I think I give up
Nov. 4th, 2007 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrWas trying to work on another story, that until now has been cooperating. I think I'm screwing it up -__- I don't know what's wrong with me, of late. Maybe by now I'm just being paranoid.
Blah.
The problem is, I'm not sure where to go from here. It just shows every evidence of going on and on with no real point.
So fed up.
Ugh. Think I'm going to get my laundry started, then read or write short, cute drabbles that are hard to fuck up. Wanted to work on Weathermage, but if I screw that up I think I'll start crying.
So, one more for the scrap heap, b/c I'm pretty sure I've managed to kill it. Go me -__-
And a small bit of it is NWS, as an FYI.
Something Wicked
"What is it?"
"Body?" The first mate considered the thing in the water. "Pretty sure it's a body. Captain."
Rolling his eyes, he ordered his men to haul the body up. "We can't leave him to rot, can we?"
"Depends, Captain. That damned storm has put us pretty far off course. We got food enough?"
"For one extra mouth? Yes, and I’m about to throw Crane overboard anyway."
"Aye, Captain." His first mate turned his full attention to ordering the men about.
"Bring him to my quarters when he's fished out."
He strode briskly back to his quarters, tugging up the collar of his thick wool coat. The Northern runs were the most lucrative, but there were very good reasons precious few were willing to do them, never mind do them regularly.
Only minutes after he was inside, the door banged open again and a sopping wet figure was deposited on his bed.
"Out," he ordered, motioning for his first mate to stay. "Maine," he said when the door had closed, leaving them alone, "what say you?"
"He should be dead," Maine said flatly. He was damp from sea spray and supervising the retrieval, but if the cold water bothered him he made no show. Bits of black hair peeked out from beneath his dark blue watch cap. "It's fucking freezing, Captain. He's breathing, if only just, and look at him laying there. He's not getting worse, even though we're not treating him." Dark green eyes met his unflinchingly. "I say toss him back."
Striding over to the bed, he bent over the unconscious man and examined him thoroughly – but it only took a moment's glance to see the telltale livid scarlet bite low on the man's throat, right where it met his shoulders. "He may not be completely gone. Depending on how far off course we are, we may be able to reach an antidote in time."
"Captain…"
Ice looked up, and green eyes flinched from his pale gray. "I will keep an eye on him; if he starts to prove a danger I will kill him myself."
"It's your ship of course, Captain," Maine said with a sigh. "Should I inform the men?"
"Aye," Ice replied. "They'll suspect it anyway; no good will come from hiding it. No panicking or misbehavior or I'll make them work without their coats."
Maine gave a sharp nod. "Aye, Captain." He turned sharply on his heel and strode from the room. The door closed on the sound of him barking orders.
Ice sighed and looked at the headache in his bed, then slowly began to strip and clean him.
When he finally finished some time later, the man was warm and dry and looked much better – minus the lurid bite mark on his neck, but there was nothing to be done for that, so far out in the middle of nowhere. Mermaid antidotes weren't something even he could obtain easily.
Sighing again, he stowed the supplies he'd dragged out and laid another blanket over the unfortunate young man in his bed.
Not all that young, really. Ice was thirty-five, the stranger couldn't be much below that. It was hard to tell, for he was handsome enough to almost be pretty. Finer features, more delicate than was normal for Northern natives. The coloring was all Northern though – skin weathered by sun and cold, the ebony hair, and very likely his eyes were green. Maine was the only native Northerner amongst his crew – the rest preferred to keep their origins vague, though Ice could pick'em out if he really felt like it.
Which he didn't. In their line of business, not asking questions was the height of courtesy and promoted camaraderie – and obedience. Not that anyone would dare to disobey him anyway.
Raking a hand through his own sandy hair, Ice moved to the table and retrieved the book he'd been reading before the watch had called man overboard. He drank his wine and read quietly, looking up occasionally to check on his unexpected guest, pausing only when the midday meal was brought to him
The bell was marking a quarter past the second hour when his guest stirred, groaning and whimpering. Ice set his book down even as the noises subsided, but by the time he'd crossed the few short steps the bed, the man's eyes were flickering open.
Green, but a cool mint rather than the darker pine of Maine's eyes. They were hazy, distant – but rapidly came to focus.
"The storm – mermaids –"
Ice grabbed his hand before the man could reach up to touch the wound that was no doubt stinging and throbbing on his neck despite the ointment rubbed into it. "Yes," Ice said, as gently as he could even though gentle wasn't really something he did well – or at all. "You were bitten."
The man closed his eyes. "I had been hoping it was a dream." He slowly opened them again, the shadows in his eyes running deep. "Why did you bother to rescue me?"
"I will not leave a man to drown if there is the slightest chance of saving him," Ice replied, slowly letting go of the man's hand. It was warm, soft against his own sea-roughened hand. "Do not touch the wound; it will exacerbate it. Before that storm struck, we were but two weeks from Port Rayne."
A glum nod was the only reply.
Ice shook him. "Do not give up just yet; that helps nothing."
"I was bitten by a mermaid," the man said bitterly. His mouth twisted into what should have been a smile but somehow wasn't. "I don't even like fish."
Letting his hand fall away, Ice stood and strode back to the table, picking up his brandy and carrying it back to the bed, pressing the glass into the man's hands. "On the bright side, when this is over and you are alive and well and living on land, you will have learned to like fish."
The man looked at him, startled and blinking – then laughed weakly, but truly. "I suppose that is one way to look at it."
"My name is Niles Morgan. Pretty much everyone calls me Ice." He smiled. "Or Captain."
"Thank you, Captain, for rescuing me," the man said quietly. "My name is Beau Delmar." His fingers twitched, no doubt he wanted to touch the wound on his neck, but they remained twisted in the blankets.
Ice tried to keep him distracted. "What were you doing at sea?"
"Trying to get home, actually," Beau said with a sigh. "My job in Black Wood was…terminated unexpectedly, and that left me with precious little funding. I decided it was better simply to return home than starve to death on the streets."
Curious. "What did you do?"
Beau laughed, but it was a sad sound. "I was an artist."
"Was? Have you lost your talent?"
"I've lost my stupidity," Beau said, voice going abruptly flat. "My family has been urging me to give up my nonsense and return home ever since I left – they will be delighted to know I have at last seen reason."
Stranger and stranger. "I…how does an artist lose his job to the point he must go home?"
Beau gave another one of his sad laughs. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. I am doomed one way or another." He smiled, and for a moment Ice almost thought he was on the verge of tears. "Who knows? Perhaps I will luck out by turning into a mermaid after all."
Ice frowned, and reminded himself this stranger's problems were not his own. His involvement ended with getting the man to shore; and even that he did not have to do – no one would hold it against him for tossing a bitten man overboard.
He wouldn't, couldn't, do that though. Not so long as there was any chance to help – hopefully they would reach Port Rayne swiftly.
Meanwhile, he would do what he could for his forlorn guest. "You're aboard the merchant ship The Wicked. We deal mostly in textiles, perfumes, and spices, but dabble in various other things." He smiled. "Up this way, no one refuses whatever shipments make it to port."
That earned him a brief but genuine laugh, and the moment of levity did much to make Beau's face truly pretty.
Ice shook off the wayward thought. "Are you hungry?"
"A bit," Beau replied.
"I'll have something brought." He winked. "Not fish."
"Yet," Beau said, expression one of resignation.
"Cheer up," Ice replied. "It's not over 'til it's over. You shouldn't give up."
Beau shrugged and did not reply.
Ice moved to the door to call for food.
When it came, he watched Beau eat for a few minutes. The signs so far were good; the bite could not be more than a few hours old. Pleased, Ice left him to finish his meal in piece and went to join his first and second mates on the poop deck. They both nodded to him, but did not break their discussion of the ship's new route.
He listened to every detail, nodding in approval as the second mate finished relating the changes to their course. "Carry on," he said idly, moving to the railing to peer at the clouds barely visible off in the distance.
Night would fall rapidly, bringing with it an even nastier chill than the one currently plaguing them. He both loved and hated these cold waters; part of him remembered what they had taken, yet too much of his history was here to put it behind him forever.
A couple of days, barring any more unforeseen delays, and they could all bunk down for the ugliest part of winter. He thought briefly of the goods stuffing the hold nearly to its full capacity and smirked.
His first mate joined him at the railing, and Ice broke off his wandering thoughts. "Maine, how fare we?"
"Well enough, all things considered, Captain," Maine replied, giving him a look that was part resigned, part reproving. "Clouds shouldn't be a problem, but one never knows really. We're about half a day behind. I say it's a good thing we've no competition to worry about." He tugged irritably at his watch cap, glaring at the gray-blue water.
Ice grinned. "No one will ever sail these waters as well as we."
"Aye, Captain," Maine agreed. "No one else is mad or foolish enough." He smiled briefly, the expression gone almost as quickly as it had come. "It takes a man crazy enough to dive into an icy sea for a string of pearls to brave these waters on a regular basis."
"Aye, and what manner of crew does it take?"
Maine rolled his eyes. "A ship of fools."
Ice laughed softly. "How is my crew?"
"Fine, so long as the mermaid stays locked up."
Ice grunted. "He is not a mermaid yet. Do not give up before the battle is over." He turned to Maine, looking at the man in disapproval. "If you had been bitten, how would you feel if I simply left you to drown or turn? Remember that the crew looks to you after me, Maine. Be positive."
"Aye, Captain," Maine said, bowing his head to acknowledge the reprimand. "You're still quite mad to do it."
"Diving into frozen seas will do that to a man, or so they say," Ice replied idly.
Maine rolled his eyes and left him to return his attention to the crew, calling out to the men in the rigging.
Leaving him to it, Ice cast his eye once more on the distant clouds, then left the poop deck to venture below decks. Down in the hold, a man sat bent over sheaves of paper at a table, crates and barrels and sacks all around him. The lantern on his table flickered and wavered, glinting off the gold-rimmed spectacles he wore. A quill flew as he made notes, scratching out words here, adding them there, muttering softly all the while.
"Everest," Ice greeted.
"Captain," Everest replied, looking up and smiling in greeting, pushing up his spectacles and setting aside his quill. "Good afternoon. I hear we've acquired a bite victim."
