Page 7 of A Flash of Golden Fire

“Come the fuck on, you cunt!”

I gave the lead rope a huge tug, and the beast finally budged, dodging past me, bleating and pulling me along as she headed for the door to the stairs.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hollered, tripping over my feet and almost falling as I held onto the rope for dear life and ran back with her to the holding pen.

The two other goats, Monty and Gordon—neither of them near as much trouble—were happily munching on some branches. I took Lilith into the pen and tied her to a beam. She bleated happily and joined her friends in stripping leaves and chewing on the bark.

“Good. Stay the fuck here now. I’m trying to make a good impression.”

She bleated what was probably an impertinent response.

“Right,” I said, clapping my hands together.

Anticipation and excitement filled me at the thought of speaking to Captain Martin in his quarters. I wished I’d some cleaner clothes to wear.

I hadn’t had a good wash since I’d first come on board, when I’d been provided a tub of cold water and some clothing: a pair of simply made trousers, a length of rope for a belt, and a linen shirt, along with a pair of leather shoes that fit all right, but which I never wore.

I’d got a wool jacket, too, for colder temperatures, and I couldn’t fault the captain’s generosity. I’d worn the clothes for three weeks, and since I worked with animals, they were probably a bit ripe. But there was nothing for it, and I had to show up to the captain’s cabin in the only togs I had.

Chapter Two

The Captain

His cabin was at the stern of the ship, and guarded by a fellow known as Boone, an intimidating giant of a man whose job was to protect Captain Martin at all costs. Since he could shrivel my bollocks with a steely eyed look, he was well placed.

“What you want?” he grunted. He was sitting on an upturned barrel by the door of the captain’s quarters, picking under his nails with the sharp edge of a massive knife.

“I was told to come to Captain Martin’s quarters,” I said in a voice that made me sound much less sure of myself than I’d planned.

He gave me a skeptical glance.

“Ya were, were ya?” he said. “Now what would the captain want with you?”

That was the fucking question, but how should I know?

I shrugged. “No idea. But I’m here, ain’t I?”

Although Carago had taught me to read and write, and I knew how to conjugate and had a good grasp of proper English grammar, using a more common vernacular allowed me to blend in. All the better to surprise people with my level of learning and sophistication later on.

He gave me a salacious grin, his gaze running over me from top to tail, making me feel like a piece of meat. Normally, I’d respond in kind if I found a fellow attractive, but I wasn’t sure Boone wasn’t measuring me for a cook pot rather than implying a different kind of interest.

“That you are, my boy. That you are. Now give me the blade and any other weapon you’ve got on you.”

“What makes you think I have a blade?” I asked, trying to act insulted.

He held out his hand. “Give it. Or I’ll not let you in.”

Probably a good practice not to let a crew member into the captain’s quarters with a weapon. I hitched up the corner of my tattered shirt just enough to pull the sheathed dagger out of the waistband of my trousers, giving the handle an affectionate stroke before I passed the weapon to Boone.

“You got anythin’ else on ya?”

I shrugged. “Only a cock the size of a summer squash. Would you consider that a concealed weapon?”

Boone blinked, then let out a belly laugh that shook the floorboards.

The door to the captain’s rooms swung open, and we both started. Boone’s expression turned serious.

“What’s going on out here?” Captain Martin barked.