two stories currently on my shit list
Mar. 16th, 2007 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrb/c they won't cooperate no matter what I do, and I'm firmly convinced they suck no matter how much Tygs tells me they don't.
YARGH I say.
The Captain’s Secret
So far the journey was proving to be pointless.
And frustrating.
And tedious.
And damn it all he really wanted a drink.
Throwing down his pen in disgust, Anil snatched up his coat and strode from the cabin, swiftly making his way to the main deck. The night was brisk, just short of being unpleasant, thick with fog, making it seem as though the ship was entirely alone in the world.
Which, given they were leagues away from the trade routes, was more or less true.
Anil sighed as the ship bells rang the second hour of the morning, and pulled his spectacles off to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t write his reports—
Mostly because those reports left a foul taste in his mouth. He detested playing snoop. It was completely against everything he considered himself to be.
A man, for one. A gentleman, for another. Not a slimy little weasel.
Who didn’t have much choice if he didn’t want to go to debtor’s prison for his father’s debts. Bloody hell, why couldn’t the bastard have lived long enough to go to jail for his own debts…but if his father had been good at anything, it had been foisting his obligations upon his only child.
Tired of his own thoughts, Anil leaned upon the railing and stared out at the dark water and fog, wondering what else might be out there. Did it feel equally alone?
Were its thoughts as stupid as his own?
The sound of boots rapping sharply across the deck was his only warning before Anil found himself with company on the railing. “Milord, you are up late…or perhaps early.”
“Early implies one woke,” Anil said with a soft snort. “Sadly, I never was able to take to my bed.” He didn’t look at Captain Duff, knowing he’d just wind up staring in a most unbecoming fashion.
Though was he entirely to blame that the good Captain was so very worth staring at?
Clean shaven, for one, unlike the majority of those who had given themselves over to the sea. By night, his dark brown hair probably looked black, and Anil wondered if he’d finally restored the single strand that had escaped the confines of the green ribbon the Captain usually favored for restraining it. Stern but handsome features, the kind that would only improve with age, rather than decline. Best of all were his eyes, however. A deep, rich blue that Anile found more and more appealing every time he was foolish enough to look into them. He bet right now they looked as black as the sea.
Certainly they were that unfathomable.
He knew the man knew what he was up to, his true purpose. Subterfuge was not Anil’s game and so he played it poorly.
From the moment he’d been given his choice, and known there was no choice at all, he had not wanted to do it. Had loathed doing it.
Then he’d met Captain Duff, who was as wonderful as he was handsome, if a bit brusque and hard to fathom, and had very nearly given up.
It shouldn’t make him feel this wretched. Captain Duff was a merchant. He had his routes, his cargo, and had been declared one of the best of the business. Until six months ago, or so Anil had been told, when he’d begun to run days longer than once he had. Consistently. Suspiciously.
His employers suspected their Captain was up to something, some manner of smuggling perhaps. Illicit trade of some sort. Yet not a single one of their attempts to uncover his mischief had yielded results.
Anil wondered glumly if they’d dump him overboard or drop him on a sad strip of forgotten land. He was truly puzzled as to why Captain Duff hadn’t gotten rid of him yet. It wasn’t as though he’d be missed.
Which brought up the question of what he was supposed to do if he survived this wretched journey. His reports he’d post to the Magistrate, who had gotten him tangled up in this mess because he was friends with Duff’s employer and…there was a whole tangled web there that Anil simply did not feel like untangling.
After posting his reports…he would have nothing. His payment for this endeavor was not to be thrown in prison. Which left him with nothing, not even a recommendation with which to obtain work.
Ah, well. He would deal with that if he made it to shore. It was not as though he could solve the problem now.
Even if he could, the problem of the man beside him was far more pressing. Or at least distracting.
“Feeling too guilty to sleep, perhaps?” Captain Duff asked with purposeful casualness.
Anil froze, then gave a long sigh and stared out into the fog. “Most likely. I’m a copy clerk, not a sneak.” There, it was out in the open. All his worries began to ease with nothing more than a few simple words.
Of course, those words may as well have been ‘death warrant’ but Anil found himself hard pressed to care. Perhaps he could coax the Captain into a farewell kiss. The whimsical, idiotic thought made him smile faintly.
“You confess to such heinous behavior and yet smile?” Captain Duff demanded sharply
“No, Captain,” Anil said. “My relief at being able to give up the poor ruse has caused my mind to turn to nonsensical notions. I apologize.” He finally turned to look at the Captain, dreading what he’d see but feeling he should – and about fell over.
Always Captain Duff was dressed to the letter of his station. Three weeks now they’d been at sea, and not once had Anil seen him less than fully dressed.
Oh, he wished the bastard was fully dressed now. But no, the Fates continued to conspire against him. Anil wondered morosely which of the six Fates he’d so horribly offended to deserve this wretched life.
Captain Duff was barely dressed – nothing more than his boots, breeches, and a shirt on which the laces were barely done up. Sadly, his hair was still confined minus the one renegade strand. Anil wanted to tuck it back, then sink his fingers into that soft-looking hair and tug the Captain down for a long, slow kiss…
He looked hastily away before his face could betray his thoughts. “I extend further apologies for my presence, Captain. If I’d had a choice in the matter, I would have come simply to enjoy the journey.” Wholly ignoring the fact he couldn’t afford a loaf of bread, never mind passage on a ship as grand as the Bridget, named for the ship owner’s wife. No, he’d never be able to afford such a thing.
Though he desperately wished. How very fine a thing it would be to simply sail and sail…though he would make a poor sailor, he rather suspected. His life was ink and paper, indexing and organizing. He much preferred writing and reading to climbing about the rigging. Now that would be interesting, to write accountings of sailors and ships. All the stories they must have…
Another fanciful notion. Honestly, he was getting too ridiculous to stand himself. Feeling tired, Anil resumed speaking. “Did you wish to throw me overboard, Captain? Or could I trust to your leniency that you’ll wait until we’re ashore to be rid of me?”
