Blow Me Down (7 page)

“No, it’s not that,” I said, giving in to the few more tears of self-pity that welled up.

“Maybe she’s lost her mum, like Suky did last week?” Red Beth suggested. The ladies were all lounging around the main room in the house in various states of undress, waiting, so Renata had told me after I had regained consciousness and she had helped me back to the house, for the brisk evening trade.

Suky tossed her head. “ ’Twas a blessing, that was. Sour old cow.”

“No, it’s not my mother,” I answered, still trying to come to grips with the horrible twist my life had suddenly taken.

“I know!” Mags piped up, doing a little twirl that spun her sheer petticoat out. “The stiffenin’s gone out of her man’s mizzenmast. That’d make anyone bawl their eyes out.”

“That’s not what’s troubling me. I don’t have a man—”

The ladies, as a group, gasped in horror.

“Ye don’t have a man?” Mags asked, one hand surreptitiously making the sign of the cross.

“No. I’m entanglement-free at the moment.”

“None?” Sly Jez prodded. “Not even a Jack Tar what comes to shore every six months?”

“No, no men, Jacks or otherwise. I had a husband. . . .”

“Ah,” the ladies sighed, relieved.

“Died, did he?” Red Beth asked.

“No, actually, I divorced him several years ago. He was not at all husband material, but I was young and didn’t see that at first.”

“Divorce?” Sly Jez looked to Renata, who was squinting into a rum barrel and muttering to herself.

“It be somethin’ out of yer ken, lass,” Renata answered.

“So you be havin’ no man now,” Sly Jez said slowly, her brow furrowed as she puzzled out the sad tangle of my life.

“That’ll be hard, what with men in short supply. What the emerald mine don’t take, the sea does,” Suky said. The ladies nodded.

“But what happened to the man ye had?” Jez asked.

“Amicable divorce. Mostly amicable.” I gave one last sniff and told myself to get a grip. Self-pity was like tears—simply not productive.

“Sounds painful,” Jez said. “Are ye lookin’ for a man, then?”

“Well, not really looking . . .”

“Of course she is,” Mags said, rolling her eyes. “But she’ll not be findin’ one here.”

“Actually, I did meet a man here earlier.”

“Oooooh,” said the chorus of women.

“Fast worker,” Suky said, nodding her grudging approval.

“Well, ye have to be, what with the few lads around here,” Mags said. The ladies—Renata excepted; she was still muttering at the rum barrel—sighed sadly.

“So, who be the one who’s caught yer eye?” Sly Jez asked, taking a seat and adjusting her breasts. She was the only one who was still fully clothed, if you could call breasts straining to overflow her leather bodice clothed.

“What are you doing?” I asked, momentarily distracted by her actions of plumping her breasts so the bodice was almost made moot. “Shouldn’t you be . . . you know . . . tucking them back in rather than bringing them out?”

“I’m fluffin’ me cleavage,” she answered, looking down at her breasts in surprise. “Why would I want to hide ’em? ’Tis me best feature.”

I looked at my breasts. Even lifted and separated as they’d never been before, they weren’t overflowing the confines of the bodice. I debated fluffing but passed on the idea since there was only so much madness I could stand in any one given moment. “Er . . . Corbin was the man I met.”

The sound of a metal tankard hitting the wooden floor was the only sound in the room.

“He seemed nice enough, once he got rid of his blond persona,” I added, still eyeing my modest bosomage. Maybe fluffing wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Every other woman here seemed to have desirable cleavage. I didn’t want to be left behind—good God, what was I thinking!

“Corbin?” Sly Jez asked in a squeak.

“Mmm?” I tried squeezing my arms together against my sides to see whether that gave me bonus bosom power.

“Captain Corbin?”

“Yes, he was a captain. I kind of liked him, after he got through doing the charmer bit.” I glanced speculatively at Jez’s cleavage. It couldn’t all be natural. Maybe she was lacing her bodice tighter than I was.

“Black Corbin?” Red Beth asked.

“I think so, although he was blond at first. But I like him better with the darker hair. He looked more real, you know? More . . . trustworthy.”

“Black Corbin, the scourge of the Seventh Sea . . . trustworthy?” Suky choked.

I looked up, finally becoming aware of the strained silence in the room. The ladies all wore looks of stunned disbelief. “Oh, he’s not as bad as all that. I’m sure most of that is just PR. He was actually quite nice when I won a ship off him. That bit about revenge was just his wounded male ego talking, I’m sure.”

