by Kirk Zurosky
“But no one did,” I said quietly.
“No one even moved,” Portimus said. “Later Hedley said it would not have worked if one of us had slit our wrists right then and there, because our hearts were not filled with pure love for Gulth Scorn.”
“So he felt betrayed,” I said. “And I think he still does.”
“Years later, during my divorce, Scorn was on the bench,” Portimus said. “Justice was my lawyer. I thought everything would turn out fairly. I guess it did—if paying that cheating courtesan for eternity was fair! Scorn gave me no recognition at all. As he hobbled off the bench, he just said that at least I had my health. Can you believe that?”
“Actually, I can,” I said. Hedley had not mentioned the cure to me earlier, nor that he was indirectly responsible for keeping a madman alive. What could he say? How was he to have known that Gulth Scorn would turn into what he was now? Right, he was the Master of Masters, the Teacher of Teachers. Yeah.
“Has anyone ever successfully saved someone from basilisk poison with the mix of a weasel heart, cockatrice brains, and the blood of a Sacrificial Lamb?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” Portimus said. “No one even knows if it works.”
“What blood did Hedley give to Gulth Scorn, to try and save him?”
Portimus exhaled slowly. “Well, unlike Cabernet who was barely nicked by the arrow and got just a tiny amount of poison into his system, Scorn was covered from head to toe in putrid, flesh-rotting venom. So, Hedley and Malakar needed a lot of blood and took it from the beached carcass of a dying shark.”
I nodded. “Perhaps they should have thought twice about that choice.” But Portimus had certainly filled in Hedley’s story with some valuable background. I thought back to my time in Gulth Scorn’s courtroom. Indeed, the cold, emotionless eyes I remembered were more suited for patrolling the depths of the ocean than for dispensing supposedly fair and equitable law.
“They had no choice,” Portimus said. “That was the only blood available in the quantity they needed. But I suppose if Cabernet ever wakes up, I will let him know just why he has an overwhelming urge to chase his tail.”
A knock came at the door, and Portimus quickly covered Cabernet with a warm blanket. He sidled to the door, and pulled it open to find his serving wench holding a tray with two glasses of port on it. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me in the room with her master. My eyes went to her bountiful breasts and confirmed that they indeed would be quite suitable for my mouth. And I saw her staring unabashedly at my crotch, and realized she was thinking along similar lines. Portimus merely sighed and muttered something about being too damn old. He took the tray and handed one of the glasses of port to me. I sniffed it and realized it was a most excellent vintage. Time with Oliver had taught me much.
“Cabernet will be safe with me,” Portimus said. “Mary will take you to your quarters. I will have provisions ready for you in the morning. I wish you the best of luck with your journey, Sirius Sinister.”
I stared back at Cabernet who looked to be merely resting. “I won’t forget about him,” I said. “Horny old goat or not, he is my friend. I bid you a good night, Portimus.” I turned and took Mary’s warm soft hand in mine. “Walk with me now, Mary.” She smiled, which was not one of her better looks. I made a mental note to make sure the only wick Mary was to set aflame in my bedchambers was my own—and down the hall we went.
Chapter 11
The first fingers of dawn crept over the horizon and reached through my window, prying open my tired eyes. I went to move but realized Mary’s head lay on my naked hip, one arm draped across my leg. She muttered something in her sleep and exhaled her soft warm breath, causing me to stir. I debated trying to sneak out of bed and head back to Oxford, but what Cabernet had told me was probably not news to Hedley Edrick. And if it was, something told me it was equally important to keep the Professor on my side and take her to the docks to see Halley’s diving bell. Hedley would just have to wait, and it wasn’t like he had been completely honest with me, having left out a few choice details regarding his relationship with Gulth Scorn. I was sure there was even more to the story.
The rising sun now cast a rosy hue across the entire bedchamber, and Mary rustled slightly. “Oh, what a sight to start one’s day,” she said, lifting her head from my hip. I glanced out the window and then down where she lay. Indeed it was a glorious sight to behold.
“Are you ready for a proper English breakfast?” she said, her hand stroking the inside of my thigh ever so gently.
“That would be most appreciated,” I said. “I have a long journey ahead of me.”
She stared down at my own morning rising. “And from the looks of it, so do I.”
I was a bit late to meet the Professor, but she seemed so eager and happy to be finally going to London that she did not quibble one bit. In fact, she seemed relaxed and refreshed and without a bit of oatmeal in her hair. “Did you enjoy your breakfast?” she asked.
I smiled, taking a satchel of foodstuffs from Mary as I mounted my horse to ride ahead of the Professor’s coach. “Indeed,” I replied. “Best way to start the day.” Mary smiled awkwardly, and I marveled at how such a crooked-toothed mouth could be so smooth and effective. The Professor looked at us oddly, but seemed her usual clueless self. “I will come back to your coach just outside London and escort you to the docks,” I said.