“I have often noted your birthmark, milord.”
Anil frowned, thrown by the jarring shift in conversation. Then he snorted softly. “I do think we can give up that ‘milord’ nonsense. My name is Anil, you may use it. Please, Captain.” His fingers went automatically to his left cheek, and the birthmark there which was shaped vaguely like a fish – as though drawn by the clumsy hands of a small child. “My mother says the sea blessed me. I have oft believed it was to mark a curse rather than a blessing.”
“Mmm,” Captain Duff replied noncommittally. “Your pendant is quite fine. Fine western gold, I am amazed you did not sell it to help pay your father’s debts.”
Shock and rippled through Anil and he spun sharply around to face the Captain. “So you have known the full extent of it this entire time? What have you been about then, sir? Merely toying with me? Having a laugh at my expense?” Fates curse them all, was he always to be the one to suffer at another’s expense?
“I knew all of it but you,” the Captain replied, dark eyes locked with Anil’s. “I’ve a boy in the office of the bastard for whom I work. He told me all about the arrangement between the magistrate, my employer, and yourself.” He motioned toward his cabin. “Shall we speak inside? I promise I intend you no harm. If I did, you would have gone over the side like the last few snoops.”
Not bothering to point out that he had no choice but to obey, Anil nodded and silently followed Captain Duff to his quarters. Inside, he took the seat to which the Captain waived him
Unbreakable
He stifled an unseemly groan as they finally reached the Markets.
Everywhere around him was the stench of too much flesh and not enough bathing. The air was only further thickened with a confusion of emotion – anger, anticipation, excitement, misery, lust, and greed.
If he’d ever forgotten why he detested the Markets, he was quickly being reminded. Truly he wanted nothing more at this moment than to turn his horse back around, strangle his brother, then return to his tower and books.
Far, far away from the idiocy of the rest of the world.
Instead he grit his teeth and rode up the steps of the Auction Hall. The place was despicable, though it was as grandly built as the Holy Palace itself. But where the Holy Palace was white and silver, the Auction Hall was a black and gold. Where the Holy Palace was elegant, refined, beautiful, and smart enough to hide its debaucheries behind doors and curtains…the Auction Hall was nothing but a noxious pit of flesh.
With an effort he kept a sneer of disgust from his face.
Only for his brother, and in the name of a great debt, would he stoop so low.
So very, very low.
Not that anyone but he thought it so, even his brother had a lovely collection…
Heaving a sigh, he carefully dismounted and pulled his cane from its holster on his saddle. He handed his horse off to the boy that came scurrying up, pressing a silver into his palm before turning to greet the fat, red-clad, sausage-like figure that came lumbering down the steps toward him, face as red as his clothes from the exertion.
“Milord! I offer my most profuse apologies for not being here to greet you properly. I received his lordship’s missive only a couple of minutes ago.” He bowed low. “Welcome to the Auction Hall, Lord Night.”
“My brother is Lord Night. If you must call me something, then Jasmine will suffice.”
“Yes, my lord. If I might say so, you look very much like your brother.”
Jasmine accepted the compliment with a nod, stifling a tired sigh. Why people thought it so flattering to tell him he looked so much like his brother, he would never understand. All they were doing, often intentionally, was implying that he only looked like his brother. Fair skin, white-blond hair, pale gray eyes, tall, broad-shouldered, with the fine, almost pretty features so much a trademark of their line.
In no other way did he resemble his brother. Mandrake was charming, Jasmine was not. Mandrake was witty, talkative, smooth, and overall of an agreeable nature. Jasmine’s closest friends were his books and pets. He could not hold a pleasant conversation to save his life. Mandrake was perfect in nearly every conceivable way. Jasmine had more flaws than could be counted, though the worst were often stated to be his limp and lack of manners.
“Now, I believe all should be arranged in one of the private auction rooms? I do not care to join the general crowds…” Jasmine grimaced. He did not care for that one bit. He rapped his cane on the steps to emphasize his point.
The man bowed. “Of course, Lord Jasmine. Right this way.” Turning, he led the way up the obsidian steps and into the Auction Hall, weaving through a maze of hallways before stopping at last before a door that looked, to Jasmine, much like all the rest. “If my lord will take a seat and make himself comfortable, we will begin bringing in those which might be of interest.”
Jasmine nodded and obeyed, making a face as he entered the room. Decorated in red and gold, the room could not have been more distasteful if it had tried. Oh, he was certain many found it pleasing, but he wanted nothing more than to return to his tower.
He refused offers of food and wine, sitting in stony silence as one bit of flesh after another was presented to him. In the main, all flesh was auctioned off. The auctions ranged from the large general auction to various private auctions. However, in some cases – such as when your brother was the second most powerful man in the country – there were no auctions. He had only to choose what he liked and pay for it.
So far nothing was pleasing.
If he was going to draw out the Vizier, he would need better slaves than what he was seeing.
“Have you anything more…exotic? I have seen far too many similar to those I’ve been shown amongst the court. I need something wholly original.”
The fat man in red – perhaps asking his name might get Jasmine better results, but he didn’t particularly care – shifted restlessly in discomfort. “My lord, we have emptied all the prime cells. The flesh displayed is the finest on offer.”
Jasmine sneered. If this was all they had to offer, he was a simpering miss.
Given that only three hours ago his looking glass had shown him still to be quite clearly masculine – the simpering oaf was lying. Fine, he could play this game. “Then I guess I shall have to come again tomorrow.” Not bothering to give the flesh still displayed nor the fat man another glance, he stalked from the room and back through the halls, pleased that he’d remembered every twist and turn.
On what he knew to be the third to last turn he had left, Jasmine was drawn up short before a door that strangely had been left wide open.
Or maybe recently opened, if the creatures inside were anything by which to judge.
Exquisite. Here was the flesh he’d been looking for all day. In fact, they were far beyond even his highest hopes. Ignoring the shouts of protest he vaguely realized were directed at him from both close by and further down the hall, he stepped into the room to get a closer look.