Ice nodded. "Aye."
Everest nodded and picked his quill back up, dipping it in a bottle of ink and resuming his work. "I hope for his sake, then, that we make port soon."
"Day after tomorrow, ideally," Ice replied. "Cargo still well?"
"Of course," Everest said derisively.
Ice glanced briefly at the scribbling and mark outs. "What are you working on?"
"Calculating the best possible way to disperse the spices."
Grinning, Ice moved past the desk to the room beyond, patting the casks secured within it with fondness. "We'll not be wanting for anything once this stuff is sold. A fine haul indeed, Everest."
"Aye, Captain," Everest said dryly, voice muffled a bit through the walls.
Ice viewed his acquisition with no small amount of smug pleasure. "I do like trading in spices." He strode back out to rejoin Everest.
"The finest Tamboria Spice money can buy," Everest said dryly. "Assuming we get it past customs, of course."
Ice laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "That is why I have you, my fine supercargo. If there is any one acquisition about which I should be bragging, it is most certainly you."
"I aim to be a valuable commodity, Captain," Everest replied with a smirk.
Snickering, Ice clapped his shoulder once more and then stepped away. "I would show you my appreciation for all your hard work, but I think perhaps you would rather have the appreciation of my first mate."
Everest glowered. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Captain."
"I'm sure," Ice agreed, smirking at him before turning away with a wave. "Carry on, Everest. Do not forget to eat."
"Aye, Captain." The words were faint, muffled by the creaking of the ship and the sound of the sea as he climbed back up.
He glanced around the ship, nodding when he saw nothing out of place. Searching out Maine, he signaled that he was to be left alone, then strode to his quarters.
A glance at the bed revealed Beau, dead to the world and likely to stay that way for awhile yet. If the way he was tangled up in those blankets was any indication, his sleep had been restless. Ice crossed the small space and slowly went about untangling him, settling him more comfortably and unable to resist letting his fingers run through the raven's wing hair, across one finely-sculpted cheek.
He tugged the blankets up and turned sharply away, rolling his eyes at himself. Truly he would be grateful when they finally reached Port Rayne. The moment the cargo had been sold and the crew paid, he intended to find himself a bottle of quality wine and a pretty boy with an eager mouth.
Glancing at his table, he grunted in approval that someone had brought him a fresh bottle of wine – deep red, faintly sweet, cheap but good. Stripping out of his winter gear, he uncorked his wine and retrieved his abandoned book. If during his reading his eyes occasionally strayed more often than strictly necessary to the man in his bed…well, there was no harm in looking.
*~*~*
Beau opened his eyes slowly, fighting the lethargy that still clung to him. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and stared uncomprehending at the view a few feet away.
Quite the view it was.
A mess of sandy hair around features too sharply carved to be handsome, but attractive all the same. Broad shoulders, the kind meant for grabbing, sinking nails into to pull the well-sculpted body closer.
The shirt laces were mostly undone, baring more than a hint of the muscled chest beneath…and a string of pearls wrapped around the man's throat. An odd thing for a man to wear; their lustrous shine stood out stark against the tan, weather-roughened skin.
One booted foot had been drawn up to rest on an unoccupied chair, the man's head tilted down as he read a small book bound in black leather and stamped with silver lettering.
Lamp light flickered in time with the rocking of the ship, somehow only adding to the man's powerful allure.
Beau mentally shook himself, disconcerted by his thoughts.
The man moved, looking up from his book to snag the bottle of wine on the table, tilting it back to drink. His eyes wandered toward Beau as he lowered it again, and he went abruptly still. Everything finally came flooding back to Beau as locked gazes with sharp gray eyes, and the momentary lust he'd felt for the striking man vanished beneath a wave of despair.
His hand moved automatically to his neck, but he stopped in time, balling his hand into a fist as he struggled to sit up.
Ice, for he seemed to recall that being what the man had said to call him, set down his book and strode across the cabin to stand in front of him. "Still feeling tired, I'd imagine."
Beau nodded and tried to make his tongue work, but he was tired and unhappy and had begun this voyage home depressed enough as it was…
A rough hand stroked through his hair, and Beau sensed the awkward gesture was meant to be comforting. He stared at his own hands, fighting an urge to flop down and go back to sleep, trying to stifle a yawn and failing.
"Exhaustion is one of the earliest stages," Ice said, and Beau could not help noting the voice was as rough-but-sexy as the rest of the man, and he really wished he knew why he kept thinking such thoughts because really he could not have picked a worse time – and the irony of it was not escaping him either, which only further soured his already rotten mood. "Give it a day and you'll probably be more awake and aware than you want."
"Wonderful," Beau muttered. He wondered when the other symptoms would start, and his mind recoiled from even thinking upon them.
Another rough caress through his hair, and if he'd had any good humor left in him, Beau would have smiled and perhaps even been tempted to lean into it and take the awkward comfort offered.
Instead he could only feel bitterness, unhappiness, the sting of his departure still raw, the mermaid bite on his neck seeming to mock his attempt to flee.
"Hungry?" Ice asked.
Beau shook his head.
Ice stood up, crossing back to the table and resuming his seat. "Well, you probably will be shortly – if you do not go back to sleep first." He closed the book he'd left open on the table, then picked up the bottle of wine, tilting his head back to take a long swallow from it. He set the bottle back down and licked traces of wine from his lips.
Beau looked away, determined not to stare – or be caught staring. What was wrong with him? Lust was the very last thing he should be feeling for anyone.
"So you are an artist who has chosen to give up his craft?"
"I think it is a life I need to leave behind." He fought against the ache in his chest, forcing himself to recall the reasons he had left. "Anyway, there is precious need for artists in Black Wood."
Ice regarded him with an expression Beau could not entirely read, though he caught thoughtfulness, idle curiosity. "That seems a pity. You have fine hands, and the calluses upon them say you work quite hard – I suspect the world will miss your paintings."
Beau snorted. "I am nothing special, I assure you." Though he wished he had his sketchbook now – he'd thrown out most of his belongings before leaving, believing it best to rid himself of his former life all at once. He hadn't been able to completely sever himself, however, and had brought along a single sketchbook and a handful of pencils. Now, he supposed, they were with all his other belongings at the bottom of the sea.
It was a pity, for he would have liked to sketch Ice. To capture that striking masculinity, the untidy hair and wind-roughened skin, the way those clothes clung just so to a body sculpted by hard labor. The way that hand gripped the wine bottle with deceptive ease, the propped foot and the eyes which looked somehow like frozen smoke.
He struggled for a distraction. "You said this is a merchant vessel?"
"Aye," Ice replied, fingers absently stroking the bottle they still gripped, eyes warming as he talked about his ship for a few minutes, looking boyishly pleased as he wound down. "To date, we remain the only ship to regularly make this voyage to Port Rayne. We come every two months, save at this time of year when it becomes too dangerous. Our winters are spent here, and we resume the route with the first thaw."
Beau nodded. "So you winter in Port Rayne?"
"Most of the crew does. Myself, I've a house about two miles north. By now it should be well stocked for the most brutal winter you can think up." He flashed a grin that again made him look almost boyish. It was…endearing, and that was as disconcerting as lusting after him.
Scowling at himself, Beau ignored his thoughts and focused simply on the conversation. "Sounds nice," he said, meaning it. Once he crawled back home and listened to every last 'I told you so' from his relatives – and most of the village – he would be put to work and likely would not get much of a rest. Life in the smaller villages was seldom idyllic. Winter was for doing those chores neglected during the warmer months.
Even on his own, earning commissions where he could and drawing erotica to supplement his income between real jobs, he had never had real free time. How nice it would be to hide away while the world buried him in white, finishing up commissions or working on his own interests.
Though if he were to spend those winter months with Ice, he doubted he'd accomplish as much painting as he should. He wanted to smack himself, and wondered if this stupid lust was a symptom of his bite, though he'd never heard of such a symptom before.
A sharp knock at the door halted the conversation, and Ice called out for the knocker to enter.
The smell of food struck him before the bearer did, and Beau's stomach growled. He flushed as Ice chuckled softly, and stared at the floor while the young man who'd brought the food chatted briefly with his Captain.
When the door finally closed behind him, Beau forced his gaze up.
Ice motioned to him, smiling lazily. "Come, eat. There's enough here for three."
Slowly Beau obeyed, dragging himself from the bed and sitting down awkwardly at the table across from Ice, accepting the plate and flatware handed over to him. He took a bite of the roast, eyes widening at the taste – wonderful, especially compared to the slop he'd been eating before.
They ate in silence for several minutes, nothing but the usual ship noises and the clink of dishes to fill it.
Ice at last broke it, shoving back his empty plate and settling back in his seat. "So what ship were you on? We saw no other signs of a downed ship."
He did not have to say that wasn't unusual where mermaids were concerned, though no one knew quite how they managed to make entire ships and all that was aboard them vanish so completely. That occasionally survivors, all bearing the terrible bite, cropped up was simply one more mystery where the terrible ocean predators were concerned.
"I was on the Sea Star, bound for Port Mornal," Beau replied. Mornal was easier to reach than Rayne, and could be accessed all year long. He would have preferred passage straight to Rayne, but it was more expensive and ships going that way were few and he'd missed the only one going by a couple of days.
The irony of it all made him want either to laugh or cry.
Ice grunted. "A pity; Captain Brighton was a good man."
"Yes," Beau agreed, though he had not known the man long. "I was asleep when the storm hit, and I remember the mermaids appearing somewhere right in the middle of it. After that, I recall nothing." He shuddered at memories of cold sea water and freezing rain, slimy hands and chilling black eyes. Swallowing roughly, he fumbled for his glass and downed the contents, choking as the wine burned.
The glass was plucked neatly from his fingers before he could drop it, and Ice regarded him with a surprising amount of concern. "Are you well? I have realized belatedly that in worrying about your bite, I have neglected the rest of the matter."
Beau shrugged, looking at the table. "I'll be all right. Sadly, I'm growing rather used to misfortune. It seems to plague me."
Ice gave another one of his grunts and poured more wine. "We should be in port the day after tomorrow, and that should be in time enough to procure an antidote. Then we will figure out what comes next."