I dug my spurs in and was all at once both happy and sad to leave the Three-Legged Turtle in the dust. Sad for what fate had levied on poor Cabernet, and happy to be on the move to my next adventure. No matter what the universe had planned for Gulth Scorn and me, it was my unwavering determination to meet the challenge sitting high in the saddle with a sword on my hip. On to London my steed thundered, making great time as the road was fairly uncrowded. Once I reached the city, I weaved my way through the streets, and thought back to when Lovely and I had been here together. The padfoot community had probably recovered by now from our visit. Though on a later trip I would find myself in a tavern, hearing the tale of how one young thug’s grandfather had his arm ripped from his body by a strange man-beast and was beaten to death with it.
Down to the docks I went, not knowing what to expect in the way of security at Halley’s pier. I found only one lone watchman, who did not even ask if I was from Oxford but merely pointed me to the bell when I asked. I walked down and looked at the strange contraption. Suspended on a long cable was a wooden bell shaped rather like a cone, with weights on the bottom, and long hoses leading to barrels that sat on the dock. What were those for? I sat, staring at it for a while, and decided it had absolutely nothing on the shells of the merfolk. Did it really work? According to the Professor it did, and Halley had descended underwater in it for nearly four hours. For the briefest of moments, I allowed myself to think about the Queen and our journey across an ocean, lip to lip, mouth to mouth, and alas heart to heart.
Wistfully, I kicked a rock off the dock into the Thames and nodded to the watchman as I passed by. I told him I would be bringing a lady friend to see the bell, and he looked at me quizzically. I gave him the last of my cheese, and I added that I was trying to impress her with my knowledge of science. He shrugged through a mouthful of cheese and waved good-bye. I made sure to leave him a bottle of fine whiskey as well. Sure enough, he was not at the dock when the Professor and I returned a few hours later.
The Professor could not take her eyes off Halley’s bell, nearly tripping and falling into the water as she descended the ramp to where it hung. “Oh,” she exclaimed, trailing her finger along its surface. “It is just so exquisite. Have you ever seen its equal?”
This creature was an entirely different Professor than the one I was used to seeing. I opened my mouth to respond, then realized she was not even looking in my direction. Her focus was completely on the bell. And I mean completely. She must have intimately caressed every bit of the bell she could reach, l
ike it was the tip of some lucky giant’s phallus. She straddled one of the hoses connecting the bell to one of the barrels on the dock, and reached forward and embraced the barrel. At least, that is what it looked like she was doing. She prattled on about water pressure, fathoms, and truncate cones, getting quite worked up in the process. Her hands went through her hair, and she was clearly perspiring. Science did indeed heat up the Professor. I started to back away from the dock to give the girl some privacy as I could swear one of her hands had disappeared under her petticoats as the other stroked the hose. But then the worst possible scenario developed. “Sinister,” she breathed. “I need you.”
Like that was going to happen! I was beginning to feel quite thankful for the oratory skills of crooked-toothed serving wenches with great tits. “For what?” I called from the safety of the ramp heading away from the bell. This journey had taken quite a debauched detour. Blast, if Mary Grace had not been right after all.
“I need you to get it up. So come down here right now!”
“I think I hear someone coming,” I said. “That is a very bad idea. We work together you know!”
“Come here now, and get this bell up and over the water,” she called. “I want to try it out and see how it works.”
Oh, the bell was what she meant. I wiped a bead of perspiration from my forehead. I walked down to the dock and found the Professor frantically running back and forth from the edge of the dock to the bell. “I need you to wrench that winch like one of your wenches, Sinister,” she commanded. “But first, help me into the bell.”
“Can you swim, Professor? Because if something goes wrong, you are going to plummet all the way to the bottom of the Thames!” I peered into the water at the dock and was thankful I could see the bottom. The Professor would not have far to go, but if I tipped the bell with her in it, the water would rush in and I would be hard-pressed to keep the Professor from drowning with the weight of all the clothes she chose to wear.
“No, I cannot swim,” she said. “That is why I need the bell.” She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But she was missing the point of what would happen if the bell failed her, or if I did. “Though if I get scared really badly, I can perhaps get my skin somewhat like some thin bamboo.”
“Oh good,” I said. “Bamboo floats.” I clasped my hands and motioned for her to step into my grasp, which she did with a grunt. Her dress easily weighed enough to drag her under, bamboo or not. I lifted her up to the bell, and she took her place on the bench inside. I retreated to my post at the winch. “Are you ready, Professor?”
“Not yet,” her voice echoed out from the underside of the bell. “One moment, please.” To my great surprise, what looked like a large brown tent dropped out of the bell. I thought it was a tarp that Halley had inside for some reason, but then I realized it was her dress. “Just in case,” she called. “But I do not want to die in my petticoats, Sirius. Keep that in mind.”
I did not want to see her in her petticoats, so I was okay with her request. “Hang on, Professor,” I called out. “I am going to lower you into the Thames. You are not going to be in very deep and just long enough to get the gist of how things work. I don’t trust myself to use the weighted barrels to replenish your supply of air, fair enough?”
“Fair enough,” she answered.
