by Marie Brown
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Simeon Kerrigan leaned out over the railing, the cold dampness of the cloud slipping through his fingers like silk. He fancied he caught occasional glimpses of the ground as it sped by far below, bits of exotic South America in all its unexplored glory. Rubbish, of course. The inclement weather rendered everything outside the little bubble of light surrounding the Aurora invisible. What would it be like, to fly without a machine? To soar through the air, without a care in the world? Or to leap from the ship without the power of flight... to feel the air go by with increasing speed, to hear the wild keen of the wind, to see the ground spiral ever closer... and then the impact, the final end to it all. He leaned farther yet, considering. But death made for the coward's way out, and his father never raised him to be a coward. Reluctantly, Kerrigan straightened. The blood pounded in his head, providing a welcome diversion from regret. Never strong enough, never resolute enough, couldn't carry through with any plan...
He waved off remembered criticisms and made his way back into the deserted interior of the Aurora. All on the upper decks had gone to bed. Surprise flickered through him. Surely he had not been out there so long? The mariner's timepiece on the mantel confirmed he had. He shrugged and made his way to the liquor cabinet. Some port would go down a treat. He poured himself a glass and settled into his favorite wingback chair, frowning at the contrast of the silvery-gray day jacket against the rich red and gold embroidery. He'd never changed out of day dress for evening, never heard the call to supper. He sipped at the port, wishing his mind would quiet and allow him to rest. He'd been up for three days. Insomnia itself was nothing new to him, but the disturbing direction his thoughts took if left unguarded... He gulped down half the port.
How was he to deal with this... this strange obsession growing inside him, focused wholly upon a certain young man? Worse yet, the unnatural dreams. Dreams of soft touches, of warm lips, of caring brown eyes... Distress curdled his innards. How could he think such things? Unclean. Unnatural. Punishable by death in some circles. Not that he'd ever cared much for social conventions, or facing death for that matter, but it simply wasn't done. The rest of the world could say what they liked about the primness of Victorian society, but proper behavior held the world together. He should give over these improper urges and feelings and make an effort to re-cultivate his relationship with Rebecca. They'd slipped apart on this journey, as she experimented with other men and he wrestled with his wayward heart. Yes, a good choice indeed, the proper path to follow. Socially acceptable, safe, expected by his peers... and utterly the opposite of what his most secret heart yearned for.
The elegant crystal glass glinted at him in the soft gaslight, empty. Simeon blinked at it. He couldn't remember drinking the port down to the last drop. He shrugged and refilled the glass. This time he'd take a moment to savor the port, then take himself off to bed, where all of his friends and most of his crew apparently already were.
Idly, he wondered what Claude would think of his trouble. The feisty little Frenchman would doubtless laugh and tell him to follow his heart, something only likely to happen in France, where everyone knew the wildest of sins were commonplace.
He set the empty glass aside and rose. Forget going to bed. Despite the late hour, he knew he wouldn't sleep, and laying in soft, warm darkness hardly offered the ideal environment in which to clear his mind.
