Chương 73: Chapter 27: Business Before Pleasure

Shivai looked at me dumbly for several seconds longer than I thought necessary. She blinked. I blinked. A whole lot of blinking went down while the kitchen around us felt increasingly small, chilly, and awkward. Wynnie just watched, also blinking. I cleared my throat.

"Shivai who?"

"Don't tell me you forgot who I am after what we did last night." Her tail swished through the air like a dangerous whip.

"If this is your way of telling me you'd rather forget, then it's not funny."

"Oh. No. Shit. Sorry." I fumbled through a convoluted explanation of knock-knock jokes, then reached for a few off-the-cuff punchlines. Shivai don't know, why don't you tell me? Shivai? More like I shiv! Because of your daggers. Nothing worth repeating. She cringed through each attempt, shrinking smaller and smaller, as though preparing for an inevitable death blow. When I finally stopped trying, she let out a sigh of relief. Wynnie patted her with a comforting, "There, there."

"Is the joke over yet?" Shivai asked.

"I still don't get it. Is that really the most famous joke where you're from?" I shrugged.

"Maybe. It's kind of hard to measure that, but people learn it when they're kids and the structure of the joke sort of translates through their adulthood."

"Maybe something got lost in translation." She patted me lightly.

"Perhaps you should leave the humor to us. Unless... is this also your idea of a joke?"

"What do you mean?" She patted me again, this time on my side. Her eyes narrowed, looking at the way my tunic and pants draped over me, moving with her every touch. Her eyes rolled far enough back in her head that she looked briefly possessed.

"It's like you didn't even try to hide these knives. Sleeve, boot, and pocket? Drew. Really, I expected better."

"I just wanted to see how thoroughly you'd check." My hands raised defensively, as though she might stop fondling me and give me a healthy smack instead.

"I was just getting used to feeling blades against my skin." Wynnie watched the whole exchange with her arms crossed. She clucked her tongue at me again, shaking her head like a disappointed schoolmarm. On the one hand, it seemed outrageously old-fashioned and judgmental. On the other hand, that look kind of did something for me. After seeing how she took charge with Shivai in the bedroom last night, I saw her in a new light.

I could just imagine her dressed up as a schoolteacher, one button undone to expose the barest hint of cleavage, a yardstick smacking loudly in her hand, ready to dole out discipline to her unruly subjects. Which reminded me—since Shivai had found the knives, I owed her spankings. My hand still smarted from our escapades. I could only imagine how her ass felt. A smile crept across my face.

"What are you smiling about?" Wynnie asked.

"Stuff. Things. Last night. Also, why are you looking at me all judgementally? You helped me hide these knives!"

"I did! And it would've worked, too, if you hadn't held yourself stiffer than a scarecrow." Shivai placed a consoling kiss on my cheek.

"Why don't you try that again. I'll head out to the main room and start drawing another rune that we can use for service tonight. We'll keep the place cool," she said, doling out instructions as though she managed the place.

"If there's time, I'll do two runes. One for the main room, and one for ours." She said ours as though it were a done deal. Like there was no question that we'd be sharing our room with her indefinitely now. And honestly? I was fine with that.

"I don't think it'll take me that long to hide a few knives on my body."

"Of course it won't. But it will take you that long to hide them in a place where you can unsheathe them and stab a tree in a single motion. That's your assignment for today." The look of steel in her eye was surprising. After how readily she'd taken instructions last night, she appeared just as happy to give them now. I'd almost come to think of her as a generally submissive person. Bratty, but more than ready to step in line. Yet now she took charge readily.

It made sense, since she'd always lived by her own rules and needed to make sure things got done. I wondered if the only time she followed someone else's lead was when it led to orgasms. I could work with that. Wynnie couldn't, though.

"Nope. Nuh uh. Hiding them is one thing, but wrecking the blade against the local forest? You need to find your own."

"Can I use yours?" I asked Shivai.