Dragons. Twin dragons. He had never heard of such a thing, but there was no mistaking that was precisely what these were. Both were stark black, ebony skin as rich and dark as the obsidian walls of the Auction Hall, scales holding an opalescent shine.
They must be problematic, for their bonds were extreme – thick bands of iron around their throats, to which were attached heavy chains that coiled around their arms before wrapping around their wrists behind their back. Their tails too had been wrapped in ponderous chain and attached to a weight that would make it impossible for the dragons to lift them.
The beauties were also muzzled, and as a final touch chained to the wall. From the way they were growling and snarling, threatening even with the bonds, they must have driven their trainer from the room.
Like all dragons, their scales covered the majority of their bodies, leaving only their faces, the majority of their torsos, and their groins. They had long, waist-length hair, as black as their skin and scales, messily tied back to keep it out of the way. In stark contrast, their eyes were the palest, most delicate blue.
Jasmine rounded on the fat, red fool as he came panting into the room. “Why were these two not shown to me? Did I not say I wanted the most exotic creatures you had? Why!” He banged his cane with each syllable, pleased to see the way the lazy bastard jumped and trembled. “Tell me this instant.”
“M-Milord…they are not suitable. You’ve seen we’ve had to fully restrain them.”
“Clarify ‘not suitable,’” Jasmine said coldly.
“They cannot be controlled. All methods are repelled. The only way to calm them is to sedate them, and that of course makes them useless. We have tried separating them, but—“
Jasmine banged his cane down hard. “Idiot! Why in Saint Rose’s name would you do such a foolish thing? If they are such a problem for you, sir, I will take them off your hands.” And treat them properly. Such beautiful creatures were not meant to be flesh.
“You cannot control them—“
“That is none of your affair,” Jasmine snarled. “I have said I will take them, and that is the end of the matter unless you’ve a better argument to make against it.”
“N-no, my lord.”
Jasmine nodded. “Then draw up the contract and present to me your best available trainers.”
Though the man obviously wanted to argue, it was equally obvious he’d finally grasped the futility of doing so. “Yes, my lord.”
“I can train them,” said a voice that could only be described as pure sex. Jasmine felt it shiver down his spine and straight to his cock. That it had even more deeply affected the fat, red fool was painfully obvious. Only one creature in all the world had such a voice, such an effect.
Jasmine turned to face the door, quirking his brow at the man calmly standing there. His hair was a deep, deep red, so rich and dark it could pass for black in lesser light, tied in a loose tail that fell over one shoulder and stopped halfway down his bare chest. Tight, black pants displayed further assets. His eyes were dark, and likely the same color, drawn out by dusky, copper skin. If Jasmine could almost be described as pretty, this man was definitely beautiful.
But Incubi faired poorly if they were not beautiful – from voice to features to natural born skill at all things sexual, they were the most tempting and dangerous of predators. Though…this one…
“You’re a halfling,” Jasmine said.
“Yes.” The half-incubus flashed a smile that looked far too fine on full, utterly kissable lips. His vocice stirred shivers that Jasmine repressed only with effort. “You’re quite observant.”
“One of my few positive traits,” Jasmine said. “Stop it.”
The half-incubus shrugged, and when he spoke again his voice caused no reaction. “As you like, I suppose.”
“What did you mean you could train them? What is your name?”
“Chanda. I can train them.”
“Then why were they not given into your care?” He could see now that Chanda was closer the black belladonna inked into the side of his throat, mostly hidden by his hair.
“He is expelled,” the stupid oaf replied curtly, though it came off as largely ridiculous when the fabric of his robes still showed the evidence of the effect of Chanda’s voice.
Jasmine quirked a brow at Chanda. “Expelled?”
Chanda’s face darkened. “Yes, I was on my way out when I saw a commotion in the dragons’ room.”
“Yes, and I may kill your guards alongside you for being so weak as to let you escape.”
“He is coming with me,” Jasmine said abruptly, causing both men to look at him in surprise. He looked coldly at the man in red. “Draw up the contracts, send them to me for signing.” He drew out a piece of paper from his dark blue jacket. “I will pay you then…though the halfling of course is free, as you already expelled him.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said unhappily.
“Then you are dismissed. Have you the keys to their chains?”
Nodding, the man handed over the keys and then all but bolted out of the room.
“Why were you expelled?” Jasmine asked idly, not particularly caring so long as Chanda wasn’t a rampaging killer.
Chanda shrugged. “They felt I was too involved in my training.”
Jasmine snorted. “You’re half-incubus. What makes you think you can control them?” He motioned to the twin dragons, who watched them both, pale eyes sharp, intent. “Close the door, remove their muzzles.”
“Yes, my lord. And I can control them because I am very, very good at what I do. Naturally.”
“Indeed” Jasmine replied. “My name is Jasmine; that is all I want to hear come from any of you.”
“As you wish, Jasmine,” Chanda replied with a faint smile, a thread of his power in his voice, making Jasmine want to shiver.
“Stop that.”
Chanda grinned. “It’s hard not to with you, my lord – Jasmine. You’re quite delectable.”
Jasmine rolled his eyes and waited as he freed the dragons’ mouths. “What are your names?” he asked them. “I am Jasmine Night, and require your assistance with a matter that has been dumped in my lap.”
The nearer of the two dragons bared his teeth, just slightly longer than human teeth, sharper. “We do not whore. If we earned punishment for killing those bastards, then we should be killed in our turn.”
“I have no doubt they probably deserved it,” Jasmine replied, “if it was yet more of the Emperor’s Army attempting to steal yet more land.”
“We will not help anyone,” the second dragon said. “Especially those who have done nothing but harm us. They tried to tear us apart!”
“Quiet,” the first dragon hissed.
“You are far too magnificent to be torn apart,” Chanda murmured, reaching out to stroke each dragon. “Only fools would think to do so.”
Jasmine almost laughed to see the way they jumped, recoiled, at the touch of an incubus. Even a halfling was dangerously powerful; they really lacked only the ability to invade dreams and alter their shape.