It was then that Beau finally and fully realized just what his circumstances were – he had no money, no clothing, nothing. Except a bite that likely would result in his being killed or simply tossed back into the sea. That Ice had rescued him was astounding.
More remarkable still was that Ice seemed genuinely to care. "It's not your problem," Beau said, slowly dragging his eyes up to meet Ice's. "Why are you bothering with me?"
"Never give up 'til it's all over," Ice replied, and those ice and smoke eyes seemed to shadow. He picked up his wine bottle and took a long draught. "My mother was bitten by a mermaid…my home then was in High Cliffs. They say she ran to the cliffs and threw herself off them." He took another swig of wine. "I was only a babe, then."
Beau was silent, startled by the story and that Ice would tell it. He finally settled on a nod, not trusting his tongue to work. There were a few things he could do well with his tongue, but speaking wasn't one of them. He struggled for something to say anyway, but words of comfort or condolence sounded stale to his mind.
His eyes fell on the pearls around Ice's throat, and a sudden idea lodged in his mind. He spoke on impulse. "Did those belong to her?"
Ice smiled briefly. "Astute," he said, reaching up to touch them lightly. "After my father died, people came to collect the debts he still owed. Most of them were fair, and I dealt with them accordingly. One bastard, however, tried to take things that were not his to take, including these. I told him to give them back; he refused. The argument waged on, and at last he grew angry and threw them into the sea – my parents home was near a set of cliffs, though nothing like those from which my mother…" Ice motioned vaguely and took another swig of wine. "He said if I could find them again, I could keep them, and if not then at least he would be rid of me.
"The villagers gawking over our argument tried to stop me, but I dove off that cliff and into the sea – and found the pearls. The villagers said I looked as though I were made of ice myself when I came tumbling back out of the sea."
Beau laughed, unable to resist. "Let me guess – you have been called Ice ever since."
Ice grinned. "Aye."
His levity faded, though he tried to keep hold of it. "That still doesn't explain why you're being so nice to me. I can't think that you benefit more from saving me than from simply having left me to my fate."
"Never give up. Everyone considered these lost when he threw them in the sea," Ice said, touching the pearls again, "but here they are, safe and sound. A man should always look after himself, but everyone needs help now and again. You're not a mermaid yet, there's still hope. That's enough for me to take you to port. The rest is up to you."
Beau nodded, and felt the terrible weight of his worry and depression ease. "Thank you," he said, and offered a genuine smile.
"You're welcome," Ice replied. He finished the last swallow of wine in his bottle and set it aside, leaning forward on his elbows. "Now we need to work out how you will earn enough coin to pay for your antidote."
Anger and fear crashed down on Beau, something in the way Ice leaned toward him stirring memories of what he'd fled. He recoiled, rage spiking—but the look of surprise that rippled across Ice's face in the next moment was enough he bit back the angry words on his tongue.
Ice blinked at him. "I did not mean what you clearly took my words to mean," he said slowly. "It is not to my taste to force pleasure."
Beau shuddered and slumped in his seat. "My apologies. I know that." He swallowed and reached again for his wine, this time having enough sense to sip it. "I left Black Hill because one client wanted to become my patron – but only on the condition I warm his bed. I said no. He would not accept that answer. The matter got out of hand when in an effort to make me do his bidding he scared off all my other clients. I decided to leave before things got even worse."
Perhaps it was the wine, or that Ice was more or less a stranger, but telling the tale – at least in part – was easier than he'd expected it to be. He had planned on telling no one of the humiliating reason for his hasty departure.
Ice merely gave one of his grunts, a sound that seemed to have at least a dozen meanings. "I can certainly see why he would want you to warm his bed, but there are better ways to go about convincing a man than that."
Beau blinked at the words, not quite sure how to respond. Thankfully he was spared figuring it out, as Ice continued speaking.
"I meant only that we should see what work you are fit for here on my ship; though I would hand the money over, gladly, for I do not lack coin—" He broke off, smiling knowingly at the way Beau recoiled and shook his head. "I did not think you would agree to that."
He shook his head again. "I do not take charity. It is galling enough I am completely at your mercy for food and clothes and all else until I reach land and can find work." Which…he realized abruptly he would never be able to afford to travel home before winter hit. He would be stuck in Port Rayne until spring.
That thought should depress him, except he'd never wanted to go home anyway – and Ice had said he wintered…
Scowling at himself, Beau shook the traitorous thought aside. Had he learned nothing at all?
"I know nothing about ships," he finally said. "So I am rather at a loss as to how I could earn the necessary coin – and in only a day and a half's time."
Ice leaned forward in his seat once more, eyes bright and sharp. "I was thinking more you could help me over the course of the winter – unless I am mistaken, you will not be going home until spring. Travel is dangerous enough on the sea; on land it will be worse."
Beau nodded. "I could not afford it now, anyway."
"Then I will take you on. My supercargo spends the winter working on our records and acquiring goods to take south come the thaw; you could assist him easily enough, I'm sure. I have also been meaning to catalogue my own belongings for some time – more than a few are quite valuable." He grinned and touched the pearls at his throat. "I like to keep track of things, but am notoriously terrible at my own record keeping."
Clerk's work. He could manage that, even if he would rather put a quill to much more interesting use. "That is certainly generous of you," Beau said slowly. "Surely there are better candidates."
Ice shrugged. "Few men work harder than those with a debt to pay off, and even with the antidote…"
Beau made a face, fighting the depression that threatened to consume him all over again. Mermaids were hated the world over, but in his homeland people were highly superstitious. It was likely the reason Ice's mother had thrown herself off the cliffs. That he'd been bitten by a mermaid would be held against him, even if he did manage to cure himself.
"I am deeply in your debt, it would seem," he said, whispering the words, feeling more miserable than ever before.
"Only because you insist upon it," Ice said gently. "To me, it matters not at all. Still, perhaps in a winter's time you will not only pay off the antidote but earn money to resume your craft somewhere else. It seems a shame to send you back home to a life of repairing fishnets."
Beau frowned at him. "You do not know me; you have never seen my work."
Ice shrugged. "I have good instincts, and any man who looks as sad as you when speaking of a craft he gave up was probably very good at it." Ice abruptly stood up, coming around the table, and Beau once more was subject to one of those rough, awkward caresses.
It should be upsetting, the way Ice's touch did not bother him one bit – but there it was, and he was suddenly too tired to care.
"Sleep," Ice said quietly. "It is the best thing for you, as your body fights with the mermaid venom."
"As it succumbs to it," Beau retorted, but obediently dragged himself to bed and flopped down upon it. He felt someone touch him, pull the blankets up, but sleep dragged him under and held him tight before he could say a word.
*~*~*
Ice shook hands with the men who had stopped him and bid them a good day, exchanging an amused glance with Beau as they finally continued on their way.
Beau smiled faintly – and all too briefly. Ice thought it a pity he did not smile more often, but then again what little he'd gleaned of the man's tale offered plenty enough reason not to smile.
"Are you familiar with Port Rayne?" he asked.
"Only in passing," Beau replied with a shrug. "I traveled here perhaps twice as a child, and when I left to seek a new home, I could afford to leave from here. I considered briefly living here, but at the time I felt it was still too close to home." He smiled weakly. "If times got to be tough, I did not want to risk running home." The smile faded. "The distance has proven not to matter, I'm afraid."
Ice grunted and stopped asking questions he should not be voicing anyway. The man was none of his business, and after the tale he'd told, he seriously doubted Beau wanted to be Ice's business.
Perhaps it should worry him that he was clearly interested in Beau, but Ice preferred simply to take things as they came – the man was fine, bite or no bite, and obviously not afraid of hard work. Mayhap by spring the situation might have improved enough for Beau that he would not be adverse to a dalliance.
He definitely had been too long at sea. Well, business was almost concluded, and then he could seek pleasure.
They turned down a narrow street, the cobblestones here rougher and more uneven, less cared for than the main roads. Refuse and grime crowded the edges, and even the main portion of the street had only been half-heartedly cleaned. Days ago.
At last they reached the building they sought – dirty stone and a tired looking door, the steps leading up to shoddy and uneven. Not the best healer in town, but Ice had long learned he was one of the best – and most willing to deal with those who were not born with countless silver to their name.
Above the door was a faded wooden sign hung from creaking iron hooks on a rusting pole. 'Capp: Healer'
"Here we are," he said, and tucked a small sack of coins into Beau's jacket and placing a finger over his lips as the protests started up. "Whatever you spend will be deducted from your pay, if you like. Whenever you are finished, I've taken rooms at the Whirling Snowflake. Likely I will not return there myself until quite late, but I've told the innkeeper to expect you. Eat, drink, be merry. In two days time we will likely head for my home – there is coin enough in there to purchase whatever amusements you think will keep you while we are buried in the snow."
Beau scowled, but said nothing as Ice let his finger drop. He nodded stiffly, then sketched an awkward bow. "Thank you. The Whirling Snowflake. I'll try not to be too late."
Ice laughed. "Take your time. There are some fine taverns…and other places to find distraction." He winked. "I likely will not be back 'til the wee hours of morning myself." He reached out to stroke the fine hair, unable to resist, utterly taken by how soft it always felt.
Another nod and thank you, then Beau was climbing the stairs and knocking upon the door. Ice left him there, knowing Beau would not want any sort of audience while he went about obtaining a cure.
Traveling quickly back the way he'd come, he wove through the mazelike ports to the Portly Gentleman. Inside, he made his way to the private room in back where his business was always conducted.
Inside Maine and Everest already waited for him, along with two men who nodded cordially.
"Greetings," Ice said, sliding into his seat between Maine and Everest. "How are you this evening, gentlemen?"
"Well," said the first, a man with a thick beard, the telltale coloring of a native. "Yourself, Captain?"
"Hopefully we are all about to be extremely happy men," Ice said lightly. "Everest, tell these fine gents what we've got on offer."
Everest slid his spectacles into place and picked up the papers in front of him. "Fifty casks of the finest Tamboria Spice, each stamped with the brewer's mark. I have here the paperwork to further prove authenticity." He pulled a paper from his sheaf and pushed it across the table.