I took a deep breath and looked around the docks, which were still deserted. Halley and his men were apparently elsewhere in London, and my whiskey was keeping the watchman quite occupied. I began turning the winch and lowering the bell into the Thames. The bell approached the surface and plunged beneath with a dull whooshing sound, and the Professor was completely submerged under the water. If the bell had not worked, I imagined the water would have rushed in and pinned her inside the bell, and so the Professor was either high and dry on the bench or trapped in Halley’s coffin-like contraption. The minutes now eked by painfully slow as I stared at the bell. I sure hoped the Professor was enjoying—and surviving—the experience.
Suddenly, I heard a bit of commotion on the other side of the docks, and the unmistakable cries of angry men. I was about to pull the Professor up anyway, but now I wrenched the winch in the other direction as fast as I could. First, the top of the bell appeared followed by the rest of it, and I guided it back over the docks with all the speed and strength I could muster. “Professor,” I called. “Are you alive? Because we have company, and they do not sound happy that we have commandeered the bell for a private little voyage!”
“And what a voyage it was!” the Professor exclaimed, very much alive. “A bit too short, Sinister. I had hoped you would have made my ride last longer.”
“Right,” I said, shaking my head. The sound of a gunshot pierced the air, followed by the dull thud of hot lead ricocheting off the dock. I pushed her dress up under the bell. “Here,” I said. “Take your dress, or we are going to be target practice once they get closer if we don’t move!” I realized Halley’s men weren’t shooting directly at the bell for risk of damaging it, but they would not have that problem when they got closer.
“There is too much material,” she said. “I can’t get my dress on in here.”
“Well, I could have told you that,” I said. “I’d love to help you, but my specialty is getting dresses off not on!” I ducked as another bullet winged by, this one a little closer. The men were now nearly at the head of the docks, effectively cutting off our exit. We were sitting ducks. “Get down here now, we have to go!”
“But I don’t want you to see me in just my petticoats,” she answered.
“If you don’t get down here, half of London is about to see more of you than just your petticoats!” I said. “We are trespassing here, you know!”
She dropped into my arms, her hair wild and sticking up in every direction, and her dress draped over her like a huge satin blanket. “We don’t have time for this,” I said, grabbing her and leaping into the Thames, leaving the dress as a present for Halley. It would indeed make a nice tarp or something. The Professor screamed, but I pressed my lips against hers tightly just as we hit the water, and I kicked furiously away from the dock as bullets plunged into the water around us. The Professor relaxed, and I shifted my mouth so we shared the vital oxygen filling my lungs. The Thames was colder and murkier than the warm clear waters off of Sa Dragonera, but I knew that I had enough air to get us down the river and away from danger. I swam under the docks between two pylons where we would be unseen by human eyes and surfaced, slowly breaking our kiss of necessity.
The Professor clung to me tightly and began to shake, whether from the cold or the excitement of the moment, I did not know. She leaned in and kissed me again, her lips surprisingly soft though cold. “What was that for?” I whispered, and I don’t know what shocked me more—her kiss, or the fact that I was getting aroused by the Professor!
“You saved my life,” she answered.
“You are a faerie,” I said. “They could not kill you. Maybe torture you a good bit. But not kill you. Come on, we have got to get out of this river, get a bath, and into some warm clothes. No matter what time of year it is, this river is cold and dirty, and the rats are always hungry.”
I led her to a ladder leading up to the streets near an inn where I knew I could get a room, a bath, and a hot meal with no questions asked. I motioned for the Professor to go up first, and as her frame cleared the murky water and took to the ladder, I realized her petticoats were now quite see-through, sticking to her like a second skin. I gasped for her wild hair was now long and straight, cascading to the small of her back and framing a round plump rear end that I had ogled once before.
“Damn!” I exclaimed in surprise. The Professor was indeed the woman in the bath at the Three-Legged Turtle! I enjoyed the view as I scaled the ladder right behind her. She turned into the sunlight, and I saw her front was just as surprisingly nice as her back, with full high breasts, a taut stomach, and long
lean legs. I liberated a blanket from a nearby horse stall and placed it around her.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d rather smell like horse than be seen in my petticoats, since I am not the prettiest girl in the world.”
Had she never looked in a mirror while naked? “I do not want you to get the wrong idea, since we are on staff at the college together,” I said. “But objectively, from a purely scientific viewpoint, and I mean that completely—your bones and muscle structure are favorable to the human eye.” I took her arm and steered her down an alley toward the inn. “Who knew that you had all of that under there, working for you?”
She looked at me curiously as we walked, and then smiled broadly. “I can see why you are so charming to the ladies of the world, Sirius Sinister,” she said. “You must be quite practiced in the art of wooing, after all of these years with all of your assorted women.”
“I assure you there has been no wooing here today, dear Professor,” I said. I looked away feigning aloofness. “I am but a man of action, Professor, doing what men of action do and saying what men of action say, yes?”
She laughed without any trace of a snort. “Where did you learn that little action in the water?”
“Where else?” I shrugged. “From the Queen of the merfolk.”
“Maria’s mother is the Queen of the merfolk!” the Professor exclaimed. “And now she is one of your ex-wives, right?”
“Yes,” I said, wanting desperately to change the subject. “That is so.”
“Tell me, Sirius Sinister,” she said, “am I the only other woman, other than the Queen of the merfolk, that you have done that with?”