“Ye won a ship off . . . Reggie, did ye hear?” Red Beth turned to the madam. “She won a ship from Black Corbin!”

Renata shot me a long look. “Aye, I heard.”

“How’d ye be doin’ that, then?” Sly Jez asked.

I gave up trying to have the sort of breasts that overflowed anything and quickly told the women of my meeting with Corbin, including the duel and its outcome. “He said he’d get revenge, but you know how men are—they get all wounded pride and have to talk big in front of their friends,” I concluded.

“Black Corbin has no friends,” Mags said slowly, giving me a wide berth as she sashayed over to where the hunk of meat was still cooking over the fire.

“Well, I’m in no position to judge that. I haven’t been here long enough—” The realization that I’d be stuck here unless I found a way out hit me again, and a few drops of moisture attempted to squeeze out of my tear ducts.

“Oh, Lord, there she goes again,” Suky said, taking her baby off for her postdinner nap. “Someone stop her before we are a-drownin’ in tears.”

“No need to stop me,” I said, raising a hand. “I’m done crying. I’m not the crying sort; really I’m not. I think I’m a bit PMS-y is all.”

“Eh?” Jez asked, her brow wrinkled.

I glanced at Renata. She seemed to be the only one in the game who actually knew it was a game. Maybe she was the equivalent of a Help file? I set the soggy handkerchief down and paced the length of the room. “PMS is unimportant. What is important is the fact that I’m through with tears. Nothing was ever accomplished through crying. No, what’s needed here is a plan of action. Organization, that’s the key! My old accounting business admin professor used to tell me that given the proper organization, any situation could be overcome. I’m an intelligent, resourceful woman—I’ll simply gather the data available, organize it in an easily understandable fashion, and then use it to solve my problems. Oh, for my laptop! Or even a whiteboard! I could work up a killer PowerPoint demonstration if I just had the necessary equipment, and what I could do with a high-speed Internet connection, maybe a dedicated T3 line . . .”

The three ladies gaped a little bit at me. I decided they weren’t up to hearing about modern technology and moved on to a topic that would have a more productive outcome. “This may take a bit of time, unfortunately. Renata, I . . . er . . . could I stay here? I can’t pay you in money,” I hurried on before she could demand that I become one of her girls, “but as I mentioned before, I can trade my financial skills for room and board. I’d be happy to not only create a business plan for you, but set up retirement plans for all your ladies.”

“Aye, ye’re welcome to stay, dearie,” Renata said, gathering up a basket. “I’d best be doin’ me shoppin’. Ye lasses take care of our guest, now.”

The ladies murmured unenthusiastic agreements as Renata left the house.

“What be that retirement ye mentioned, Amy?” Mags asked suspiciously, turning the spit the meat was on. “This retirement—is it good?”

“Oh, absolutely. A good 401(k) plan is vital to your financial well-being and security in your old age. Don’t worry, I’ll explain it all once I have a fund set up. Now, to begin, perhaps I could start with a simple profit-and-loss prediction based on past—”

The front door of the house was thrown open with a shout of greeting. “Ahoy, the house! First Mate Pangloss is here! Come out, ye comely wenches.”

“Panny!” Sly Jez squealed, jumping up to open the door leading to the entry hall. A big, burly redheaded man swept into the room, not even staggering when Jez flung herself on him, cascading kisses all over his beard-roughened face as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Hoy, there, me beauty. ’Tis missin’ ye I’ve been, as well,” the man named Pangloss answered in between kisses of his own.

Behind him another man lurked in the doorway, finally resorting to a shove to get Pangloss and Jez out of the way. “Gangway, ye scurvy bilge rat. Let yer captain through. Hoy, Suky. How be yer charmin’ self today? And all ye lovely ladies . . . sink me, ye’ve a new recruit? Welcome, lass.” The man paused in front of me, jerking a maroon captain’s hat from his head as he swept low in an exaggerated bow. “And a lovely addition to the house ye are.”

“Oh, I’m not with them,” I said quickly, then realized how rude that sounded. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a . . . er . . . that is, I’m just staying here. I was, for lack of a better word, stranded here, and until I can find my way home again, Renata has kindly offered to let me stay here. But I’m not a . . .” I glanced over to the corner, where the man named Pangloss stood, still lip-locked with Jez.