The second man, with sandy hair and a darkly tanned complexion, picked it up and lifted a monocle to his right eye. After a moment he pushed the paper back. "Excellent. Seventy gold a piece."
Maine sneered in contempt. "We both know such quality Tamboria Spice goes for no less than a hundred a cask. Adding to that the trouble we took getting it here, the bribes paid out to get it past customs…one fifty easy."
The men scoffed, and Ice sat back to listen to the battle that sprang up around him, admiring the fine work of his two most valuable men. The four men went back and forth for at least an hour, until Ice at last barked a halt. "115 sounds adequate to me. We will deliver to the warehouse of your choosing, and from there we are ignorant of anything. Agreed, gentlemen?"
"Agreed," they said, and shook hands with Ice, Maine, and Everest. "Always a pleasure, Captain," the sandy-haired one said dryly.
Ice flashed them a grin. "Indeed. Have a good night." He fell silent, watching the men file out, then stood and clapped his own men on the shoulders. "You two are, as always, perfect. I could not ask for better. See things are handled, leave me word at the Snowflake that all went well…you know where to find me if matters sour."
"Aye, Captain," Maine said.
Smirking at the looks they gave when each thought the other wasn't looking, Ice wondered if they'd finally settle the unspoken tension between them. He doubted it, but anything was possible.
Leaving them to whatever occurred, he left the Portly Gentleman and cut through several shady streets until he reached the one he wanted, traveling half way down it to a simple looking building with a simple gold plaque on the door: The House of Good Cheer.
Chuckling, he stepped inside and allowed a pretty looking young man to take his coat and jacket.
In just his shirtsleeves, he pushed his way through the large, crowded salon. Eventually he might make his way to a private room upstairs, but for now the crowd suited him. He found an empty seat at a circular booth in the back, settling onto the velvet-covered seat as a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes – and very little clothing – approached him.
"Can I get you something?" the young man asked, voice husky and sweet, the mouth forming the words finer still.
Ice smiled. "Yes. A bottle of your finest red, a light snack to go with it, and your mouth when you return."
The young man smiled. "As you wish, my lord."
He turned, and Ice enjoyed the sight of him walking away, the kisses stolen by a couple of customers emboldened by drink. The young man vanished into the back, but reappeared after only a few minutes.
Ice waited as the wine was opened and poured, obediently tasting and approving it – but then he set it aside and dragged the young man down, taking his mouth greedily, pleased at the eager response given.
Clever fingers wasted no time opening the laces of his shirt, petting his chest.
Tearing his mouth away, Ice sat back and did some brief petting and fondling of his own. He raked his hand through the boys long, pretty hair – but it was not as soft or fine as the hair he really wanted to pet. "You know where I want that mouth."
The young man grinned and kissed the corner of his mouth, then sank to his knees, clever fingers working at the laces of his pants, and Ice groaned as that mouth was finally where he wanted it to be.
He let his head fall back and sank his hand into the boy's hair, urging but not pushing, breaths turning into pants as he imagined that too-wicked mouth belonged to a different dark-haired beauty.
Opening his eyes, he looked up briefly to absently take in the crowd, each one lost to some pleasure or another, smirking at those who took pleasure in watching…
He choked, certain he was seeing things—
Beau stood in the doorway, and even as Ice saw him those green eyes found him, and under any other circumstances he would have loved the way those cheeks flushed dark. As it was, the dismay and mortification on Beau's face was upsetting.
He grunted at the mix of sensations, attention dragged away from Beau by the talented young man sucking him off, and Ice abruptly came hard, swearing softly as he looked back and saw Beau had vanished.
Tugging the young man up, he kissed him deeply and pressed several coins into his hand, apologizing even as he bolted across the room.
Barely remembering to grab his jacket and coat, he fumbled them on even as he threw himself out of the house and down the stairs. "Beau!" he called, despairing as to which direction the young man had taken – but a scuff of shoes and a bit of moving shadow gave it away, and he raced off up the street, turning the corner and landing with relief upon the man he sought.
"Beau!" He caught Beau's wrist and dragged him to a halt. "What were you doing there? Is something wrong?"
Beau didn't look at him, eyes only for the cobblestones. "I, uh, came to tell you thank you and goodbye." He laughed miserably, shakily. "I guess it just goes to prove my state of mind that of course you would be, uh, engaged in such a place. Stupid."
Ice frowned. "Why did you not simply wait for me at the inn?"
"I'm leaving," Beau said tightly. "I can't stay."
"Why no…" Ice let the question die, seeing the answer plain on Beau's face. "We were too late."
Beau's face twisted, and tears slipped down his cheek before he angrily brushed them away. "Too late," he echoed. "The healer said perhaps half a day sooner and the antidote would have worked. He gave it to me anyway, but he says likely it's a waste of time and money and antidote…"
Ice frowned and dragged Beau back when he again tried to leave. "Come on," he said, hauling him along the street, ignoring every protest and plea to let go.
He didn't relinquish his hold until they were safely locked in his room at the Whirling Snowflake. "Why does he say it's too late? You seem fine – you've not even begun to show scales and teeth or crave fish."
Beau laughed, the sound more like a sob, and abruptly yanked off his coat and jacket, pulling his shirt over his head and turning around. "They must have appeared just this morning."
Ice's frown deepened as he stepped close enough to get a good look at the small, faintly shining scales that were in small patches across Beau's back. Beneath his fingers, Beau's skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, soft and smooth. If not for the direness of the circumstances, it would be distracting indeed. "Have you taken the antidote yet?"
"What's the point?" Beau asked bitterly, pulling his shirt back one and moving away, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling his arms around himself. "The healer was thoroughly convinced it would be a waste of time. I'd intended to give it to you, figuring it was always useful for sailors to have a bottle of antidote on hand."
He bent and picked up Beau's discarded coat from the floor, fumbling in the pockets, at last locating the small, dark glass bottle with a familiar label. Striding to the bed, he sat down next to Beau and thrust it into his hands. "Take it. Better to try and fail than not try at all. Do not give up until it's over."
Beau shook his head. "I'm not wasting it, and I would say it is well and truly over."
"Damn it, no!" Ice snapped. "You're still alive and mostly human, so it's far from over. Just drink it. What harm will do? It could still very well help, who cares what the healer said? They have been wrong before, this I know for a fact."
"It's over!" Beau bellowed back. "Why do you even care? I thank you for your help, but you needn't keep bothering now. It's over, I'm done." He stood up and strode for the door.
Ice snarled and grabbed him back, throwing him to the bed. "It's not over, and I refuse to let you just give up. My mother didn't give up on me, my father didn't give up on me, I never gave up on me, even when I almost wanted to. Everyone else did, back home, but not me!"
Beau frowned, startled into lying still upon the bed, and under any other circumstances Ice thought he would have been hard pressed not to ravish the man senseless. "You mean when your mother was bitten? I don't understand…"
"Because I didn't tell the whole truth," Ice said with a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "I was only a babe when my mother threw herself off the cliffs…but I was still in her womb when she was bitten." He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, barely noticing as Beau shifted to sit next to him once more. "Mermaids lurk around High Cliff; it's a good area for fishing and they want the same fish we do – nor are they too upset about such easy access to victims, I guess… Anyway, my mother was wading in the waters near her home and a mermaid for some strange reason came close to shore – and bit her.
"She told no one at first, according to my father, not until the scales began to appear and her hand was forced on the matter. Still she never succumbed to it; for a full two months she continued to carry me, hiding from all but my father when everyone insisted she was lost, and I alongside her…"
"Ice…"
He ignored the soft way Beau said his name and continued with his story, because damn it no one should just give up. Not after all his family had endured just to give him a chance… "Finally I was born, but all that my mother had fought and resisted hit her then, the force of it drove her mad. The villagers all wanted to kill her, of course, but she took matters into her own hand and threw herself from the cliffs…
"They all wanted to kill me, but my father refused. The villagers wouldn’t tolerate my presence, so my father packed up and moved to a house several miles from the village. We scraped by, living as best we could…still, when my father died, people used every excuse they could to be rid of me. All the debts they called in…" He shook his head. "I could never prove them false, save the matter of my mother's pearls…and I don't doubt some of them were genuine…" He shrugged. "The point is, my mother held on for me. My father sacrificed the life he loved to give me one when everyone else would have cast me into the ea with my mother. You should not give up so easily."
Beau looked at him, eyes wide with shock. "Are you—"
"A mermaid?" Ice shrugged. "Maybe a bit, I'm not really sure. I can swim extremely well, always have. The cold doesn't get to me as badly as it seems to get most people – that's why I could retrieve my mother's pearls. That and if I'm in the water long enough I can start to breathe in it. So, a little bit I would say, but not much. Sometimes I think my mother's resisting for so long, the fact she wouldn't just give up on us…gave me some sort of immunity." He shrugged again, smiling sadly. "Unfortunately, it's not an immunity I can seem to pass on, or I would give it to you in a moment."
"Incredible…" Beau said, shaking his head. "It sounds like a wild story…"
"I can assure you the tale is quite true. They declared me a wicked child, something evil. Having been in the womb of a woman who had turned mermaid, what else could I possibly be?"
Beau looked up at him, tilting his head. "I believe it," he said quietly. "There's no reason you would make something like that up…and it upsets you too much to be false…" He looked back down, at the bottle he still clutched in one hand. Slowly he pulled the stopper out, then raised the bottle to his mouth and upended it, downing the antidote swiftly.
"There's a good lad," Ice said with a wink.
"Ugh," Beau said with a grimace. "Why must medicine always taste like it's going to kill you?"
Ice threw his head back and laughed. "If it tasted good, people would be more inclined to use it for every little problem." He tousled Beau's hair and stood up. "I will call find some wine to chase away the taste." He paused with his hand on the door. "You might check that bundle over there," he said, motioning to a paper-wrapped parcel on the table. "I had them purchased as a get well gift for you – only that, a gift." He winked. "So no complaining or fussing or feeling guilty."
He left before Beau could start demanding what he meant, hoping the gift would be appreciated, stubbornly not thinking about why he'd bought a gift at all for a man who was still more stranger than friend – and one likely to be a mermaid in a few more days.
But no, he hadn't given up yet.
Tomorrow would tell.
Blah.
