The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(69)

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” the captain said.

“Don’t worry. I can do this.”

“And what will it cost me?”

“Fifty goldies and passage on your ship to any one of your next ten ports of call.”

“Fifty silvers and passage to our next port of call,” the captain said.

Merrick opened his mouth to counter offer, but the flash of the woman’s green eyes told him he had heard her final offer. “Done.”

“If you fail,” she said, firmly, “I will hunt you down and gut you. Remember, I’ll have plenty of free time on my hands.”

“We’ll meet you on the departure deck at first light,” Merrick said. He watched as she rose and strode from the tavern. The last he saw of her was her lingering scowl.





*


Merrick had a nap in one of the sleeping lofts so he would be rested for his night’s work. When he awoke and climbed down, the innkeeper served him a mug of ale, a bowl of thick stew and a half loaf of dark, musty bread.

“So, you’ve found work,” the innkeeper said, stroking his long red beard.

“A small job. I’ve been hired to break some spacer out of jail.”

“Decent pay?”

“Enough,” Merrick said, lying.

The innkeeper threw back his head and laughed a deep, barking laugh. “You were taken by the lass’ beauty, weren’t you? You’re taking a whit of your asking price.”

Merrick felt his face warm. “She was a shrewd negotiator,” he said. “She made sure she got value for her money.”

“She’s a shrew, I’d wager,” the man said. “A woman wearing captain’s gold could never stoop to rut with the likes of you.” He laughed again.

“It’s not about rutting,” Merrick said, indignantly.

“No, I’m sure it’s not,” the innkeeper said. “Believe you me, I was taken by those sharp green eyes myself. If she asked me to come mop her galley, I’d be off this world in a minute.”

“She does have nice eyes, doesn’t she,” Merrick said, cradling his mug between his hands.

The barman laughed his hearty laugh again and went off to serve other guests.

Merrick sat drinking ale and daydreaming about the captain until it was time to go.





*


With the waxing moon high overhead, Merrick donned his pack and followed the cobblestone road to the city gates. Olafston sprawled in lazy circles around a central butte atop which stood the castle. The lower levels contained the many city offices and the wealthier businesses. King Olaf XXXVIII lived in the highest levels and his board of directors lived just below. Carved down into the butte were the jail and the quarters of the king’s guard. The system of rule in Olafston was a bit chaotic, but it had worked for thirty-eight Olafs, so there was little likelihood it would change anytime soon.

Merrick greeted the guards at the gates and, after shaking hands and patting backs, he passed through into the outer circle of the city.

The harvest festival was in full swing and the streets were full of revelers, performers and vendors―all in high spirits. Merrick picked his way through the crowd, getting caught in a circle of dancers a few times, accepting a flagon of wine here and there and generally enjoying the spirit of the celebration.

At festival time, the population of the town more than doubled, with farmers coming from surrounding farms and outlying villages. It was the biggest party of the year and few chose to miss it.

As Merrick wound his way through the straw-strewn streets, he thought about the captain and those incredible green eyes. There was something about her he had never experienced before. Certainly, in the Seven Systems there were as many bold women in authority as men. As far as physical strength, all spacers applied themselves to regular exercise―it was part of the job. Green eyes were hardly rare, that wasn’t it. No, it was a package deal. There was something about the combination of boldness, authority, strength and green eyes―as well as gender, of course―that he found intoxicating. This was the woman for him. The one he had waited for all these years.

Merrick chided himself for developing a schoolboy crush, but he couldn’t help it. The captain had certainly caught his attention, if not his heart.

There were few direct paths to the castle, but Merrick managed to keep the route as short as possible. A time or two he got lost in a fantasy about sailing the universe at the captain’s side and ended up having to backtrack, but for the most part he made good time.

At the base of the butte, the road began to spiral and quickly led to enclosed stairs, winding their way to the great concourse in the lower level of the castle. Guards at the stairways to the upper levels slept quietly, having not had a siege, revolt or assassination to deal with in hundreds of years.

Merrick found the stairs down into the butte and began the long hike to the jail.

He passed a few guardsmen coming and going, mostly staggering and got confirmation from one that he was indeed on the correct path to the cells.

The castle had been built over many, many generations. Plans had been drawn; plans had been lost; plans had been ignored. In the end, the entire structure was a patchwork of starts and stops, additions and subtractions, brilliance and idiocy. If the plan had been to confuse and confound an invading army, then the goal was achieved. If the plan had been to confuse and confound the residents of the castle, that goal had also been achieved.