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Also by the Author

With Naomi Brooks

Shell Shocked

Showdown At Yellowstone River

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Sky Rat

ISBN#

9780982909959

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © ANGELIA SPARROW, 2010
Cover Art ® 2010 by CHRISTINE GRIFFIN
Edited by MARY K. WILSON

Electronic Publication Date: October 2010

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existing without written permission from the publisher, Jupiter Gardens Press,
Jupiter Gardens, LLC.,

PO Box 191

, Grimes, IA 50111

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Sky Rat

Angelia Sparrow

PPB

The great luxury airship,

Star of the Sky

, cruised elegantly

against the August sunset, her engines churning along, her
colorful dirigible envelope full. The swells on her deck moved
about in bustled summer gowns and dinner attire, sipping
cocktails and chattering about sporting events, shuffleboard,
and whist.

Belowdecks stank of coal and burning; the hellish heat

increased by occasional bursts of steam from the various
boilers, the whistle breaking up the work-chants of the crew.
Henry Toben mopped his face with a sweat and oil-soaked
handkerchief, stuffed it back into his overalls and checked his
boiler again, bleeding off a bit of steam as it got too full. The
pressure gauge had been running redline all trip, and the
boiler was heating too quickly.

Must have a thin spot, Henry decided. When they landed,

he'd check every weld and rivet and plate. The ship's bell
clanged out eight strokes. End of the last dog watch. He was
free until morning watch. When Barger came to relieve him, he
pointed out the problematic pressure gauge and then went up
into the crew quarters.

After a wash, since the

Star

had running water even for

the crew, he found his way to the crew's relaxation deck.
Unlike a sailing ship, there was no need for a completely
enclosed hull and the company believed men worked better
when they could have some fresh air.

Henry walked the railing at the edge, feeling the wind in

his face as the warm night lay over the country. They'd be in
San Francisco tomorrow night. He had a week's pay coming,
and the food was always good there. He'd slip down to the
wharves and watch the men on the sailing ships come in with
their catch, buy a dozen oysters alive, and pay a street-lady to
steam them in her cooking pot. He snorted laughter as
Gideon came to the rail beside him.

“What's funny, Henry?” the big man asked. Being black,

he was relegated to the hardest work, shoveling the coal and
tending the fires.

“Thinking of dinner tomorrow. Ready to spend that week's

pay already. Some good whiskey, some oysters and--”

Gideon clapped him on the back. “If you eating oysters,

you gonna need a woman. Your pay's already spent, ain't it?”

Henry just nodded. “That's the funny part. I wasn't thinking

about a woman. Just about how good some fresh oysters with
a little salt would taste when I remembered how oysters make
you want someone.”

Gideon shook his head and looked out at the stars. “No

fancy food or fancy women for me. I'm putting by. I can't shovel
coal forever. I'm thirty, Henry, near as I can reckon it, and my
back ain't getting any less sore. I'm gonna get down on the
ground, buy me a little house, find me a pretty gal to marry and
make lots of fat babies. Every one of them is gonna go to
school and not one will shovel coal. They are gonna ride
above decks, Henry. Not sweat their lives away in the hold.”

“Luck to that. The way they pay us is a sin to Crockett.

Gonna take you another ten years to put by enough for any of
that.”

Gideon just smiled. “Got my ways, Henry, I do indeed.” He

rolled and lit a cigarette, the match flaring briefly in the

darkness, then strolled off along the deck.

Henry looked back only to find something large and black

had blotted out the stars. No other airship should be this close
to their route. He saw the glow of Gideon's cigarette a little
way down the rail and the shape of the man himself.

A flash of silver, a glint from the above-deck party lights off

of metal made Henry open his mouth, but it was too late. He
ran to Gideon and found him impaled on a grappling spear
sunk deep into the deck. Dark fluids puddled under dark body
in the dim light of the lower decks.

Henry fled from the scene, his gorge rising, heading for

the ladder up to the main decks. Pirates were by no means
common, but out here in the badlands of Deseret they
remained a distinct threat. The sparsely populated territory
with its glaring salt flats and rugged landscape made it ideal
for strike-and-run thieves.

He climbed for the bridge as fast he could, hearing the

alarm bells clang. The shrieks of lady passengers carried to
him when the ship shuddered under more of the grapples.
She listed hard to port, and Henry wrapped his hands and feet
around the sides of the ladder, clinging for dear life. He heard
furniture and equipment sliding around on the decks, banging
into the metal sides of the ladder well.