The problem is, I'm not sure where to go from here. It just shows every evidence of going on and on with no real point.
So fed up.
Ugh. Think I'm going to get my laundry started, then read or write short, cute drabbles that are hard to fuck up. Wanted to work on Weathermage, but if I screw that up I think I'll start crying.
So, one more for the scrap heap, b/c I'm pretty sure I've managed to kill it. Go me -__-
And a small bit of it is NWS, as an FYI.
Something Wicked
"What is it?"
"Body?" The first mate considered the thing in the water. "Pretty sure it's a body. Captain."
Rolling his eyes, he ordered his men to haul the body up. "We can't leave him to rot, can we?"
"Depends, Captain. That damned storm has put us pretty far off course. We got food enough?"
"For one extra mouth? Yes, and I’m about to throw Crane overboard anyway."
"Aye, Captain." His first mate turned his full attention to ordering the men about.
"Bring him to my quarters when he's fished out."
He strode briskly back to his quarters, tugging up the collar of his thick wool coat. The Northern runs were the most lucrative, but there were very good reasons precious few were willing to do them, never mind do them regularly.
Only minutes after he was inside, the door banged open again and a sopping wet figure was deposited on his bed.
"Out," he ordered, motioning for his first mate to stay. "Maine," he said when the door had closed, leaving them alone, "what say you?"
"He should be dead," Maine said flatly. He was damp from sea spray and supervising the retrieval, but if the cold water bothered him he made no show. Bits of black hair peeked out from beneath his dark blue watch cap. "It's fucking freezing, Captain. He's breathing, if only just, and look at him laying there. He's not getting worse, even though we're not treating him." Dark green eyes met his unflinchingly. "I say toss him back."
Striding over to the bed, he bent over the unconscious man and examined him thoroughly – but it only took a moment's glance to see the telltale livid scarlet bite low on the man's throat, right where it met his shoulders. "He may not be completely gone. Depending on how far off course we are, we may be able to reach an antidote in time."
"Captain…"
Ice looked up, and green eyes flinched from his pale gray. "I will keep an eye on him; if he starts to prove a danger I will kill him myself."
"It's your ship of course, Captain," Maine said with a sigh. "Should I inform the men?"
"Aye," Ice replied. "They'll suspect it anyway; no good will come from hiding it. No panicking or misbehavior or I'll make them work without their coats."
Maine gave a sharp nod. "Aye, Captain." He turned sharply on his heel and strode from the room. The door closed on the sound of him barking orders.
Ice sighed and looked at the headache in his bed, then slowly began to strip and clean him.
When he finally finished some time later, the man was warm and dry and looked much better – minus the lurid bite mark on his neck, but there was nothing to be done for that, so far out in the middle of nowhere. Mermaid antidotes weren't something even he could obtain easily.
Sighing again, he stowed the supplies he'd dragged out and laid another blanket over the unfortunate young man in his bed.
Not all that young, really. Ice was thirty-five, the stranger couldn't be much below that. It was hard to tell, for he was handsome enough to almost be pretty. Finer features, more delicate than was normal for Northern natives. The coloring was all Northern though – skin weathered by sun and cold, the ebony hair, and very likely his eyes were green. Maine was the only native Northerner amongst his crew – the rest preferred to keep their origins vague, though Ice could pick'em out if he really felt like it.
Which he didn't. In their line of business, not asking questions was the height of courtesy and promoted camaraderie – and obedience. Not that anyone would dare to disobey him anyway.
Raking a hand through his own sandy hair, Ice moved to the table and retrieved the book he'd been reading before the watch had called man overboard. He drank his wine and read quietly, looking up occasionally to check on his unexpected guest, pausing only when the midday meal was brought to him
The bell was marking a quarter past the second hour when his guest stirred, groaning and whimpering. Ice set his book down even as the noises subsided, but by the time he'd crossed the few short steps the bed, the man's eyes were flickering open.
Green, but a cool mint rather than the darker pine of Maine's eyes. They were hazy, distant – but rapidly came to focus.
"The storm – mermaids –"
Ice grabbed his hand before the man could reach up to touch the wound that was no doubt stinging and throbbing on his neck despite the ointment rubbed into it. "Yes," Ice said, as gently as he could even though gentle wasn't really something he did well – or at all. "You were bitten."
The man closed his eyes. "I had been hoping it was a dream." He slowly opened them again, the shadows in his eyes running deep. "Why did you bother to rescue me?"
"I will not leave a man to drown if there is the slightest chance of saving him," Ice replied, slowly letting go of the man's hand. It was warm, soft against his own sea-roughened hand. "Do not touch the wound; it will exacerbate it. Before that storm struck, we were but two weeks from Port Rayne."
A glum nod was the only reply.
Ice shook him. "Do not give up just yet; that helps nothing."
"I was bitten by a mermaid," the man said bitterly. His mouth twisted into what should have been a smile but somehow wasn't. "I don't even like fish."
Letting his hand fall away, Ice stood and strode back to the table, picking up his brandy and carrying it back to the bed, pressing the glass into the man's hands. "On the bright side, when this is over and you are alive and well and living on land, you will have learned to like fish."
The man looked at him, startled and blinking – then laughed weakly, but truly. "I suppose that is one way to look at it."
"My name is Niles Morgan. Pretty much everyone calls me Ice." He smiled. "Or Captain."
"Thank you, Captain, for rescuing me," the man said quietly. "My name is Beau Delmar." His fingers twitched, no doubt he wanted to touch the wound on his neck, but they remained twisted in the blankets.
Ice tried to keep him distracted. "What were you doing at sea?"
"Trying to get home, actually," Beau said with a sigh. "My job in Black Wood was…terminated unexpectedly, and that left me with precious little funding. I decided it was better simply to return home than starve to death on the streets."
Curious. "What did you do?"
Beau laughed, but it was a sad sound. "I was an artist."
"Was? Have you lost your talent?"
"I've lost my stupidity," Beau said, voice going abruptly flat. "My family has been urging me to give up my nonsense and return home ever since I left – they will be delighted to know I have at last seen reason."
Stranger and stranger. "I…how does an artist lose his job to the point he must go home?"
Beau gave another one of his sad laughs. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. I am doomed one way or another." He smiled, and for a moment Ice almost thought he was on the verge of tears. "Who knows? Perhaps I will luck out by turning into a mermaid after all."
Ice frowned, and reminded himself this stranger's problems were not his own. His involvement ended with getting the man to shore; and even that he did not have to do – no one would hold it against him for tossing a bitten man overboard.
He wouldn't, couldn't, do that though. Not so long as there was any chance to help – hopefully they would reach Port Rayne swiftly.
Meanwhile, he would do what he could for his forlorn guest. "You're aboard the merchant ship The Wicked. We deal mostly in textiles, perfumes, and spices, but dabble in various other things." He smiled. "Up this way, no one refuses whatever shipments make it to port."
That earned him a brief but genuine laugh, and the moment of levity did much to make Beau's face truly pretty.
Ice shook off the wayward thought. "Are you hungry?"
"A bit," Beau replied.
"I'll have something brought." He winked. "Not fish."
"Yet," Beau said, expression one of resignation.
"Cheer up," Ice replied. "It's not over 'til it's over. You shouldn't give up."
Beau shrugged and did not reply.
Ice moved to the door to call for food.
When it came, he watched Beau eat for a few minutes. The signs so far were good; the bite could not be more than a few hours old. Pleased, Ice left him to finish his meal in piece and went to join his first and second mates on the poop deck. They both nodded to him, but did not break their discussion of the ship's new route.
He listened to every detail, nodding in approval as the second mate finished relating the changes to their course. "Carry on," he said idly, moving to the railing to peer at the clouds barely visible off in the distance.
Night would fall rapidly, bringing with it an even nastier chill than the one currently plaguing them. He both loved and hated these cold waters; part of him remembered what they had taken, yet too much of his history was here to put it behind him forever.
A couple of days, barring any more unforeseen delays, and they could all bunk down for the ugliest part of winter. He thought briefly of the goods stuffing the hold nearly to its full capacity and smirked.
His first mate joined him at the railing, and Ice broke off his wandering thoughts. "Maine, how fare we?"
"Well enough, all things considered, Captain," Maine replied, giving him a look that was part resigned, part reproving. "Clouds shouldn't be a problem, but one never knows really. We're about half a day behind. I say it's a good thing we've no competition to worry about." He tugged irritably at his watch cap, glaring at the gray-blue water.
Ice grinned. "No one will ever sail these waters as well as we."
"Aye, Captain," Maine agreed. "No one else is mad or foolish enough." He smiled briefly, the expression gone almost as quickly as it had come. "It takes a man crazy enough to dive into an icy sea for a string of pearls to brave these waters on a regular basis."
"Aye, and what manner of crew does it take?"
Maine rolled his eyes. "A ship of fools."
Ice laughed softly. "How is my crew?"
"Fine, so long as the mermaid stays locked up."
Ice grunted. "He is not a mermaid yet. Do not give up before the battle is over." He turned to Maine, looking at the man in disapproval. "If you had been bitten, how would you feel if I simply left you to drown or turn? Remember that the crew looks to you after me, Maine. Be positive."
"Aye, Captain," Maine said, bowing his head to acknowledge the reprimand. "You're still quite mad to do it."
"Diving into frozen seas will do that to a man, or so they say," Ice replied idly.
Maine rolled his eyes and left him to return his attention to the crew, calling out to the men in the rigging.
Leaving him to it, Ice cast his eye once more on the distant clouds, then left the poop deck to venture below decks. Down in the hold, a man sat bent over sheaves of paper at a table, crates and barrels and sacks all around him. The lantern on his table flickered and wavered, glinting off the gold-rimmed spectacles he wore. A quill flew as he made notes, scratching out words here, adding them there, muttering softly all the while.
"Everest," Ice greeted.
"Captain," Everest replied, looking up and smiling in greeting, pushing up his spectacles and setting aside his quill. "Good afternoon. I hear we've acquired a bite victim."
Ice nodded. "Aye."
Everest nodded and picked his quill back up, dipping it in a bottle of ink and resuming his work. "I hope for his sake, then, that we make port soon."
"Day after tomorrow, ideally," Ice replied. "Cargo still well?"