"What, and mess up my fancy daggers? No way!" That cleared things up considerably. If all their knives were off limits, then it was time for me to get my own. Fortunately, we'd built up quite the war chest from our inn's increasing success. The bulk of our coin was in the small bank a ways north and inland, but we had more than enough on hand to cover a variety of purchases to keep the inn running smoothly. I did a bit of quick mental math to make sure we had enough on hand to cover weaponry.

Without even knowing how much a decent dagger cost, I felt immediately confident. We weren't rich yet, but we no longer had to look at the price tags when we were shopping.

"Alright, girls. The custard's ready to churn. Help me make this ice cream, and then I'm gonna see what the blacksmith has in stock." Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

I loitered awkwardly outside the dark shack next to one of the blacksmith's. A wrought iron steel fence hemmed in the property. A furnace and bellows dominated one side of a brick platform. Across from them were an array of other necessities: two anvils, a vise, tongs, a quench tub, and a multitude of vaguely disorganized hammers. A thump and then a cough came from within the little shack. So, the blacksmith was definitely inside. I just didn't know if he was open—or accepting visitors.

Still, I didn't want to stand outside waiting all day. I raised my hand to knock.

"You waiting in line for the outhouse?" The brash voice came from behind me. I turned to see muscular shoulders, a cocky smirk, and glistening, almost scaly skin. Except it was Lady Talia, as I'd hoped. Instead, Freya, the self-identified mermaid princess-cum-fisherwoman gave me an evaluative up-down. Doubt gripped me.

"Is this the outhouse? I thought it was the, uh…"

"The blacksmith? I thought so too. If it's not, then I lugged this chain out here for nothing." She patted a heavy canvas sack slung over her shoulder. It clanked with the thick, metallic sound of iron chain links.

"I hope that chain wasn't for anything important," I said.

"Our anchor."

"That sounds important." She grinned.

"Depends on how you feel about adventure. Sailing the high seas without something to keep you from drifting can be exciting." She winked, then nudged be in a surprisingly familiar way.

"Don't worry, though—this isn't our main anchor."

"You have two?" A beat passed, and she raised a judgemental brow.

"Have you ever even been on a boat?" I wondered if she thought a kayak counted. Or a canoe. Or a ferry.

"Not exactly."

"Want to?" Another heavy beat, this one laden with a surprisingly heavy implication. And, now that things had progressed with Shivai—and the word harem had been tossed around more than a few times—I gave the invitation an extra second of thought. Yet before my mind could wander, a creaky voice came from inside the shack.

"Do I hear two strangers outside my door?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Well, quit flirting like a couple of teenagers at the Spring Festival and come on in! I ain't gon' bite." I could feel my cheeks flush slightly, caught. Yet Freya just shrugged and gestured toward the door with a smile.

"After you, handsome." I pushed. The door groaned and squeaked, but barely budged. I pushed again to no avail.

"Maybe it's stuck," Freya suggested.

"Or maybe…" I pulled. The door swung open. Harsh sunlight cast over a surprisingly gaunt figure wearing little more than leather overalls, loose socks, and untied work boots. She shielded his eyes from the glare. A mane of wiry hair exploded out from the sides of his bald head, and a goatee cascaded down from his chin like a pubic waterfall. His smile revealed a few missing teeth, but his kooky, welcoming demeanor buffed out a lot of flaws.

"Join me! Don't get baked out there in the sun!" He motioned for us to enter, and we did.

"Close the door behind ya, quick. Don't worry—your eyes'll adjust in two shakes of a zingo's tail." Freya pulled the door in behind us, and it shut with a soft thud. At first, everything looked pitch black, and I cursed my human lack of darkvision. Then, sure enough, cracks in the wood allowed sunlight through. Tiny beams lanced across the dusty inside air, letting me see everything as my eyes adjusted. Freya judged me, elbow to elbow. She leaned in.

"You gonna ask for something, or should I cut in line?" Right. I cleared my throat.

"Got any daggers?"

"Daggers!? Are you planning to join the Crown's Guard?" I couldn't tell if the old man sounded more surprised or confused. I almost had the sense to be embarrassed. Yet I'd come here on a mission, and I couldn't let an odd reaction derail me now.

"I'm training," I explained, but not very specifically.

"For pirates," I added, still rather vague.