The light at the top of the well went out, plunging him into

blackness so complete he could not see the rungs on which
his hands rested. He had to keep going. The ship righted itself
and he reached for the next rung, groping in the darkness. He
found it, grasped it, and reached for the lower one with his
foot.

The ship listed again, and Henry dangled precariously

from his handholds. He gripped the rungs until he thought the
steel would bend under his fingers, until he wasn't sure if the
wetness on his palms was sweat or blood.

The

Star

righted herself again, and he scrambled for the

lower rungs. Moving as fast as he dared, he kept climbing up
from the Stygian pit. The bridge was seventy feet above the
crew-decks. He counted the rungs. He'd been about half way
up. At twenty rungs, he felt the engines stop. At thirty-seven,
the

Star

listed again. For ten long breaths he clung, waiting.

At fifty rungs, he breathed more easily when he saw a faint

light from above. As he reached sixty-five, he started reaching
as high as he could after he secured himself on each step. Be
all fired silly to knock himself cold and plummet all the way
back down to the deck.

He reached the hatchway at rung seventy-two and pulled

himself onto the polished oaken deck of the bridge. A few
candles shed a dim light that seemed like the morning sun
after the tar-barrel of the ladder. Henry kicked the hatch shut
and looked around the empty bridge.

From the shadows behind him came a low chuckle. He

spun around to see a large shape detach itself from the
gloom. “Looking for your captain, little man, or are you just
lost?” The hulk loomed over him, and Henry's hand went
instinctively to the large wrench he carried on his overall
pants-loop. It was below, with the rest of his working clothes.
He wore only light trousers and shirtsleeves, without a vest or
coat, and carried nothing at all in his pockets.

The big man chuckled again and lunged. Henry darted out

of his way and edged around, daring the man to come at him
again. He kept his eye on the door, moving steadily toward it.
He knew this ship; the pirate probably didn't.

“Where's Captain Richardson?” Henry asked, taking a

couple more steps toward the door.

“He's entertaining our captain, little man. Why don't you

come see if Captain Volentine might find you entertaining,

too? If he does, you might not go over the side.”

The guard lunged again, but this time, Henry ducked out

the door and headed down the ramps to the upper decks,
gambling that the hulk had been appointed to guard the
bridge and would not move from it without new orders from
Captain Volentine himself.

He moved fast, but cautiously. Henry had never been in a

pirate attack, but he'd heard about them from other aeronauts.
He knew if he hid in one place, they'd find him. It was best to
keep moving. He needed a weapon. They'd probably kill him
as easily as they had Gideon, but he intended to sell his life as
dearly as possible.

He made the armory, a small, understocked room,

designed more with brawling passengers than pirate attacks
in mind. Every Winchester and Springfield in the place was
gone. Even the old Tredegars and Sharps had been taken. He
checked the hand weapons. A single Bowie knife lay on the
bottom of the cabinet. When he drew it, he saw why. The
rusting, broken blade tested dull against his thumb.

It was still better than nothing. He hooked it to his belt and

grabbed a whetstone and oil in passing. Knowing his time
was too short for safety, he sharpened it as he walked. The
upper crew decks were empty. He looked out over the main
deck and saw the passengers lined up and prodded along by
the pirates. Each waited his turn in line and dropped whatever
he had into the large sacks three of the bandits carried.

A man in a long black coat sprawled in a chair clearly

dragged from one of the salons for him. Henry watched a
moment too long, taking in the careless dangle of one booted
leg over the arm, the gleam of the moonlight on his flying
goggles. Smart, dangerous, and utterly arrogant, he lounged
watching the wealthy folks rid themselves of impediments to
the Kingdom of Heaven.

Henry checked on the other side of the deck and saw the

bridge and upper level crew, disarmed and under heavy
guard. The chambermaids and cooks had been separated
out from the men and stood in a tight knot, some clinging and
weeping, some with looks of grim determination on their pretty
faces. The black crew had been cordoned off as well and
stood under heavier guard than the white. Henry shook his
head. Guarded as if they were dangerous or had any loyalty to
Captain Richardson. Richardson treated his white below-
decks crew as servants and his black crew as fixtures of the
ship.

