The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(68)
*
That First Kiss
S. Patrick O’Connell
The air in the tavern was a little too still in the warm autumn afternoon. An aroma of baking bread and roasting meat mingled with the sweet smell of fermented beverages and strong tobaccos. Merrick sat in the semi-darkness nursing a mug of thick foamy ale and pondering his ill fortune.
It had been thirteen months since he had landed in this nasty little backwater city-state and in that time he had found little employment for his skills. His purse was nearly empty and he wasn’t looking forward to another winter in this place―especially a winter with no means to pay for his warmth. His tunic was faded and torn in places; his leggings were grimy and stained; there was a hole in the bottom of his right slipper that simply would not stay mended, no matter what, and he had lost his hat somewhere along the line. A change of luck was more than overdue.
The curtain that covered the doorway in fairer weather pushed aside and a woman strode in and stopped to gain her bearings. She was tall and fair, with brown hair pulled back in the spacer style and a posture that showed confidence and authority. Her tight flight suit followed the curves of her muscular body, hugging her like an exoskeleton. A pair of gold ellipses on her shoulder announced her rank as captain.
After a moment to allow her eyes to adjust, the young woman approached the bar, leaning across to speak to the innkeeper. He gestured toward Merrick.
Could this be the appointment Merrick was waiting for? Most of his assignments on this world, so far, had involved lost goats and family feuds. Whatever the job, it would likely pay more than he had made in a year.
The woman looked Merrick over and then approached with what appeared to be an air of resignation.
“Are you the thief?” she asked.
“Please,” Merrick said, “I prefer ‘paladin’ or ‘advocate’ or ‘man-at-arms.’”
“I would prefer those things, too, but on short notice, you’re what I’m stuck with.”
Merrick signaled for the woman to have a seat.
“I am Merrick of Owsley,” he said. “And you would be?”
“I am Captain Severide,” the woman said. “Just call me ‘Captain.’ It’s what I answer to.”
Merrick was nearly overcome by the woman’s intense green eyes. He drew a deep breath to compose himself. Negotiating with authority figures required a special cleverness. Negotiating with a beautiful authority figure was going to require all the slickness Merrick could muster.
“So, I understand you need my help,” he said.
“Against my better judgment and all that I hold holy, it appears that I do. If I had time to spare, I believe I would hold out for someone a bit more . . .” she looked him up and down, “professional,” she finished, after a pause.
“Please, don’t let my appearance fool you,” Merrick said. “I am a traveler and not of this place. I do my best to fit in, but I assure you I am no simple bumpkin.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply that Olafston was to blame for you, simply that you couldn’t possibly be the best refuse the trash heap has to offer.”
Merrick’s cheeks grew hot with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’ll have you know, I have been educated at the best universities in the Seven Systems. I carry two degrees of mastery and have been dangerously close to completing a doctorate!”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” the captain said. “Art history and ancient literature.”
“Well, yes, actually,” Merrick said, ducking his head, “but I wore the Sash of Honors.”
“I just bet you did. So how does any of that help me?”
“What exactly is this, um, task you require accomplished?” Merrick paid careful attention to his grammar.
“My first officer got into a bit of a scrape in Olafston and landed in their brig on a month’s sentence. I need him broken out.”
“A month’s sentence is hardly anything. He would probably be released after twenty days just from bad accounting.”
“I don’t have twenty days,” the captain said, impatiently. “If we don’t sail at noon tomorrow, we’ll lose our window and we could be stuck here for months. A screw-up like that could cost me my ship and my career.”
“So sail without your man. It seems it would serve him right.”
“Oh, would that I could,” the captain said, frowning. “Regulations. A ship may not sail without a captain and a first mate. No one else aboard holds the necessary rating. I wouldn’t even be allowed to break moorings.”
“I see,” Merrick said, rubbing his chin, feigning thought, while secretly reveling in the sense that he had the captain over a barrel. “So, what is it you want from me?” he asked, knowing full well.
“I need to break my crewman out of the brig. I loathe to say it, but I’m afraid I need your help to accomplish that task.”
Merrick fought back a smile as his mind went into overdrive. It was exactly the opportunity he needed. He appraised the woman carefully. She had revealed far too much. It was unlikely she would be that tough to bargain with.
“I will have to go it alone,” he said. “A spacer would draw too much attention and there would be three of us in the brig. I will have to creep into the castle in the night, overpower any number of guards, free your man and smuggle him from the city undetected.”