“Get away,” the first dragon hissed.
“Your touch is strange,” said the second.
Jasmine moved closer to them. “Have you never encountered an incubus? I guess the chances would be slim, they are quite rare…”
Chanda laughed and touched them each again, eyes glowing ever so faintly red.
The dragons growled low as the touch affected them, writhing in their chains, the evidence of the lust inspired by the incubus obvious.
“Stop it,” Jasmine snapped. “You’re a trainer, not a tormenter.”
“Same difference,” Chanda said, no small amount of bitterness in his voice. His eyes flashed again, and as he touched them the twins immediately calmed.
They growled. The second bared his teeth. “Do not do that again.”
“I was trying to calm you,” Chanda said calmly. “Transform your anger. We’re not here to hurt you.” He shot a questioning look at Jasmine. “What are we here to do?”
Jasmine sighed. “A few days ago the Vizier stormed from the palace and withdrew to his estate in the Untamed Mountains. No one knows why.”
“I heard about that,” Chanda said, surprised. “Are you going to fetch him? Why?”
“Because my brother has bid me do so,” Jasmine replied, “though he did not deign to tell me why I was so well suited to this task.”
Chanda tilted his head. “Why do you require flesh?”
“Exotic flesh,” Jasmine emphasized “Another demand of my brother’s. The Vizier apparently had quite the collection, once. He will appreciate fine flesh in another.” He motioned impatiently. “I detest the practice. So far as I am concerned, we are making a business arrangement and I will address that now. I will free you once I have your contracts in my hand. The papers are already drawn, I did it this morning. I’ve only your names and the relevant signatures to add.” He looked at Chanda. “That includes you.”
“Oh?” Chanda asked. Jasmine saw his fingers twitched, and wondered if Chanda had been about to touch his tattoo, as restricting in its way as the chains which bound the dragons. “What do you want in return?”
“For you to accompany me to the Vizier’s estate, acting in the role of flesh for the duration of the visit. Afterwards, you will be paid for your trouble and thereafter free to go.”
Chanda shook his head slowly. “Why should we believe this? You have no cause to do such a thing. Lord Night is a powerful man. You’ve no need to free flesh and a trainer for which more than a few men would pay a great fortune.”
“My brother is paying a great fortune for you,” Jasmine replied. “Which means he wants the Vizier back something fierce. Which means I will go about matters as I please and he has no room to complain. He has called in his debt, but I may repay it as I see fit. Do you agree or must I go find others?”
“I agree,” Chanda replied immediately. “My only other option is to return to what I was doing – fleeing before they could have me put down.”
Jasmine grimaced at the cruel term, which was exactly what the masters of the Auction Hall called it when they executed a slave or trainer. He turned to the dragons.
“We do not believe you.”
“Remove their chains,” Jasmine said.
Chanda nodded and did so.
Jasmine motioned to the door. “I have already claimed you, and it’s obvious no one can tame you. Go if you like.”
The second dragon drew close, ignoring his brother’s snarls. “You smell strange for a human.”
“I probably smell like musty books and horse. Those have been my only companions in the past day.”
“Hareret!” The first dragon hissed. “We are leaving.”
Hareret frowned at his brother. “I…do not think that is a good idea, Tenasuli. Anyway, I want to know why he smells strange.”
“He smells neglected,” Tenasuli said flatly, glaring furiously at Jasmine as if annoyed at him for smelling so.
Jasmine quirked a brow. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”
“You don’t even really know what you’re doing,” Tenasuli countered.
Jasmine threw his head back and laughed, pleased with the bold reply. “True. So I prefer to be prepared, and you will help that preparedness. I will pay whatever you deem proper, even cover your passage back home. I assure you it is not cheap.”
Tenasuli growled low. “So we really cannot simply leave, as you offered.”
“You can,” Jasmine said. “However, freedom means you must make your own way. I am offering you temporary employment, and I will ask of you nothing except not to give away my true purpose unless I give leave.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “I will not ask you to whore yourselves, I assure you.”
Hareret crossed to his brother and placed his hands on Tenasuli’s chest. “Please, Tena? I am curious.”
“Your curiosity is why we’re in this mess to begin with,” Tenasuli groused, but Jasmine could hear the defeat in it. “If we’d simply gone along the river…”
“The village would have been annihilated,” Hararet reprimanded, tail lashing sharply from side to side.
Tenasuli sighed. “I know. As you wish. You’re the one who makes all these decisions.”
“Thank you, Tena,” Hareret said with a smile, and leaned up to kiss his brother in a remarkably non-brotherly fashion. Jasmine caught himself staring, and rolled his eyes.
Chanda chuckled. “They are something to look upon. They make me hungry.”
“Which reminds me,” Jasmine said, eying the half-incubus. “Confine your feedings to me and the dragons, if they are amenable.”
Chanda bowed low, crimson-black hair spilling free of its loose confines at the abrupt movement. “You are my master, until such time as the arrangement is no longer required.” He looked up and flashed a smile that could only be described as predatory, and his voice when he spoke again held a bit of seductive power. “Rest assured, I shall feel no compulsion to dine upon another.”
Jasmine could not entirely repress a shiver. “However did they keep you under control?”
“The tattoo,” Chanda said shortly, his dark eyes dulling. “It can be used to make my life quite miserable.”
“I see,” Jasmine said, not surprised at all. He almost asked what specifically they did, but even he knew that was poor manners and he didn’t want to harass a man who’d agreed to help him.
He looked over his three new companions, silently cursing his brother for forcing him into this. Couldn’t he have called in his debt in a different fashion? Ah, well. Nothing to be done but to press on. “Shall we to my home then?”
“Where is home?” Hareret asked.
“A great tower deep in the royal woods,” Jasmine replied. “It’s quite lovely, and secluded. About five hours from here, and I would very much like to return home tonight thought the journey will be exhausting.”
Chanda nodded. The dragons exchanged a glance, then nodded as well.
Jasmine returned it, then rapped his cane and turned to lead the way out of the Auction Hall and to his home.