Henry counted forty pirates. He could not possibly take the

ship singlehandedly. He would stay alert, watch what
happened, and try not to get captured. It didn't look like this
pirate crew went in for butchery. Out here, they could have
slaughtered the entire roster of the

Star

and dumped their

bodies in the badlands of Deseret, never to be seen again.

Knife out, he slipped through the corridors, taking

advantage of his small size. He'd been teased and tormented
about it since childhood, but found it useful aboard ship. The
big, tall men complained of small bunks and low ceilings,
while Henry felt completely comfortable. He could reach every
part of his boiler or any part of the engine, unlike some who
found their bulk getting in the way.

He made his way down to the main deck, checking at

every corner, every bend, to be sure no pirates lurked around
the corners. Henry knew the blueprints, but he didn't make it
up into the passenger areas often. He stepped on a loose
board and held his breath as it creaked under him. To be safe,
he ducked into a nearby cabin and watched out the door.

No roving patrol came to check the noise. He stepped out

and continued on his way.

Henry paused at a corner and listened. He peeked

around it then turned it. As he did, the door of the stateroom
before him swung open, blocking the passageway. Another
opened behind him, trapping him. Two men, one wearing a
battered black frock coat and a stovepipe hat with the top out,
the other in denim waist overalls and shirt sleeves, in the style
of the cowboys in Texas, emerged from the stateroom,
blocking his escape.

“Looks like we found another rich little rat creeping

through the ship.” The cowboy looked Henry over and
dismissed him as a threat.

“He might be crew. He don't look rich,” said the man in the

hat.

Henry settled into a crouch and held his knife tightly,

pointed out. He pressed his back to the wall and braced to
take them both. A piece of cold metal against his temple
stopped that notion in its tracks. He breathed slowly as the
cowboy cocked the Colt.

“Just open your hand, rat,” the cowboy said. When Henry

obeyed, he plucked the broken knife out of Henry's fingers.
“Good boy.” He stroked the barrel of the gun down Henry's
face. “Took this off a gunslinger around Tombstone. You don't
want to know how good I am with it.” Hat-fellow tied Henry's
hands together behind his head.

Cowboy stroked the gun along the other side of Henry's

face, slow and gentle as a woman's hand. “Now, I don't know
what kind of rat we trapped, so let's just go see Captain
Volentine, nice and easy. Butter won't melt in your mouth, will
it, boy?” He jabbed the gun into Henry's belly and cocked it for
emphasis.

“It won't,” Henry said, barely breathing with fear, and not

just from the gun. He'd heard the name of Volentine. Every
aeronaut had. Volentine was notorious for taking ships and
sometimes leaving nothing but a burning hulk to crash on the

desert floor. He'd escaped the Sky Marshals, it was said, not
once but many times over. Henry mentally halved the number
any time he heard such a tale, but the tally remained
impressive.

Henry let the breath out when Cowboy turned him around

and steered him out of the passageway. He walked quietly
onto the deck, the sharp barrel of the revolver in the small of
his back keeping him very well behaved.

He felt very exposed, wearing only his shirtsleeves, and

those rolled up to show his arms, without a coat or even a
vest. The lady passengers averted their eyes while some of
the less-mannerly crew-women stared frankly. His arms ached
from being up and spread and the pressure they exerted on
his head made his neck and shoulders ache.

They brought him before the man in the chair, and one of

his captors shoved him so he crashed to his knees in front of
the pirate captain. Henry set his jaw and scowled, determined
not to look up. His granddaddy hadn't bowed to the local lord
so he'd had to flee the Old Country. His Da wouldn't bow and
wouldn't let his boys scrape to the gangs that ran Boston, so
he and his brothers had grown up fighting. Now, by Mary and
all the saints, this arrogant cocksucker, with his boots up to his
thigh and the lace jabot and velvet coat, had made him, Henry
Toben, kneel. He didn't kneel before anyone but God.

“Look what we found, skulking around, Captain. A ship's

rat.” Henry could almost hear the smirk on Cowboy's face.

“Indeed. He doesn't look rich enough to be a passenger,

and he's too clean to be below-decks crew. Tell me, rat,”
Captain Volentine lifted Henry's face to look at it. Henry
flinched as one thumb, sporting a silver and sapphire ring,
traced along his bottom lip. He resisted the urge to bite it. “Tell
me, who and what are you? A stowaway, maybe? An out of
uniform crewman? A passenger's servant?”

