Gambrel spoke with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Other females have sat on my lap and had a better experience.” He shrugged, “But Dara did well for one so young.” He turned his back on her and unbuttoned his shirt. She needed a moment to digest the implication of what he said.
His chuckle came out softer than hers when she gasped.
“’Brel!”
“Yes?” Innocence personified.
She sputtered at his bland expression.
Enough of games. He caught her gaze and smiled. When she answered his with one of her own, the teasing ended for the moon rise.
Feeling better than he had in a long time, he gathered up several vid-squares and climbed into the middle of his bed. A headrest against the wall, he settled back to read more manifests. For a while the room lay silent.
When he grew tired of searching with no results, Gambrel picked up a vid-square labeled History of Ancade. The narrative ran far back in the past, farther than he would have thought. Ancadians kept meticulous records of their ancestry. He knew where his father and father’s father had been born and died, but nothing more.
This record began thousands of years ago. The history held his attention until he came across something that defied interpretation.
“Vangee?”
She sat engrossed in her own reading.
That didn’t stop him from calling her again. “How do you pronounce this? Joseph? His last name is a bunch of letters.”
He expected an answer. He didn’t expect her to step up into the middle of his bed. What the fick! Before going to his side, she grabbed the other headrest and tossed it to the wall near his. Sat close and read the vid-square he held.
He turned his wrist so she could see easier. Soft purple hair fell across his hand, and beads of sweat watered his palm. Her natural woman’s perfume, which reminded him of fresh air, tantalized his nostrils. Silken nightclothes swished in the heavy silence. She, however, seemed unaware of his reactions.
“Oh, him. That’s Joseph Romeauxleaux. You would say Romolo. Where he lived, the people added more letters than needed just to make us crazy a few thousand years later.” Her humorous explanation complete, she settled back against the bolster and resumed her reading.
Words on the vid-square in his hand danced before his eyes. He couldn’t focus knowing she sat so close. Did she not feel what he did? That tremble in the pit of his stomach, the skin tightening along his thighs? Was the cabin warmer than minutes ago? Apparently not.
In his role as an enforcer, Gambrel practiced patience. Now he dredged up all the patience he could muster. After what seemed like forever, he found he breathed easier. He read whole sentences with understanding.
Later he muttered her name again, lost in the myriad details of the first ship flights testing the atmospheric bubble. When she didn’t answer, he glanced at her only to discover she slept.
Propped on one hip, shoulder braced against the wall, she faced him, vid-square in her lap. She sat with her head fallen forward on her chest. The belt to her robe loosened at some time, and the edges lay open. Her gown barely covered her breasts. Only the nipples lay under the shimmering material. The deep valley between them begged for his hand. Demanded a finger caress her skin. To touch, to experience.
All the sensations he conquered a 60-brace earlier came flooding back. This time, his whole body tightened and vibrated with need. He closed his eyes and counted. Prayed for patience he needed but feared he’d used up. His fingers itched to stroke her smooth skin.
But if he touched her once, he wouldn’t be able to resist the next time or the one after that. Like a Dobrin virus, she would infect his blood and call him to her with every breath. He shook his head, disgusted with his thoughts.
As if she didn’t call to him now.
While his heart said, don’t touch, his hand crept closer to her neckline. Just to run the back of one finger down her chest to the top of her gown. Deep asleep. Slow breaths. She would never know.
But he would. He’d burn every time she came in sight if he touched her. She should get off his bed, away from him. Right now.
Before he lost his nerve, he did something he used to do with the whores of Kandrious. His lips pursed, he drew a deep breath, leaned forward, and blew steady but gently down the front of her gown. The slight breeze chilled her skin and raised tender bumps. She groaned in her sleep and drew her arms tighter across her stomach. The result lifted those magnificent breasts closer and higher.
He gulped at the success of his ploy. His eyes focused on her breasts, he let one hand rub his erection, his shaft so hard he ached to bury it in her body. Exquisite pain shot up between his legs, the kind that bordered on intense pleasure. He rubbed more and deeper. He shouldn’t. He’d mess his leather and embarrass himself if she woke and caught him. Fick! She might wake if he tried to leave the bed.
Patience! He cursed and willed his body to calm, cool. Not easy and it took time. Every fight and nasty bit of action he had ever taken part in ran through his mind. They eased his conscience while precious time slipped by, helping him forget his desires. Like a beached flyer, sucking in choking draughts of thin air, he wondered if the mental cooling system in the cabin worked. Would his shaft burst inside his leathers before it shriveled?
When the pain and fear of ejaculation eased, he slid off the bed. “Vangee.” Did he sound desperate? Maybe. Probably. “Wake up. Time for bed.”
Her snuffled agreement and slurred good night solved nothing. She apparently thought herself in her own bed. Sliding off the bed rest, she lay on the sheets, wiggled a bit then rolled on her stomach, one arm up, legs wide apart.
A groan escaped Gambrel. The woman would be the death of him yet. “Vangee. Go to your own bed.” Desperate. Definitely desperate. “Get up!” His last words came out more a command than he realized because she opened her eyes and propped up on one elbow.
Oh fick! Her gown slipped down one shoulder and bared her breast. “If you don’t get out of my bed this minute, I’m going to haul you out myself. And it won’t be pleasant!” A winded Glester racer after a hard run sounded no better than him.
“What? Where am I, ‘Brel?” She sat up, not fully awake. “Oh, sorry.” Like a child she stumbled from his bed to hers. Her robe slid to the floor, a shimmering pile of heated material. On hands and knees, she crawled into her bed then fell forward on her stomach once again. A slight twist of her hips and her gown pulled taunt over the firm cheeks of her rear.
With a vicious mental snap, Gambrel turned out all the lights. Awake for another 60-brace, he prayed for control, patience. Fought the urge to bury his body in her alluring flesh.
Morning rise came to a man strung tight and angry. Only he and the gods knew what caused his anger. He stomped out of the cabin before Vangee stirred and refused to talk to her all day.
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