YARGH I say.
The Captain’s Secret
So far the journey was proving to be pointless.
And frustrating.
And tedious.
And damn it all he really wanted a drink.
Throwing down his pen in disgust, Anil snatched up his coat and strode from the cabin, swiftly making his way to the main deck. The night was brisk, just short of being unpleasant, thick with fog, making it seem as though the ship was entirely alone in the world.
Which, given they were leagues away from the trade routes, was more or less true.
Anil sighed as the ship bells rang the second hour of the morning, and pulled his spectacles off to rub tiredly at the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t write his reports—
Mostly because those reports left a foul taste in his mouth. He detested playing snoop. It was completely against everything he considered himself to be.
A man, for one. A gentleman, for another. Not a slimy little weasel.
Who didn’t have much choice if he didn’t want to go to debtor’s prison for his father’s debts. Bloody hell, why couldn’t the bastard have lived long enough to go to jail for his own debts…but if his father had been good at anything, it had been foisting his obligations upon his only child.
Tired of his own thoughts, Anil leaned upon the railing and stared out at the dark water and fog, wondering what else might be out there. Did it feel equally alone?
Were its thoughts as stupid as his own?
The sound of boots rapping sharply across the deck was his only warning before Anil found himself with company on the railing. “Milord, you are up late…or perhaps early.”
“Early implies one woke,” Anil said with a soft snort. “Sadly, I never was able to take to my bed.” He didn’t look at Captain Duff, knowing he’d just wind up staring in a most unbecoming fashion.
Though was he entirely to blame that the good Captain was so very worth staring at?
Clean shaven, for one, unlike the majority of those who had given themselves over to the sea. By night, his dark brown hair probably looked black, and Anil wondered if he’d finally restored the single strand that had escaped the confines of the green ribbon the Captain usually favored for restraining it. Stern but handsome features, the kind that would only improve with age, rather than decline. Best of all were his eyes, however. A deep, rich blue that Anile found more and more appealing every time he was foolish enough to look into them. He bet right now they looked as black as the sea.
Certainly they were that unfathomable.
He knew the man knew what he was up to, his true purpose. Subterfuge was not Anil’s game and so he played it poorly.
From the moment he’d been given his choice, and known there was no choice at all, he had not wanted to do it. Had loathed doing it.
Then he’d met Captain Duff, who was as wonderful as he was handsome, if a bit brusque and hard to fathom, and had very nearly given up.
It shouldn’t make him feel this wretched. Captain Duff was a merchant. He had his routes, his cargo, and had been declared one of the best of the business. Until six months ago, or so Anil had been told, when he’d begun to run days longer than once he had. Consistently. Suspiciously.
His employers suspected their Captain was up to something, some manner of smuggling perhaps. Illicit trade of some sort. Yet not a single one of their attempts to uncover his mischief had yielded results.
Anil wondered glumly if they’d dump him overboard or drop him on a sad strip of forgotten land. He was truly puzzled as to why Captain Duff hadn’t gotten rid of him yet. It wasn’t as though he’d be missed.
Which brought up the question of what he was supposed to do if he survived this wretched journey. His reports he’d post to the Magistrate, who had gotten him tangled up in this mess because he was friends with Duff’s employer and…there was a whole tangled web there that Anil simply did not feel like untangling.
After posting his reports…he would have nothing. His payment for this endeavor was not to be thrown in prison. Which left him with nothing, not even a recommendation with which to obtain work.
Ah, well. He would deal with that if he made it to shore. It was not as though he could solve the problem now.
Even if he could, the problem of the man beside him was far more pressing. Or at least distracting.
“Feeling too guilty to sleep, perhaps?” Captain Duff asked with purposeful casualness.
Anil froze, then gave a long sigh and stared out into the fog. “Most likely. I’m a copy clerk, not a sneak.” There, it was out in the open. All his worries began to ease with nothing more than a few simple words.
Of course, those words may as well have been ‘death warrant’ but Anil found himself hard pressed to care. Perhaps he could coax the Captain into a farewell kiss. The whimsical, idiotic thought made him smile faintly.
“You confess to such heinous behavior and yet smile?” Captain Duff demanded sharply
“No, Captain,” Anil said. “My relief at being able to give up the poor ruse has caused my mind to turn to nonsensical notions. I apologize.” He finally turned to look at the Captain, dreading what he’d see but feeling he should – and about fell over.
Always Captain Duff was dressed to the letter of his station. Three weeks now they’d been at sea, and not once had Anil seen him less than fully dressed.
Oh, he wished the bastard was fully dressed now. But no, the Fates continued to conspire against him. Anil wondered morosely which of the six Fates he’d so horribly offended to deserve this wretched life.
Captain Duff was barely dressed – nothing more than his boots, breeches, and a shirt on which the laces were barely done up. Sadly, his hair was still confined minus the one renegade strand. Anil wanted to tuck it back, then sink his fingers into that soft-looking hair and tug the Captain down for a long, slow kiss…
He looked hastily away before his face could betray his thoughts. “I extend further apologies for my presence, Captain. If I’d had a choice in the matter, I would have come simply to enjoy the journey.” Wholly ignoring the fact he couldn’t afford a loaf of bread, never mind passage on a ship as grand as the Bridget, named for the ship owner’s wife. No, he’d never be able to afford such a thing.
Though he desperately wished. How very fine a thing it would be to simply sail and sail…though he would make a poor sailor, he rather suspected. His life was ink and paper, indexing and organizing. He much preferred writing and reading to climbing about the rigging. Now that would be interesting, to write accountings of sailors and ships. All the stories they must have…
Another fanciful notion. Honestly, he was getting too ridiculous to stand himself. Feeling tired, Anil resumed speaking. “Did you wish to throw me overboard, Captain? Or could I trust to your leniency that you’ll wait until we’re ashore to be rid of me?”
“I have often noted your birthmark, milord.”