Henry just glared. “A cat eat you and the devil eat the cat!”

he snarled, holding back on some of the rougher language he
knew, because of the presence of ladies. He swallowed,
horrified that he had just back talked one of the most
dangerous men in the country. But he couldn't let the fear show
on his face, so he set his jaw and scowled.

The pirate captain laughed and stroked his lip again.

Henry decided that the third time paid for all, and if Volentine
did it again, he would bite.

“Spirited. I think I'll take you along to make me laugh.”

Volentine stood up and laid a hand on Henry's head. Henry
tried shaking it off and rising himself, but Volentine stood on
one of his ankles, putting just enough weight on it that Henry
knew he'd better stay still. Henry felt the long, ringed fingers
bury themselves in his short hair.

“Captain Richardson, I thank you and your passengers for

your generosity and my deepest apologies for your losses. My
men have disabled your engines. You should be able to make
repairs, but they will take time, and we will be long gone. You
should make San Francisco the day after tomorrow. This
saucy chap is coming with me.” He yanked Henry's head up.

Henry fought and got his hair pulled harder. Volentine

drew him to his feet and bent him over at the waist. He
cradled Henry's head in his hand like a king carrying an orb of
state, tucking Henry's shoulder under his elbow. Henry
followed as Volentine led him off the ship in this undignified
manner.

~* * *~

Henry could see very little from his position. The line of the

Captain's leg, his belly and the occasional glimpse of deck
timbers made up his whole vision. He felt the sway as they
crossed over to the other ship in a pulley-driven jolly boat.
Captain Volentine kept him in that position as he walked for a

while.

Henry gave a gasp of relief as the captain finally let go of

his hair after what felt like a tour of the whole pirate ship. He
heard the door shut behind him as he stood up straight. He
glanced around the opulent cabin, sneering at the plundered
silver and satin furnishings, at the fine wood dresser.

“It's not good enough for you, little rat?” Captain Volentine

sprawled in a curule chair and extended a foot in Henry's
direction. “Remove my boots.”

Henry crossed his arms on his chest. “On the day the

Devil fucks the worms that eat your stinking corpse.”

Volentine did not look as entertained as he had back

aboard the

Star

. “You are amusing, but I expect more out of

your pretty mouth than insults, rat. Since you're my pet now,
you will obey, or you will be disciplined like a disobedient pet.”

Pushed past the limits of his ability to express his anger in

English, Henry spat the few words of Gaelic his grandda had
taught him. “Pog mo thòn!” He wasn't sure if he wanted the
Captain to know he'd just been told to kiss Henry's ass, or if
he was hoping the man didn't know what it meant. It was all he
could do to stand still and not wade in with fists flying. The
revolvers in Volentine's belt cooled his heat enough to let him
think about self-preservation.

Volentine got up without a word, his boots still on. Henry

watched him dig in a chest of drawers and then stared at the
leather straps Volentine held.

“It's a muzzle, rat. Until you learn to hold your tongue and

not snap. I don't care to get bitten.”

Henry relaxed a little. He'd only seen a few floggings in his

day, but he knew he didn't want to experience one. He edged
toward the cabin door.

“If you go out without me, the crew has orders to pitch you

“If you go out without me, the crew has orders to pitch you

overboard, and I hear the desert is very hard this time of year.”
Volentine cornered him against the wall. “Answer one
question before I put it on you. What is your name?”

Henry weighed the prospect of being called Rat against

hearing his name from this man. He swallowed hard. “Rat will
do.”

“So be it.” Volentine swatted Henry across the face with

the leather straps, then secured them around his head and
buckled them tight. “Be very good, and I'll take it off to feed
you.”

Henry clamped down on the leather bit between his teeth

and scowled. He could be Rat for a while. It was better than
hearing that soft, insinuating voice caress his name, talk to
him like a person or even a friend. As long as he was Rat, he
was a prisoner, and he would remember that.

Volentine sat back down. “My boots, Rat. Do it and I feed

you. Stand and glare, and I beat you.”

Henry stepped over and folded down the tops of the high

boots. Volentine wore his trousers very tight, after the fashion
of Prince Albert of England. Henry tried not to notice. He had
very carefully not talked about his post-oyster plans to Gideon.
It would never do for word to get around the ship that he was a
sissy mary who liked boys as much as girls. He grasped the
polished leather by the heel and by the instep, tipping
Volentine's foot out neatly as pouring tea. He set the boot
down and in a moment set its mate beside it.

