George Fraser - The Pyrates

“Get away from me!” Black Sheba, crouched against the orlop bulkhead, clutched her rag of shirt across her breasts with one hand and swung the slack of her fetters with the other. “Another step and I’ll lay your face open!”

“Now, stab me if I understand you,” Blood was saying, and Avery could picture the sinister smile on his lips. “What’s the matter with me? I’m good-looking, young, charming, clean, amiable, and I shaved this morning. Bigod, ye don’t know what a lucky girl ye are; all I want is to help you pass the time pleasant-like –”

“Some day I’ll pass the time with you,” snarled Sheba, her bazoom heaving like anything, “and you’ll beg to be let die!”

“Ah, come off it,” said Blood, eyeing the fetters warily. “It’s going to happen to you in Calicut anyway. You’ll be sold off, every delectable pound of ye, to some greasy old hog of a planter, and he won’t take no for an answer. Whereas with me, it’ll not only be a rewarding experience, I’ll even engage to buy you myself – if I can raise the money …”

The artful stinker had been edging closer, and as Sheba let fly with her chains he ducked nimbly underneath, and with a caddish chuckle tackled her low and pinned her on the straw, smiling mockingly into her blazing eyes. She struggled vainly while he got himself comfy.

“Now, then,” he said, “what I propose is one little kiss, and if ye don’t like it, then on my honour I’ll leave you be. Tom Blood doesn’t stay where he’s not wanted. But I can’t believe a fine strapping lass like you won’t think better of it …”

And the bounder’s lips were descending on hers when steely fingers closed on his shoulder, and he was dragged up to meet Avery’s eyes glittering wrathfully, and Avery’s voice ringing in icy scorn:

“Muckrake! Stinker! Jerk!”

And he hit the Colonel a big one, splat! which sent the startled amorist hurtling headlong across the orlop, and serve him right. Avery, fists clenched, towered over him in manly indignation, while Black Sheba crouched on her straw, wide-eyed. The Colonel presently sat up and nursed his jaw reflectively.

“Some days are like this,” he sighed. “Ye just can’t please anybody. A man goes about trying to promote a little happiness, but …” He shrugged and came to his feet, smiling to conceal his anxiety about his bridgework. “That’s a fair wallop ye have in that hand, Captain. Is it as ready when it’s holding steel?”

“Get out,” snapped the Captain, in refrigerated contempt.

“So soon?” wondered the Colonel amiably. “We could have a three-handed game of brag … no?” He winked regretfully at Sheba. “Sorry, sweetheart, ye’ll just have to contain your passion for another time. If you’re staying, captain, and she starts fiddling with those chains – duck.”

And with insolent aplomb the hardened scoundrel tipped them a salute and went off, whistling. Avery waited till his footsteps died away, and then glanced at the swarthy Juno crouched at his feet.

“Did he hurt you?”

Sheba shook her head, and slithered up sinuously to lean against the bulkhead while Avery looked about her cramped prison. What a filthy hole, he was thinking, even for a wild female blackamoor; why, his gundogs, Buster and Doodles, had better kennels at home. And Sheba, her smoky eyes devouring him, was thinking: what a profile, what class, what style! Even the way he tramped accidentally on her waterdish, and wrinkled his Grecian nostrils in distaste, sent gusts of passion surging up from her ankles. And now those wonderful grey eyes were turned on her as he asked, in his best orderly officer manner: “Any complaints?”

Any complaints! The words seemed to turn her shapely knees to buttermilk, but all she could do was shake her head again dumbly, at which he nodded in a way which clutched at her heart. As he turned away she found speech, huskily: “Captain Avery?” He paused inquiringly, and the gentle lift of his moulded eyebrows hit her like a battering-ram.

“I have not been able to thank you,” she breathed, “for saving me from the whip, the day we sailed. Why did you?”

He frowned. “Didn’t like it. Not British. Cruel.”

Sheba considered him. “Cruelty can have its uses,” she husked, gnawing her lip and smouldering a bit, but Avery didn’t notice.

“Anyway,” he said, fair-mindedly, “that blighter Blood was the first to help you. Just shows, he can’t be all cad.”

Sheba’s lovely lips writhed in a sneer. “He had his reason, as you saw just now. Were I old and withered, instead of …” Here she let actions speak louder than words by doing a gentle bump and grind, “… they could ha’ flogged me to mincemeat and he’d not have lifted a finger, he.” And she called Blood a horrid name.

Avery pursed a doubtful lip – after all, Blood did hold the King’s commission, and that sort of talk from a person of her class struck him as subversive. But before he could chill her with a mild reproof, Sheba had glided forward as far as her ankle-chain would allow, and repeated in that hot sandalwood voice:

“I have still not been able to … thank you, captain.” And she made a little helpless gesture with her fetters which would have won her a contract at Minsky’s. “These chains …”

“What about ’em?” said Avery innocently, and stepped closer to look. The great sap couldn’t see what was coming; he was all off balance as two slim dusky hands were raised to caress his cheeks, two amber-flecked eyes gazed into his, and two crimson lips were pressed fiercely against his mouth – you wondered for a split second if she was going to strangle him, didn’t you? Not Sheba. She was giving that sudden embrace all she had, which was plenty, since she had had lots of practice. Whereas Avery, apart from his brief session with Vanity earlier on, was a total novice. Consequently, the effect on him was electric. For a moment he was petrified, and then jungle drums began to throb in his ears, ritual fires blazed up, fogs of musky incense swirled through his senses, erotic cymbals clashed, and he found himself inexplicably thinking of silk cushions and Turkish Delight, of all things. He drew back in some confusion, disengaged her hands, and automatically adjusted his neckcloth.

“That,” he said, slightly hoarse, “was not necessary.”

“That,” panted Sheba, her eyes like open furnace doors, “is what you think.”

What an odd woman, thought Avery. Barbarian, of course, just expressing thanks in her primitive fashion. Rather touching, and indeed not unpleasant, in a peculiarly disturbing way – just for a moment, there, he’d felt a sort of dizzy, hypnotic attraction … in fact, he still did, even at a range of four feet. Extraordinary … yet how curious that he who had never been kissed before this evening, should be embraced by two women within an hour. Vanity would be vastly amused when he told her … or then again, perhaps she wouldn’t. The dear child might not understand that the touch of her sweet lips was utterly different – pure, exquisite, holy bliss, quite unlike this savage creature’s crude display of gratitude … yes … very different …

Now that he looked at her, this black female was quite striking, if not altogether seemly in appearance. Very tall girl – and how oddly she was regarding him, with that intense stare while she licked her lips and growled deep in her throat. Captain Avery swallowed; he was feeling that dizziness again. Very close down here; he needed a breath of air. Abruptly he turned about and left the orlop.

Black Sheba stared after him hungrily, her eyes heaving and her chest smouldering (just by way of a change). Then she relaxed, a feral, enigmatic smile playing about her chiselled lips as she reclined on her bed of straw. Playing hard to get, eh, she thought … but not for much longer, you gorgeous Greek god, you. Any minute now, buster, any minute.