Anil frowned, thrown by the jarring shift in conversation. Then he snorted softly. “I do think we can give up that ‘milord’ nonsense. My name is Anil, you may use it. Please, Captain.” His fingers went automatically to his left cheek, and the birthmark there which was shaped vaguely like a fish – as though drawn by the clumsy hands of a small child. “My mother says the sea blessed me. I have oft believed it was to mark a curse rather than a blessing.”
“Mmm,” Captain Duff replied noncommittally. “Your pendant is quite fine. Fine western gold, I am amazed you did not sell it to help pay your father’s debts.”
Shock and rippled through Anil and he spun sharply around to face the Captain. “So you have known the full extent of it this entire time? What have you been about then, sir? Merely toying with me? Having a laugh at my expense?” Fates curse them all, was he always to be the one to suffer at another’s expense?
“I knew all of it but you,” the Captain replied, dark eyes locked with Anil’s. “I’ve a boy in the office of the bastard for whom I work. He told me all about the arrangement between the magistrate, my employer, and yourself.” He motioned toward his cabin. “Shall we speak inside? I promise I intend you no harm. If I did, you would have gone over the side like the last few snoops.”
Not bothering to point out that he had no choice but to obey, Anil nodded and silently followed Captain Duff to his quarters. Inside, he took the seat to which the Captain waived him
Unbreakable
He stifled an unseemly groan as they finally reached the Markets.
Everywhere around him was the stench of too much flesh and not enough bathing. The air was only further thickened with a confusion of emotion – anger, anticipation, excitement, misery, lust, and greed.
If he’d ever forgotten why he detested the Markets, he was quickly being reminded. Truly he wanted nothing more at this moment than to turn his horse back around, strangle his brother, then return to his tower and books.
Far, far away from the idiocy of the rest of the world.
Instead he grit his teeth and rode up the steps of the Auction Hall. The place was despicable, though it was as grandly built as the Holy Palace itself. But where the Holy Palace was white and silver, the Auction Hall was a black and gold. Where the Holy Palace was elegant, refined, beautiful, and smart enough to hide its debaucheries behind doors and curtains…the Auction Hall was nothing but a noxious pit of flesh.
With an effort he kept a sneer of disgust from his face.
Only for his brother, and in the name of a great debt, would he stoop so low.
So very, very low.
Not that anyone but he thought it so, even his brother had a lovely collection…
Heaving a sigh, he carefully dismounted and pulled his cane from its holster on his saddle. He handed his horse off to the boy that came scurrying up, pressing a silver into his palm before turning to greet the fat, red-clad, sausage-like figure that came lumbering down the steps toward him, face as red as his clothes from the exertion.
“Milord! I offer my most profuse apologies for not being here to greet you properly. I received his lordship’s missive only a couple of minutes ago.” He bowed low. “Welcome to the Auction Hall, Lord Night.”
“My brother is Lord Night. If you must call me something, then Jasmine will suffice.”
“Yes, my lord. If I might say so, you look very much like your brother.”
Jasmine accepted the compliment with a nod, stifling a tired sigh. Why people thought it so flattering to tell him he looked so much like his brother, he would never understand. All they were doing, often intentionally, was implying that he only looked like his brother. Fair skin, white-blond hair, pale gray eyes, tall, broad-shouldered, with the fine, almost pretty features so much a trademark of their line.
In no other way did he resemble his brother. Mandrake was charming, Jasmine was not. Mandrake was witty, talkative, smooth, and overall of an agreeable nature. Jasmine’s closest friends were his books and pets. He could not hold a pleasant conversation to save his life. Mandrake was perfect in nearly every conceivable way. Jasmine had more flaws than could be counted, though the worst were often stated to be his limp and lack of manners.
“Now, I believe all should be arranged in one of the private auction rooms? I do not care to join the general crowds…” Jasmine grimaced. He did not care for that one bit. He rapped his cane on the steps to emphasize his point.
The man bowed. “Of course, Lord Jasmine. Right this way.” Turning, he led the way up the obsidian steps and into the Auction Hall, weaving through a maze of hallways before stopping at last before a door that looked, to Jasmine, much like all the rest. “If my lord will take a seat and make himself comfortable, we will begin bringing in those which might be of interest.”
Jasmine nodded and obeyed, making a face as he entered the room. Decorated in red and gold, the room could not have been more distasteful if it had tried. Oh, he was certain many found it pleasing, but he wanted nothing more than to return to his tower.
He refused offers of food and wine, sitting in stony silence as one bit of flesh after another was presented to him. In the main, all flesh was auctioned off. The auctions ranged from the large general auction to various private auctions. However, in some cases – such as when your brother was the second most powerful man in the country – there were no auctions. He had only to choose what he liked and pay for it.
So far nothing was pleasing.
If he was going to draw out the Vizier, he would need better slaves than what he was seeing.
“Have you anything more…exotic? I have seen far too many similar to those I’ve been shown amongst the court. I need something wholly original.”
The fat man in red – perhaps asking his name might get Jasmine better results, but he didn’t particularly care – shifted restlessly in discomfort. “My lord, we have emptied all the prime cells. The flesh displayed is the finest on offer.”
Jasmine sneered. If this was all they had to offer, he was a simpering miss.
Given that only three hours ago his looking glass had shown him still to be quite clearly masculine – the simpering oaf was lying. Fine, he could play this game. “Then I guess I shall have to come again tomorrow.” Not bothering to give the flesh still displayed nor the fat man another glance, he stalked from the room and back through the halls, pleased that he’d remembered every twist and turn.
On what he knew to be the third to last turn he had left, Jasmine was drawn up short before a door that strangely had been left wide open.
Or maybe recently opened, if the creatures inside were anything by which to judge.
Exquisite. Here was the flesh he’d been looking for all day. In fact, they were far beyond even his highest hopes. Ignoring the shouts of protest he vaguely realized were directed at him from both close by and further down the hall, he stepped into the room to get a closer look.
Dragons. Twin dragons. He had never heard of such a thing, but there was no mistaking that was precisely what these were. Both were stark black, ebony skin as rich and dark as the obsidian walls of the Auction Hall, scales holding an opalescent shine.