Volentine stretched decadently, taking his time, as if

showing off for Henry. He shed the coat and vest before
unfastening the jabot and opening his shirt. Henry noticed he
wore no underwear. The sleeves of his own union suit showed
under his rolled-up shirtsleeves, and he suddenly felt much too
warm. Volentine stretched again as a knock came at the
cabin door.

“That will be my late supper. Fetch it, Rat.”

Almost pleased to have something to do other than watch

the captain, who was indeed very good-looking, Henry went to
the door and took the tray. His old acquaintance, Cowboy,
smirked at him as he handed it over.

“Well looky here. Puppy's got a muzzle.”

Henry bit down hard on the leather in his mouth. If this kept

up, he'd chew right through it. It felt comfortingly solid under his
teeth, almost soothing. He just gave Cowboy a nod and shut
the door in his face. He carried the tray to the table and laid
out the silver and napkin automatically, to save hearing the
order.

When he looked up, he saw that Volentine had stripped to

the waist. Muscular with a dusting of dark hair across his
chest, he moved like a hunting cat, stalking his dinner. For a
moment of sheer terror, Henry thought he might be the prey. If
he had seen the man under the right circumstances, say
wearing a green carnation in a certain club, he would have
approached Volentine and said certain words. Words that
might have led to kisses or his hands on that chest, in that
hair, or more still.

Henry stopped thinking that way. He was a prisoner. This

man called him Rat. He couldn't get distracted by good looks.
After all, some poisons came in pretty bottles.

Volentine sat and ate. Henry stood by the door. The

chicken smelled very good. All the excitement since dinner
had left him hungry. He glanced at the ormolu clock on the
chest of drawers and saw it was nearly midnight.

Volentine caught him looking at the plate. “Hungry, Rat?”

Henry nodded.

“You have been good. But, I think you need to be very

good for me to take that muzzle off and feed you. Take off your
shirt.”

Henry furrowed his eyebrows but obliged, unbuttoning the

band-collared shirt and taking it off. He folded it neatly and
stood in his pants, suspenders and underwear. Volentine
reached out and unbuttoned one of his suspender buttons.

“These too. And undo that ridiculous underwear. It's

August, man, and you have to be sweltering.”

Henry undid the underwear and let it fall around his waist.

He unbuttoned the suspenders and rolled them up atop his
shirt. Both of them were bare-chested now, in the warm cabin.

“Lovely,” Volentine said, reaching up to tweak one of

Henry's bare nipples. “You are a sweet package, Rat. And
you're being very good.”

Volentine stood, pressing close to Henry, his tall body

overwhelming. He ran his hands up Henry's back and over the
leather straps of the muzzle. “Are you ready to eat?”

Henry nodded.

“Yes, you'll get to. Volentine wrapped one arm around

Henry's waist and pulled him in flush with his body. Henry
could smell the cologne and sweat of him, a combination that
led his thoughts into dark places Henry did not like. This man's
orders had killed Gideon. This man had kidnapped him from
his workplace.

It was to no avail. His treacherous body responded in a

way that would ordinarily merit a cold wash and three laps
around the crew deck. Volentine's hands on his face and in his
hair only intensified the sensation. Then the captain unbuckled
his muzzle and took it away.

Henry stretched his jaw, almost missing the solid leather

between his teeth. It was a comforting thing to bite on, much
more satisfying than grinding his teeth, or simply clenching

against words that would get him hurt.

He held still, barely breathing when Volentine's hands

moved to rub the hinge of his jaw. The touch sent shivers
through him. He pulled out of Volentine's hands to make the
odd feelings stop. He didn't want this man. He couldn't want
this man. It had to just be exhaustion. The excitement of the
day had caught up with him, coupled with the nearness and
purely male scent and that strong chest pressing against his
own. Taken together it all made his head spin.

Then Volentine's mouth came down on his, and all his

illusions shattered. He felt as if his bones were melting. The
kiss was no more than a bare brush of his lips, but it sizzled
and steamed all the way to his crotch, waking that unruly organ
to most improper desires.

Henry resisted the urge to throw his arms around

Volentine's neck and drag him back for more kisses. He knew
he wasn't in the practice of kissing, since his men were few
and far between. He stood quietly, staring at the floor, thinking
of ice and snow, of his grandmother's bicycling suit, of the
mess a coal scuttle made when he'd tipped it over.

“Not impressive, eh?” Volentine asked. “You'll come

around. You've had a full day. Sit. Eat. You'll feel better.”