"Of course," Everest said derisively.
Ice glanced briefly at the scribbling and mark outs. "What are you working on?"
"Calculating the best possible way to disperse the spices."
Grinning, Ice moved past the desk to the room beyond, patting the casks secured within it with fondness. "We'll not be wanting for anything once this stuff is sold. A fine haul indeed, Everest."
"Aye, Captain," Everest said dryly, voice muffled a bit through the walls.
Ice viewed his acquisition with no small amount of smug pleasure. "I do like trading in spices." He strode back out to rejoin Everest.
"The finest Tamboria Spice money can buy," Everest said dryly. "Assuming we get it past customs, of course."
Ice laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "That is why I have you, my fine supercargo. If there is any one acquisition about which I should be bragging, it is most certainly you."
"I aim to be a valuable commodity, Captain," Everest replied with a smirk.
Snickering, Ice clapped his shoulder once more and then stepped away. "I would show you my appreciation for all your hard work, but I think perhaps you would rather have the appreciation of my first mate."
Everest glowered. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Captain."
"I'm sure," Ice agreed, smirking at him before turning away with a wave. "Carry on, Everest. Do not forget to eat."
"Aye, Captain." The words were faint, muffled by the creaking of the ship and the sound of the sea as he climbed back up.
He glanced around the ship, nodding when he saw nothing out of place. Searching out Maine, he signaled that he was to be left alone, then strode to his quarters.
A glance at the bed revealed Beau, dead to the world and likely to stay that way for awhile yet. If the way he was tangled up in those blankets was any indication, his sleep had been restless. Ice crossed the small space and slowly went about untangling him, settling him more comfortably and unable to resist letting his fingers run through the raven's wing hair, across one finely-sculpted cheek.
He tugged the blankets up and turned sharply away, rolling his eyes at himself. Truly he would be grateful when they finally reached Port Rayne. The moment the cargo had been sold and the crew paid, he intended to find himself a bottle of quality wine and a pretty boy with an eager mouth.
Glancing at his table, he grunted in approval that someone had brought him a fresh bottle of wine – deep red, faintly sweet, cheap but good. Stripping out of his winter gear, he uncorked his wine and retrieved his abandoned book. If during his reading his eyes occasionally strayed more often than strictly necessary to the man in his bed…well, there was no harm in looking.
*~*~*
Beau opened his eyes slowly, fighting the lethargy that still clung to him. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, and stared uncomprehending at the view a few feet away.
Quite the view it was.
A mess of sandy hair around features too sharply carved to be handsome, but attractive all the same. Broad shoulders, the kind meant for grabbing, sinking nails into to pull the well-sculpted body closer.
The shirt laces were mostly undone, baring more than a hint of the muscled chest beneath…and a string of pearls wrapped around the man's throat. An odd thing for a man to wear; their lustrous shine stood out stark against the tan, weather-roughened skin.
One booted foot had been drawn up to rest on an unoccupied chair, the man's head tilted down as he read a small book bound in black leather and stamped with silver lettering.
Lamp light flickered in time with the rocking of the ship, somehow only adding to the man's powerful allure.
Beau mentally shook himself, disconcerted by his thoughts.
The man moved, looking up from his book to snag the bottle of wine on the table, tilting it back to drink. His eyes wandered toward Beau as he lowered it again, and he went abruptly still. Everything finally came flooding back to Beau as locked gazes with sharp gray eyes, and the momentary lust he'd felt for the striking man vanished beneath a wave of despair.
His hand moved automatically to his neck, but he stopped in time, balling his hand into a fist as he struggled to sit up.
Ice, for he seemed to recall that being what the man had said to call him, set down his book and strode across the cabin to stand in front of him. "Still feeling tired, I'd imagine."
Beau nodded and tried to make his tongue work, but he was tired and unhappy and had begun this voyage home depressed enough as it was…
A rough hand stroked through his hair, and Beau sensed the awkward gesture was meant to be comforting. He stared at his own hands, fighting an urge to flop down and go back to sleep, trying to stifle a yawn and failing.
"Exhaustion is one of the earliest stages," Ice said, and Beau could not help noting the voice was as rough-but-sexy as the rest of the man, and he really wished he knew why he kept thinking such thoughts because really he could not have picked a worse time – and the irony of it was not escaping him either, which only further soured his already rotten mood. "Give it a day and you'll probably be more awake and aware than you want."
"Wonderful," Beau muttered. He wondered when the other symptoms would start, and his mind recoiled from even thinking upon them.
Another rough caress through his hair, and if he'd had any good humor left in him, Beau would have smiled and perhaps even been tempted to lean into it and take the awkward comfort offered.
Instead he could only feel bitterness, unhappiness, the sting of his departure still raw, the mermaid bite on his neck seeming to mock his attempt to flee.
"Hungry?" Ice asked.
Beau shook his head.
Ice stood up, crossing back to the table and resuming his seat. "Well, you probably will be shortly – if you do not go back to sleep first." He closed the book he'd left open on the table, then picked up the bottle of wine, tilting his head back to take a long swallow from it. He set the bottle back down and licked traces of wine from his lips.
Beau looked away, determined not to stare – or be caught staring. What was wrong with him? Lust was the very last thing he should be feeling for anyone.
"So you are an artist who has chosen to give up his craft?"
"I think it is a life I need to leave behind." He fought against the ache in his chest, forcing himself to recall the reasons he had left. "Anyway, there is precious need for artists in Black Wood."
Ice regarded him with an expression Beau could not entirely read, though he caught thoughtfulness, idle curiosity. "That seems a pity. You have fine hands, and the calluses upon them say you work quite hard – I suspect the world will miss your paintings."
Beau snorted. "I am nothing special, I assure you." Though he wished he had his sketchbook now – he'd thrown out most of his belongings before leaving, believing it best to rid himself of his former life all at once. He hadn't been able to completely sever himself, however, and had brought along a single sketchbook and a handful of pencils. Now, he supposed, they were with all his other belongings at the bottom of the sea.
It was a pity, for he would have liked to sketch Ice. To capture that striking masculinity, the untidy hair and wind-roughened skin, the way those clothes clung just so to a body sculpted by hard labor. The way that hand gripped the wine bottle with deceptive ease, the propped foot and the eyes which looked somehow like frozen smoke.
He struggled for a distraction. "You said this is a merchant vessel?"
"Aye," Ice replied, fingers absently stroking the bottle they still gripped, eyes warming as he talked about his ship for a few minutes, looking boyishly pleased as he wound down. "To date, we remain the only ship to regularly make this voyage to Port Rayne. We come every two months, save at this time of year when it becomes too dangerous. Our winters are spent here, and we resume the route with the first thaw."
Beau nodded. "So you winter in Port Rayne?"
"Most of the crew does. Myself, I've a house about two miles north. By now it should be well stocked for the most brutal winter you can think up." He flashed a grin that again made him look almost boyish. It was…endearing, and that was as disconcerting as lusting after him.
Scowling at himself, Beau ignored his thoughts and focused simply on the conversation. "Sounds nice," he said, meaning it. Once he crawled back home and listened to every last 'I told you so' from his relatives – and most of the village – he would be put to work and likely would not get much of a rest. Life in the smaller villages was seldom idyllic. Winter was for doing those chores neglected during the warmer months.
Even on his own, earning commissions where he could and drawing erotica to supplement his income between real jobs, he had never had real free time. How nice it would be to hide away while the world buried him in white, finishing up commissions or working on his own interests.
Though if he were to spend those winter months with Ice, he doubted he'd accomplish as much painting as he should. He wanted to smack himself, and wondered if this stupid lust was a symptom of his bite, though he'd never heard of such a symptom before.
A sharp knock at the door halted the conversation, and Ice called out for the knocker to enter.
The smell of food struck him before the bearer did, and Beau's stomach growled. He flushed as Ice chuckled softly, and stared at the floor while the young man who'd brought the food chatted briefly with his Captain.
When the door finally closed behind him, Beau forced his gaze up.
Ice motioned to him, smiling lazily. "Come, eat. There's enough here for three."
Slowly Beau obeyed, dragging himself from the bed and sitting down awkwardly at the table across from Ice, accepting the plate and flatware handed over to him. He took a bite of the roast, eyes widening at the taste – wonderful, especially compared to the slop he'd been eating before.
They ate in silence for several minutes, nothing but the usual ship noises and the clink of dishes to fill it.
Ice at last broke it, shoving back his empty plate and settling back in his seat. "So what ship were you on? We saw no other signs of a downed ship."
He did not have to say that wasn't unusual where mermaids were concerned, though no one knew quite how they managed to make entire ships and all that was aboard them vanish so completely. That occasionally survivors, all bearing the terrible bite, cropped up was simply one more mystery where the terrible ocean predators were concerned.
"I was on the Sea Star, bound for Port Mornal," Beau replied. Mornal was easier to reach than Rayne, and could be accessed all year long. He would have preferred passage straight to Rayne, but it was more expensive and ships going that way were few and he'd missed the only one going by a couple of days.
The irony of it all made him want either to laugh or cry.
Ice grunted. "A pity; Captain Brighton was a good man."
"Yes," Beau agreed, though he had not known the man long. "I was asleep when the storm hit, and I remember the mermaids appearing somewhere right in the middle of it. After that, I recall nothing." He shuddered at memories of cold sea water and freezing rain, slimy hands and chilling black eyes. Swallowing roughly, he fumbled for his glass and downed the contents, choking as the wine burned.
The glass was plucked neatly from his fingers before he could drop it, and Ice regarded him with a surprising amount of concern. "Are you well? I have realized belatedly that in worrying about your bite, I have neglected the rest of the matter."
Beau shrugged, looking at the table. "I'll be all right. Sadly, I'm growing rather used to misfortune. It seems to plague me."
Ice gave another one of his grunts and poured more wine. "We should be in port the day after tomorrow, and that should be in time enough to procure an antidote. Then we will figure out what comes next."
It was then that Beau finally and fully realized just what his circumstances were – he had no money, no clothing, nothing. Except a bite that likely would result in his being killed or simply tossed back into the sea. That Ice had rescued him was astounding.