They must be problematic, for their bonds were extreme – thick bands of iron around their throats, to which were attached heavy chains that coiled around their arms before wrapping around their wrists behind their back. Their tails too had been wrapped in ponderous chain and attached to a weight that would make it impossible for the dragons to lift them.
The beauties were also muzzled, and as a final touch chained to the wall. From the way they were growling and snarling, threatening even with the bonds, they must have driven their trainer from the room.
Like all dragons, their scales covered the majority of their bodies, leaving only their faces, the majority of their torsos, and their groins. They had long, waist-length hair, as black as their skin and scales, messily tied back to keep it out of the way. In stark contrast, their eyes were the palest, most delicate blue.
Jasmine rounded on the fat, red fool as he came panting into the room. “Why were these two not shown to me? Did I not say I wanted the most exotic creatures you had? Why!” He banged his cane with each syllable, pleased to see the way the lazy bastard jumped and trembled. “Tell me this instant.”
“M-Milord…they are not suitable. You’ve seen we’ve had to fully restrain them.”
“Clarify ‘not suitable,’” Jasmine said coldly.
“They cannot be controlled. All methods are repelled. The only way to calm them is to sedate them, and that of course makes them useless. We have tried separating them, but—“
Jasmine banged his cane down hard. “Idiot! Why in Saint Rose’s name would you do such a foolish thing? If they are such a problem for you, sir, I will take them off your hands.” And treat them properly. Such beautiful creatures were not meant to be flesh.
“You cannot control them—“
“That is none of your affair,” Jasmine snarled. “I have said I will take them, and that is the end of the matter unless you’ve a better argument to make against it.”
“N-no, my lord.”
Jasmine nodded. “Then draw up the contract and present to me your best available trainers.”
Though the man obviously wanted to argue, it was equally obvious he’d finally grasped the futility of doing so. “Yes, my lord.”
“I can train them,” said a voice that could only be described as pure sex. Jasmine felt it shiver down his spine and straight to his cock. That it had even more deeply affected the fat, red fool was painfully obvious. Only one creature in all the world had such a voice, such an effect.
Jasmine turned to face the door, quirking his brow at the man calmly standing there. His hair was a deep, deep red, so rich and dark it could pass for black in lesser light, tied in a loose tail that fell over one shoulder and stopped halfway down his bare chest. Tight, black pants displayed further assets. His eyes were dark, and likely the same color, drawn out by dusky, copper skin. If Jasmine could almost be described as pretty, this man was definitely beautiful.
But Incubi faired poorly if they were not beautiful – from voice to features to natural born skill at all things sexual, they were the most tempting and dangerous of predators. Though…this one…
“You’re a halfling,” Jasmine said.
“Yes.” The half-incubus flashed a smile that looked far too fine on full, utterly kissable lips. His vocice stirred shivers that Jasmine repressed only with effort. “You’re quite observant.”
“One of my few positive traits,” Jasmine said. “Stop it.”
The half-incubus shrugged, and when he spoke again his voice caused no reaction. “As you like, I suppose.”
“What did you mean you could train them? What is your name?”
“Chanda. I can train them.”
“Then why were they not given into your care?” He could see now that Chanda was closer the black belladonna inked into the side of his throat, mostly hidden by his hair.
“He is expelled,” the stupid oaf replied curtly, though it came off as largely ridiculous when the fabric of his robes still showed the evidence of the effect of Chanda’s voice.
Jasmine quirked a brow at Chanda. “Expelled?”
Chanda’s face darkened. “Yes, I was on my way out when I saw a commotion in the dragons’ room.”
“Yes, and I may kill your guards alongside you for being so weak as to let you escape.”
“He is coming with me,” Jasmine said abruptly, causing both men to look at him in surprise. He looked coldly at the man in red. “Draw up the contracts, send them to me for signing.” He drew out a piece of paper from his dark blue jacket. “I will pay you then…though the halfling of course is free, as you already expelled him.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said unhappily.
“Then you are dismissed. Have you the keys to their chains?”
Nodding, the man handed over the keys and then all but bolted out of the room.
“Why were you expelled?” Jasmine asked idly, not particularly caring so long as Chanda wasn’t a rampaging killer.
Chanda shrugged. “They felt I was too involved in my training.”
Jasmine snorted. “You’re half-incubus. What makes you think you can control them?” He motioned to the twin dragons, who watched them both, pale eyes sharp, intent. “Close the door, remove their muzzles.”
“Yes, my lord. And I can control them because I am very, very good at what I do. Naturally.”
“Indeed” Jasmine replied. “My name is Jasmine; that is all I want to hear come from any of you.”
“As you wish, Jasmine,” Chanda replied with a faint smile, a thread of his power in his voice, making Jasmine want to shiver.
“Stop that.”
Chanda grinned. “It’s hard not to with you, my lord – Jasmine. You’re quite delectable.”
Jasmine rolled his eyes and waited as he freed the dragons’ mouths. “What are your names?” he asked them. “I am Jasmine Night, and require your assistance with a matter that has been dumped in my lap.”
The nearer of the two dragons bared his teeth, just slightly longer than human teeth, sharper. “We do not whore. If we earned punishment for killing those bastards, then we should be killed in our turn.”
“I have no doubt they probably deserved it,” Jasmine replied, “if it was yet more of the Emperor’s Army attempting to steal yet more land.”
“We will not help anyone,” the second dragon said. “Especially those who have done nothing but harm us. They tried to tear us apart!”
“Quiet,” the first dragon hissed.
“You are far too magnificent to be torn apart,” Chanda murmured, reaching out to stroke each dragon. “Only fools would think to do so.”
Jasmine almost laughed to see the way they jumped, recoiled, at the touch of an incubus. Even a halfling was dangerously powerful; they really lacked only the ability to invade dreams and alter their shape.
“Get away,” the first dragon hissed.
“Your touch is strange,” said the second.
Jasmine moved closer to them. “Have you never encountered an incubus? I guess the chances would be slim, they are quite rare…”
Chanda laughed and touched them each again, eyes glowing ever so faintly red.