"Ah. You don't mean to join them, do you?" Freya cocked her head.

"To stab them? Are you expecting company?"

"Yes, and I am," I said. I looked around the inside of the ramshackle outbuilding. The interior was lined with shelves and hooks, and all manner of metalworking wonders met my eye. Belt buckles piled on top of spatulas and metal cups. Glass jars of gussets and rivets and buttons pressed up against one another. Fire pokers, ladles, and spatulas hung haphazardly. Yet my eyes were drawn to a variety of blades that adorned one wall like a macabre accent wall.

No two pieces were alike, but a few of them had to qualify as daggers. Although, upon inspection, it looked like there were a few karambits, kukris, and krises, too.

"Good enough. You may take your pick. Some are more expensive than others," the man said.

"If you need me to pick one for you, I'd be happy to help." Call it cockiness, or call it a growing understanding of my weapon preferences, but I already had an idea of what I wanted. A few specimens called to me, and it wasn't just because they looked cool.

"I'll take these three," I said, pointing to a set that looked almost like it matched. Each was just shorter than my forearm, with double edges, small crossguards, and thicker centers that would make a cross-section look diamond-shaped.

"They look, um, daggery."

"They are," he said.

"And one of these," I added, pointing to a wickedly curved karambit that looked like an oversized raptor's talon.

"Aaaand this." Reverently, I pulled a wavy, ceremonial-looking kris down from high up. The blade felt remarkably balanced, and only a little shorter than the falcata Lady Talia had me practicing with. Inexpert but intricate designs were lovingly etched into the blade. The black leader hilt looked freshly oiled and almost completely untouched. Two flawed gemstones studded the ends of the cross guard. It wasn't exactly a work of art, but it was clearly a work of passion. For my purposes, I didn't need perfection.

Heart was enough. Immediately, I loved it.

"Do you know how to use that?" the old man asked.

"Not really."

"Meh. Not my problem, I guess." He muttered something to himself and pointed to each weapon I held. At one point, it looked like he was carrying the one.

"How about three gold for the lot?" Instinct kicked in.

"How about two?" He chuckled, wheezing the last few laughs.

"You caught me. Thought I could trip you up with some funny math. You can take the lot for three, but I'll want a free ice cream anyway." I pulled out three coins, and we shook on it. Since the shopping trip didn't take long, I figured I still had time to drop by the tanner's to see if he had any sheaths I could use. Worst case scenario, I could put in an order and see what he could do on short notice. As I stepped aside, Freya took my spot.

She was already pulling out a short length of chain with a couple of worn, busted links. They rattled ominously like death come early. Yet instead of engaging the blacksmith, she caught my eye.

"Are you serving later tonight?"

"With any luck, yeah. The girls and I think we found a way to keep things cool."

"Good. If I'm going to spend time on land, I'd prefer to enjoy myself." Her gaze intensified, almost unnervingly so. Turquoise and cerulean irises looked deep as any ocean.

"So, if you have any cream left and want to share it with another girl…"

"Uhh."

"Or, wait. You called it ice cream, right?"

"Right."

"Silly me. Perhaps you can show me the ins and outs of your different creams." I blinked a few times.

"Are you phrasing things like this on purpose?" I asked.

"I'm just not sure if I'm supposed to be playing along or something."

"Oh! Um. I'm not really from around here, so if I'm saying something inappropriate…" She shrugged, brushing it off.

"Then maybe it'll give us something to talk about later." She turned back to the blacksmith.

"Think you can fix a few links?" As I exited the shack into the blinding sun, I looked back at the mermaid. Light reflected off the subtle, scaly texture of her otherwise flawless skin. I wondered how long the merfolk would remain in town—and if they'd ever return. Maybe we could chat about that later when she interrogated me about ice cream. That is, if pirates show up before we got the chance. I'd been starting to feel comfortable again, as though daily life had gone back to normal.

But as I felt the weight of new steel in my hands, I knew that any comfort would be short-lived. Perhaps I'd found comfort while they were away, but that didn't mean I could let my guard down. It was time to get down to business. Pleasure could come later.