More remarkable still was that Ice seemed genuinely to care. "It's not your problem," Beau said, slowly dragging his eyes up to meet Ice's. "Why are you bothering with me?"
"Never give up 'til it's all over," Ice replied, and those ice and smoke eyes seemed to shadow. He picked up his wine bottle and took a long draught. "My mother was bitten by a mermaid…my home then was in High Cliffs. They say she ran to the cliffs and threw herself off them." He took another swig of wine. "I was only a babe, then."
Beau was silent, startled by the story and that Ice would tell it. He finally settled on a nod, not trusting his tongue to work. There were a few things he could do well with his tongue, but speaking wasn't one of them. He struggled for something to say anyway, but words of comfort or condolence sounded stale to his mind.
His eyes fell on the pearls around Ice's throat, and a sudden idea lodged in his mind. He spoke on impulse. "Did those belong to her?"
Ice smiled briefly. "Astute," he said, reaching up to touch them lightly. "After my father died, people came to collect the debts he still owed. Most of them were fair, and I dealt with them accordingly. One bastard, however, tried to take things that were not his to take, including these. I told him to give them back; he refused. The argument waged on, and at last he grew angry and threw them into the sea – my parents home was near a set of cliffs, though nothing like those from which my mother…" Ice motioned vaguely and took another swig of wine. "He said if I could find them again, I could keep them, and if not then at least he would be rid of me.
"The villagers gawking over our argument tried to stop me, but I dove off that cliff and into the sea – and found the pearls. The villagers said I looked as though I were made of ice myself when I came tumbling back out of the sea."
Beau laughed, unable to resist. "Let me guess – you have been called Ice ever since."
Ice grinned. "Aye."
His levity faded, though he tried to keep hold of it. "That still doesn't explain why you're being so nice to me. I can't think that you benefit more from saving me than from simply having left me to my fate."
"Never give up. Everyone considered these lost when he threw them in the sea," Ice said, touching the pearls again, "but here they are, safe and sound. A man should always look after himself, but everyone needs help now and again. You're not a mermaid yet, there's still hope. That's enough for me to take you to port. The rest is up to you."
Beau nodded, and felt the terrible weight of his worry and depression ease. "Thank you," he said, and offered a genuine smile.
"You're welcome," Ice replied. He finished the last swallow of wine in his bottle and set it aside, leaning forward on his elbows. "Now we need to work out how you will earn enough coin to pay for your antidote."
Anger and fear crashed down on Beau, something in the way Ice leaned toward him stirring memories of what he'd fled. He recoiled, rage spiking—but the look of surprise that rippled across Ice's face in the next moment was enough he bit back the angry words on his tongue.
Ice blinked at him. "I did not mean what you clearly took my words to mean," he said slowly. "It is not to my taste to force pleasure."
Beau shuddered and slumped in his seat. "My apologies. I know that." He swallowed and reached again for his wine, this time having enough sense to sip it. "I left Black Hill because one client wanted to become my patron – but only on the condition I warm his bed. I said no. He would not accept that answer. The matter got out of hand when in an effort to make me do his bidding he scared off all my other clients. I decided to leave before things got even worse."
Perhaps it was the wine, or that Ice was more or less a stranger, but telling the tale – at least in part – was easier than he'd expected it to be. He had planned on telling no one of the humiliating reason for his hasty departure.
Ice merely gave one of his grunts, a sound that seemed to have at least a dozen meanings. "I can certainly see why he would want you to warm his bed, but there are better ways to go about convincing a man than that."
Beau blinked at the words, not quite sure how to respond. Thankfully he was spared figuring it out, as Ice continued speaking.
"I meant only that we should see what work you are fit for here on my ship; though I would hand the money over, gladly, for I do not lack coin—" He broke off, smiling knowingly at the way Beau recoiled and shook his head. "I did not think you would agree to that."
He shook his head again. "I do not take charity. It is galling enough I am completely at your mercy for food and clothes and all else until I reach land and can find work." Which…he realized abruptly he would never be able to afford to travel home before winter hit. He would be stuck in Port Rayne until spring.
That thought should depress him, except he'd never wanted to go home anyway – and Ice had said he wintered…
Scowling at himself, Beau shook the traitorous thought aside. Had he learned nothing at all?
"I know nothing about ships," he finally said. "So I am rather at a loss as to how I could earn the necessary coin – and in only a day and a half's time."
Ice leaned forward in his seat once more, eyes bright and sharp. "I was thinking more you could help me over the course of the winter – unless I am mistaken, you will not be going home until spring. Travel is dangerous enough on the sea; on land it will be worse."
Beau nodded. "I could not afford it now, anyway."
"Then I will take you on. My supercargo spends the winter working on our records and acquiring goods to take south come the thaw; you could assist him easily enough, I'm sure. I have also been meaning to catalogue my own belongings for some time – more than a few are quite valuable." He grinned and touched the pearls at his throat. "I like to keep track of things, but am notoriously terrible at my own record keeping."
Clerk's work. He could manage that, even if he would rather put a quill to much more interesting use. "That is certainly generous of you," Beau said slowly. "Surely there are better candidates."
Ice shrugged. "Few men work harder than those with a debt to pay off, and even with the antidote…"
Beau made a face, fighting the depression that threatened to consume him all over again. Mermaids were hated the world over, but in his homeland people were highly superstitious. It was likely the reason Ice's mother had thrown herself off the cliffs. That he'd been bitten by a mermaid would be held against him, even if he did manage to cure himself.
"I am deeply in your debt, it would seem," he said, whispering the words, feeling more miserable than ever before.
"Only because you insist upon it," Ice said gently. "To me, it matters not at all. Still, perhaps in a winter's time you will not only pay off the antidote but earn money to resume your craft somewhere else. It seems a shame to send you back home to a life of repairing fishnets."
Beau frowned at him. "You do not know me; you have never seen my work."
Ice shrugged. "I have good instincts, and any man who looks as sad as you when speaking of a craft he gave up was probably very good at it." Ice abruptly stood up, coming around the table, and Beau once more was subject to one of those rough, awkward caresses.
It should be upsetting, the way Ice's touch did not bother him one bit – but there it was, and he was suddenly too tired to care.
"Sleep," Ice said quietly. "It is the best thing for you, as your body fights with the mermaid venom."
"As it succumbs to it," Beau retorted, but obediently dragged himself to bed and flopped down upon it. He felt someone touch him, pull the blankets up, but sleep dragged him under and held him tight before he could say a word.
*~*~*
Ice shook hands with the men who had stopped him and bid them a good day, exchanging an amused glance with Beau as they finally continued on their way.
Beau smiled faintly – and all too briefly. Ice thought it a pity he did not smile more often, but then again what little he'd gleaned of the man's tale offered plenty enough reason not to smile.
"Are you familiar with Port Rayne?" he asked.
"Only in passing," Beau replied with a shrug. "I traveled here perhaps twice as a child, and when I left to seek a new home, I could afford to leave from here. I considered briefly living here, but at the time I felt it was still too close to home." He smiled weakly. "If times got to be tough, I did not want to risk running home." The smile faded. "The distance has proven not to matter, I'm afraid."
Ice grunted and stopped asking questions he should not be voicing anyway. The man was none of his business, and after the tale he'd told, he seriously doubted Beau wanted to be Ice's business.
Perhaps it should worry him that he was clearly interested in Beau, but Ice preferred simply to take things as they came – the man was fine, bite or no bite, and obviously not afraid of hard work. Mayhap by spring the situation might have improved enough for Beau that he would not be adverse to a dalliance.
He definitely had been too long at sea. Well, business was almost concluded, and then he could seek pleasure.
They turned down a narrow street, the cobblestones here rougher and more uneven, less cared for than the main roads. Refuse and grime crowded the edges, and even the main portion of the street had only been half-heartedly cleaned. Days ago.
At last they reached the building they sought – dirty stone and a tired looking door, the steps leading up to shoddy and uneven. Not the best healer in town, but Ice had long learned he was one of the best – and most willing to deal with those who were not born with countless silver to their name.
Above the door was a faded wooden sign hung from creaking iron hooks on a rusting pole. 'Capp: Healer'
"Here we are," he said, and tucked a small sack of coins into Beau's jacket and placing a finger over his lips as the protests started up. "Whatever you spend will be deducted from your pay, if you like. Whenever you are finished, I've taken rooms at the Whirling Snowflake. Likely I will not return there myself until quite late, but I've told the innkeeper to expect you. Eat, drink, be merry. In two days time we will likely head for my home – there is coin enough in there to purchase whatever amusements you think will keep you while we are buried in the snow."
Beau scowled, but said nothing as Ice let his finger drop. He nodded stiffly, then sketched an awkward bow. "Thank you. The Whirling Snowflake. I'll try not to be too late."
Ice laughed. "Take your time. There are some fine taverns…and other places to find distraction." He winked. "I likely will not be back 'til the wee hours of morning myself." He reached out to stroke the fine hair, unable to resist, utterly taken by how soft it always felt.
Another nod and thank you, then Beau was climbing the stairs and knocking upon the door. Ice left him there, knowing Beau would not want any sort of audience while he went about obtaining a cure.
Traveling quickly back the way he'd come, he wove through the mazelike ports to the Portly Gentleman. Inside, he made his way to the private room in back where his business was always conducted.
Inside Maine and Everest already waited for him, along with two men who nodded cordially.
"Greetings," Ice said, sliding into his seat between Maine and Everest. "How are you this evening, gentlemen?"
"Well," said the first, a man with a thick beard, the telltale coloring of a native. "Yourself, Captain?"
"Hopefully we are all about to be extremely happy men," Ice said lightly. "Everest, tell these fine gents what we've got on offer."
Everest slid his spectacles into place and picked up the papers in front of him. "Fifty casks of the finest Tamboria Spice, each stamped with the brewer's mark. I have here the paperwork to further prove authenticity." He pulled a paper from his sheaf and pushed it across the table.
The second man, with sandy hair and a darkly tanned complexion, picked it up and lifted a monocle to his right eye. After a moment he pushed the paper back. "Excellent. Seventy gold a piece."
Maine sneered in contempt. "We both know such quality Tamboria Spice goes for no less than a hundred a cask. Adding to that the trouble we took getting it here, the bribes paid out to get it past customs…one fifty easy."