“This be Amy, Bart,” Suky said, offering the man a tankard of grog. He was a tall, wiry man with shoulder-length golden brown hair, a hard jaw, and eyes that didn’t seem to miss much. “She’s a newcomer hereabouts. Amy, so ye’re knowing . . . Captain Bart is by way of bein’ the governor of Turtle’s Back.”

“A governor? How fascinating. It’s a pleasure, Captain,” I said, offering my hand. Bart stared at it for a moment, then took it, turning it over and placing a kiss on the back.

“The pleasure, lass, is all mine. A newcomer to our fair parts, are ye? Well, then, ye’ll be lookin’ for some help to be gettin’ what ye want in life.”

“Well,” I said, pulling my hand from his, pleasure mingling with a faint sense of discomfort at the look of admiration in his eyes, “actually, I originally wanted to become an officer, but my goals have shifted since I discovered I was stuck here.”

“Ye’re lookin’ to be an officer, eh?” he asked, his gaze turned speculative. “What sort of experience do ye have?”

“Oh. Well, I have . . . er . . . I have a ship.”

“And she beat Black Corbin at swords,” Red Beth said, spreading the skirt of her petticoat and batting her lashes at the captain.

“Did ye, now?” Bart said, his look changing to one more calculating.

“It’s nothing, really,” I said modestly. “But I was alternate on my college fencing team for three years in a row.”

“Eh . . . nice. Well, there may be somethin’ I can do to help ye, lass,” he said. “I’m always lookin’ for good officers to help defend this lovely isle.”

“Oh, thank you, but officer isn’t really my primary goal now—”

“ ’Tis the way off this island,” Bart said smoothly, the blondish beard stubble on his cheeks catching the afternoon sunlight as it slanted in through the window.

Hope rose within me at his words. Maybe that was the way to bring up the virtual reality interface? Maybe I had to achieve the next level in order to quit the game? “Oh, well, then, consider me an officer!”

Bart laughed. Red Beth and Mags and Suky laughed. Sly Jez and Pangloss sucked each other’s tongues. “ ’Tis not quite so easy as all that,” Bart said. “But if ye meet our qualifications to join the crew, ye can go on the account.”

“Er . . .”

“It means become a pirate,” Suky explained, topping off Bart’s grog.

“Oh, become an officer in your crew? Okay. Sounds good to me. Only . . . what are the qualifications? I haven’t done too much sailing, although I did go to Catalina once. That was on a ship. Boat. Whichever.”

Bart smiled. “ ’Tis more of an indoctrination than qualifications, really . . .”

“Ah?” I asked, starting to get worried as his smile grew larger and amusement danced in his pale blue eyes.

“Aye, lass, and a simple one for someone as fierce as yerself. All we ask is that ye take care of a pest that’s been plaguin’ our fair paradise.”

“A pest?” I asked suspiciously. “It’s not a rodent, is it? Because I have a thing about rats—”

“That’s as good a name as any.” Bart laughed. “The rat’s name be Black Corbin, and all ye have to do to join me crew is to kill him.”

—Ibid, Act I

“It’s not happening,” I told Bart as I stumbled behind him up the patchily cobblestoned main street that led from the town up to where the governor’s house sat on a bluff overlooking the harbor.

“It wouldn’t be hard for ye, lass. Not if ye’ve beaten Corbin already. The next time, ye just slide yer blade into his neck rather than lightenin’ him of a sloop.”

“It is not happening,” I repeated, glancing a bit nervously at the four men following us. The big guy named Pangloss had remained at Renata’s house, having disappeared into a back room with Jez, but the rest of Bart’s men, so hastily introduced that I didn’t catch any of their names, were a tough-looking lot. They
looked
like pirates, all sneers and scars and unshaved beards and patched clothing, and a virtual arsenal of swords and firearms strapped to their persons.

“ ’Twould be a simple act,” Bart argued, pausing a moment to grab my arm as I stumbled over a loose cobblestone.

“No.”

“Just a wee slip of yer sword—”

“No! I am not killing anyone!” Bart and the men all stopped and stared at me. I realized that I had made a major gaffe in a game whose entire social structure was built upon bloodthirsty pirates. Not only that, but I may well have blown my chance to join their crew and advance to the point where I could get the hell out of Dodge. So to speak. “That is, I’m not killing anyone
tonight
. Arr!”