The dragons growled low as the touch affected them, writhing in their chains, the evidence of the lust inspired by the incubus obvious.
“Stop it,” Jasmine snapped. “You’re a trainer, not a tormenter.”
“Same difference,” Chanda said, no small amount of bitterness in his voice. His eyes flashed again, and as he touched them the twins immediately calmed.
They growled. The second bared his teeth. “Do not do that again.”
“I was trying to calm you,” Chanda said calmly. “Transform your anger. We’re not here to hurt you.” He shot a questioning look at Jasmine. “What are we here to do?”
Jasmine sighed. “A few days ago the Vizier stormed from the palace and withdrew to his estate in the Untamed Mountains. No one knows why.”
“I heard about that,” Chanda said, surprised. “Are you going to fetch him? Why?”
“Because my brother has bid me do so,” Jasmine replied, “though he did not deign to tell me why I was so well suited to this task.”
Chanda tilted his head. “Why do you require flesh?”
“Exotic flesh,” Jasmine emphasized “Another demand of my brother’s. The Vizier apparently had quite the collection, once. He will appreciate fine flesh in another.” He motioned impatiently. “I detest the practice. So far as I am concerned, we are making a business arrangement and I will address that now. I will free you once I have your contracts in my hand. The papers are already drawn, I did it this morning. I’ve only your names and the relevant signatures to add.” He looked at Chanda. “That includes you.”
“Oh?” Chanda asked. Jasmine saw his fingers twitched, and wondered if Chanda had been about to touch his tattoo, as restricting in its way as the chains which bound the dragons. “What do you want in return?”
“For you to accompany me to the Vizier’s estate, acting in the role of flesh for the duration of the visit. Afterwards, you will be paid for your trouble and thereafter free to go.”
Chanda shook his head slowly. “Why should we believe this? You have no cause to do such a thing. Lord Night is a powerful man. You’ve no need to free flesh and a trainer for which more than a few men would pay a great fortune.”
“My brother is paying a great fortune for you,” Jasmine replied. “Which means he wants the Vizier back something fierce. Which means I will go about matters as I please and he has no room to complain. He has called in his debt, but I may repay it as I see fit. Do you agree or must I go find others?”
“I agree,” Chanda replied immediately. “My only other option is to return to what I was doing – fleeing before they could have me put down.”
Jasmine grimaced at the cruel term, which was exactly what the masters of the Auction Hall called it when they executed a slave or trainer. He turned to the dragons.
“We do not believe you.”
“Remove their chains,” Jasmine said.
Chanda nodded and did so.
Jasmine motioned to the door. “I have already claimed you, and it’s obvious no one can tame you. Go if you like.”
The second dragon drew close, ignoring his brother’s snarls. “You smell strange for a human.”
“I probably smell like musty books and horse. Those have been my only companions in the past day.”
“Hareret!” The first dragon hissed. “We are leaving.”
Hareret frowned at his brother. “I…do not think that is a good idea, Tenasuli. Anyway, I want to know why he smells strange.”
“He smells neglected,” Tenasuli said flatly, glaring furiously at Jasmine as if annoyed at him for smelling so.
Jasmine quirked a brow. “I would greatly appreciate your assistance.”
“You don’t even really know what you’re doing,” Tenasuli countered.
Jasmine threw his head back and laughed, pleased with the bold reply. “True. So I prefer to be prepared, and you will help that preparedness. I will pay whatever you deem proper, even cover your passage back home. I assure you it is not cheap.”
Tenasuli growled low. “So we really cannot simply leave, as you offered.”
“You can,” Jasmine said. “However, freedom means you must make your own way. I am offering you temporary employment, and I will ask of you nothing except not to give away my true purpose unless I give leave.” His mouth twisted in distaste. “I will not ask you to whore yourselves, I assure you.”
Hareret crossed to his brother and placed his hands on Tenasuli’s chest. “Please, Tena? I am curious.”
“Your curiosity is why we’re in this mess to begin with,” Tenasuli groused, but Jasmine could hear the defeat in it. “If we’d simply gone along the river…”
“The village would have been annihilated,” Hararet reprimanded, tail lashing sharply from side to side.
Tenasuli sighed. “I know. As you wish. You’re the one who makes all these decisions.”
“Thank you, Tena,” Hareret said with a smile, and leaned up to kiss his brother in a remarkably non-brotherly fashion. Jasmine caught himself staring, and rolled his eyes.
Chanda chuckled. “They are something to look upon. They make me hungry.”
“Which reminds me,” Jasmine said, eying the half-incubus. “Confine your feedings to me and the dragons, if they are amenable.”
Chanda bowed low, crimson-black hair spilling free of its loose confines at the abrupt movement. “You are my master, until such time as the arrangement is no longer required.” He looked up and flashed a smile that could only be described as predatory, and his voice when he spoke again held a bit of seductive power. “Rest assured, I shall feel no compulsion to dine upon another.”
Jasmine could not entirely repress a shiver. “However did they keep you under control?”
“The tattoo,” Chanda said shortly, his dark eyes dulling. “It can be used to make my life quite miserable.”
“I see,” Jasmine said, not surprised at all. He almost asked what specifically they did, but even he knew that was poor manners and he didn’t want to harass a man who’d agreed to help him.
He looked over his three new companions, silently cursing his brother for forcing him into this. Couldn’t he have called in his debt in a different fashion? Ah, well. Nothing to be done but to press on. “Shall we to my home then?”
“Where is home?” Hareret asked.
“A great tower deep in the royal woods,” Jasmine replied. “It’s quite lovely, and secluded. About five hours from here, and I would very much like to return home tonight thought the journey will be exhausting.”
Chanda nodded. The dragons exchanged a glance, then nodded as well.
Jasmine returned it, then rapped his cane and turned to lead the way out of the Auction Hall and to his home.
no subject
Date: 2007-03-17 01:10 pm (UTC)No, you should be upset I had to go to bed without more story!