The men scoffed, and Ice sat back to listen to the battle that sprang up around him, admiring the fine work of his two most valuable men. The four men went back and forth for at least an hour, until Ice at last barked a halt. "115 sounds adequate to me. We will deliver to the warehouse of your choosing, and from there we are ignorant of anything. Agreed, gentlemen?"
"Agreed," they said, and shook hands with Ice, Maine, and Everest. "Always a pleasure, Captain," the sandy-haired one said dryly.
Ice flashed them a grin. "Indeed. Have a good night." He fell silent, watching the men file out, then stood and clapped his own men on the shoulders. "You two are, as always, perfect. I could not ask for better. See things are handled, leave me word at the Snowflake that all went well…you know where to find me if matters sour."
"Aye, Captain," Maine said.
Smirking at the looks they gave when each thought the other wasn't looking, Ice wondered if they'd finally settle the unspoken tension between them. He doubted it, but anything was possible.
Leaving them to whatever occurred, he left the Portly Gentleman and cut through several shady streets until he reached the one he wanted, traveling half way down it to a simple looking building with a simple gold plaque on the door: The House of Good Cheer.
Chuckling, he stepped inside and allowed a pretty looking young man to take his coat and jacket.
In just his shirtsleeves, he pushed his way through the large, crowded salon. Eventually he might make his way to a private room upstairs, but for now the crowd suited him. He found an empty seat at a circular booth in the back, settling onto the velvet-covered seat as a handsome young man with dark hair and eyes – and very little clothing – approached him.
"Can I get you something?" the young man asked, voice husky and sweet, the mouth forming the words finer still.
Ice smiled. "Yes. A bottle of your finest red, a light snack to go with it, and your mouth when you return."
The young man smiled. "As you wish, my lord."
He turned, and Ice enjoyed the sight of him walking away, the kisses stolen by a couple of customers emboldened by drink. The young man vanished into the back, but reappeared after only a few minutes.
Ice waited as the wine was opened and poured, obediently tasting and approving it – but then he set it aside and dragged the young man down, taking his mouth greedily, pleased at the eager response given.
Clever fingers wasted no time opening the laces of his shirt, petting his chest.
Tearing his mouth away, Ice sat back and did some brief petting and fondling of his own. He raked his hand through the boys long, pretty hair – but it was not as soft or fine as the hair he really wanted to pet. "You know where I want that mouth."
The young man grinned and kissed the corner of his mouth, then sank to his knees, clever fingers working at the laces of his pants, and Ice groaned as that mouth was finally where he wanted it to be.
He let his head fall back and sank his hand into the boy's hair, urging but not pushing, breaths turning into pants as he imagined that too-wicked mouth belonged to a different dark-haired beauty.
Opening his eyes, he looked up briefly to absently take in the crowd, each one lost to some pleasure or another, smirking at those who took pleasure in watching…
He choked, certain he was seeing things—
Beau stood in the doorway, and even as Ice saw him those green eyes found him, and under any other circumstances he would have loved the way those cheeks flushed dark. As it was, the dismay and mortification on Beau's face was upsetting.
He grunted at the mix of sensations, attention dragged away from Beau by the talented young man sucking him off, and Ice abruptly came hard, swearing softly as he looked back and saw Beau had vanished.
Tugging the young man up, he kissed him deeply and pressed several coins into his hand, apologizing even as he bolted across the room.
Barely remembering to grab his jacket and coat, he fumbled them on even as he threw himself out of the house and down the stairs. "Beau!" he called, despairing as to which direction the young man had taken – but a scuff of shoes and a bit of moving shadow gave it away, and he raced off up the street, turning the corner and landing with relief upon the man he sought.
"Beau!" He caught Beau's wrist and dragged him to a halt. "What were you doing there? Is something wrong?"
Beau didn't look at him, eyes only for the cobblestones. "I, uh, came to tell you thank you and goodbye." He laughed miserably, shakily. "I guess it just goes to prove my state of mind that of course you would be, uh, engaged in such a place. Stupid."
Ice frowned. "Why did you not simply wait for me at the inn?"
"I'm leaving," Beau said tightly. "I can't stay."
"Why no…" Ice let the question die, seeing the answer plain on Beau's face. "We were too late."
Beau's face twisted, and tears slipped down his cheek before he angrily brushed them away. "Too late," he echoed. "The healer said perhaps half a day sooner and the antidote would have worked. He gave it to me anyway, but he says likely it's a waste of time and money and antidote…"
Ice frowned and dragged Beau back when he again tried to leave. "Come on," he said, hauling him along the street, ignoring every protest and plea to let go.
He didn't relinquish his hold until they were safely locked in his room at the Whirling Snowflake. "Why does he say it's too late? You seem fine – you've not even begun to show scales and teeth or crave fish."
Beau laughed, the sound more like a sob, and abruptly yanked off his coat and jacket, pulling his shirt over his head and turning around. "They must have appeared just this morning."
Ice's frown deepened as he stepped close enough to get a good look at the small, faintly shining scales that were in small patches across Beau's back. Beneath his fingers, Beau's skin was surprisingly warm to the touch, soft and smooth. If not for the direness of the circumstances, it would be distracting indeed. "Have you taken the antidote yet?"
"What's the point?" Beau asked bitterly, pulling his shirt back one and moving away, sitting on the edge of the bed and curling his arms around himself. "The healer was thoroughly convinced it would be a waste of time. I'd intended to give it to you, figuring it was always useful for sailors to have a bottle of antidote on hand."
He bent and picked up Beau's discarded coat from the floor, fumbling in the pockets, at last locating the small, dark glass bottle with a familiar label. Striding to the bed, he sat down next to Beau and thrust it into his hands. "Take it. Better to try and fail than not try at all. Do not give up until it's over."
Beau shook his head. "I'm not wasting it, and I would say it is well and truly over."
"Damn it, no!" Ice snapped. "You're still alive and mostly human, so it's far from over. Just drink it. What harm will do? It could still very well help, who cares what the healer said? They have been wrong before, this I know for a fact."
"It's over!" Beau bellowed back. "Why do you even care? I thank you for your help, but you needn't keep bothering now. It's over, I'm done." He stood up and strode for the door.
Ice snarled and grabbed him back, throwing him to the bed. "It's not over, and I refuse to let you just give up. My mother didn't give up on me, my father didn't give up on me, I never gave up on me, even when I almost wanted to. Everyone else did, back home, but not me!"
Beau frowned, startled into lying still upon the bed, and under any other circumstances Ice thought he would have been hard pressed not to ravish the man senseless. "You mean when your mother was bitten? I don't understand…"
"Because I didn't tell the whole truth," Ice said with a sigh, raking a hand through his hair. "I was only a babe when my mother threw herself off the cliffs…but I was still in her womb when she was bitten." He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, barely noticing as Beau shifted to sit next to him once more. "Mermaids lurk around High Cliff; it's a good area for fishing and they want the same fish we do – nor are they too upset about such easy access to victims, I guess… Anyway, my mother was wading in the waters near her home and a mermaid for some strange reason came close to shore – and bit her.
"She told no one at first, according to my father, not until the scales began to appear and her hand was forced on the matter. Still she never succumbed to it; for a full two months she continued to carry me, hiding from all but my father when everyone insisted she was lost, and I alongside her…"
"Ice…"
He ignored the soft way Beau said his name and continued with his story, because damn it no one should just give up. Not after all his family had endured just to give him a chance… "Finally I was born, but all that my mother had fought and resisted hit her then, the force of it drove her mad. The villagers all wanted to kill her, of course, but she took matters into her own hand and threw herself from the cliffs…
"They all wanted to kill me, but my father refused. The villagers wouldn’t tolerate my presence, so my father packed up and moved to a house several miles from the village. We scraped by, living as best we could…still, when my father died, people used every excuse they could to be rid of me. All the debts they called in…" He shook his head. "I could never prove them false, save the matter of my mother's pearls…and I don't doubt some of them were genuine…" He shrugged. "The point is, my mother held on for me. My father sacrificed the life he loved to give me one when everyone else would have cast me into the ea with my mother. You should not give up so easily."
Beau looked at him, eyes wide with shock. "Are you—"
"A mermaid?" Ice shrugged. "Maybe a bit, I'm not really sure. I can swim extremely well, always have. The cold doesn't get to me as badly as it seems to get most people – that's why I could retrieve my mother's pearls. That and if I'm in the water long enough I can start to breathe in it. So, a little bit I would say, but not much. Sometimes I think my mother's resisting for so long, the fact she wouldn't just give up on us…gave me some sort of immunity." He shrugged again, smiling sadly. "Unfortunately, it's not an immunity I can seem to pass on, or I would give it to you in a moment."
"Incredible…" Beau said, shaking his head. "It sounds like a wild story…"
"I can assure you the tale is quite true. They declared me a wicked child, something evil. Having been in the womb of a woman who had turned mermaid, what else could I possibly be?"
Beau looked up at him, tilting his head. "I believe it," he said quietly. "There's no reason you would make something like that up…and it upsets you too much to be false…" He looked back down, at the bottle he still clutched in one hand. Slowly he pulled the stopper out, then raised the bottle to his mouth and upended it, downing the antidote swiftly.
"There's a good lad," Ice said with a wink.
"Ugh," Beau said with a grimace. "Why must medicine always taste like it's going to kill you?"
Ice threw his head back and laughed. "If it tasted good, people would be more inclined to use it for every little problem." He tousled Beau's hair and stood up. "I will call find some wine to chase away the taste." He paused with his hand on the door. "You might check that bundle over there," he said, motioning to a paper-wrapped parcel on the table. "I had them purchased as a get well gift for you – only that, a gift." He winked. "So no complaining or fussing or feeling guilty."
He left before Beau could start demanding what he meant, hoping the gift would be appreciated, stubbornly not thinking about why he'd bought a gift at all for a man who was still more stranger than friend – and one likely to be a mermaid in a few more days.
But no, he hadn't given up yet.
Tomorrow would tell.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-04 09:28 pm (UTC)Bah, if I didn't nitpick, there would be no stories. I do this all the time -- it's just usually I have more success.