Henry sat down and helped himself to some bread and

butter. Volentine settled back into his chair and carved some
meat off the small chicken for him. Henry speared it and ate,
hungrier than he'd thought he was. Halfway into the last
cookie, he yawned hugely.

“Clear it out the door, Rat. It's very late.”

Henry stole a last couple of bites of chicken as he set the

tray out the door. He turned to see Volentine covering himself
up in bed, his socks and trousers on the floor. He swallowed
hard, wondering if Volentine wore at least the lower underwear

or nothing at all.

“On the floor, Rat. When you are no longer a pet, you can

sleep in bed.”

“Yes, Captain,” Henry said, automatically. He blinked and

noticed Volentine smiling at him. He doused the lights and
made himself comfortable on the thick rug at the foot of the
bed. The August night was warm enough; he wouldn't need
any covers.

Henry woke to sunshine streaming over his face from the

large windows in the rear of the cabin, and a crick in his
shoulder from sleeping on his crooked arm. Something
smelled wonderful. He sat and realized it was coffee and
breakfast.

“Good morning, Rat.” Volentine sat--sprawled, really--

naked in the large chair. “Come have breakfast.”

Henry looked, taking in the long, strong legs, the hint of

softness around the stomach and--he swallowed hard and
moved his gaze away from there fast--the large and hard cock
that stood upright in Volentine's lap.

“Yes, Captain.” Henry rose, still wearing his own trousers,

and sat in the smaller chair. Volentine set a plate of eggs and
oatmeal in front of him. He poured a cup of coffee.

Henry sipped it slowly. He'd had coffee a few times. Tea

was much more common in his home, and coffee was for the
paying passengers on the ships. He liked the hot bitterness
and the way it seemed to wake him more fully.

He ate some eggs and the oatmeal, not sparing a longing

glance at the sausages. He wanted one badly, but suspected
if he asked, he'd find quite a different sausage filling his
mouth. He did pick up a slice of toast and jam, chewing it to
cover his confusion.

He didn't want Volentine. It was just his body, and he was

the master. He couldn't want a man who had killed his friend,
even by accident. Henry reminded himself he was a prisoner,
not a guest. With that in mind, he speared a sausage anyway,
without asking, and set to eating it with the end of his eggs.
The food had obviously been stolen from the passengers'
mess, since the sausage was made of meat and not of the
usual breadcrumbs and sawdust flavored with meat fat that
the crew called sausage.

Volentine sat quietly, sipping his coffee. He watched

Henry eat. As Henry finished the first sausage, he skewered a
second one and held it out, “Want more, Rat?”

“Please, yes, Captain.”

Volentine eased the sausage away. “Show me how much.

You're no stranger to the ways of men. I knew that when I
caught you watching me on the ship. The kiss only confirmed
it. Now, show me how much you want the sausage.”

Henry knew the pirate was no longer talking about the

breakfast food. He finished his coffee. “If it's all the same to
you, sir, I think I'll have a wash and get on with my day.”

Volentine shrugged. Henry got up, cleared away the

breakfast things with only a brief longing look at the last
sausage as he set it outside. He washed in the little basin by
the door and pulled his underwear back up. He put his shirt on
and settled his suspenders.

“What is the rest of my day, Captain?” he asked.

“You'll come with me on my rounds. But you're an

overdressed rat.” Henry stared at this suggestion, and
Volentine made a haste gesture. “All of it off, Rat. That is, if
you want to ever wear it again. I'll cut it from you if I must.”

Henry opened his mouth and shut it quickly. Another round

of swearing from the Boston streets would probably get his
clothes cut to ribbons and his back flogged bloody. He took

his clothes off without a word and stood in his underwear and
bare feet. He could at least get an idea of their heading and
speed if he was allowed on deck or near a window. Maybe he
could even spot a familiar landmark, slim though that chance
was.

“All of it,” Volentine repeated as he donned his own

clothes.

Henry folded his underwear, cursing in his head but biting

his tongue and wishing for yesterday's muzzle. “What am I to
wear?”

“A blindfold. We're headed to a safe spot right now. You

don't need to know where.”

Henry thought it over, disappointed that he would be

unable to check their location, but then relaxed a little. Maybe
it wouldn't be so awful if he couldn't see others looking at him.
All he had to do was pretend he was an exhibit in a medical
school. He'd done that, once, to make a little money. The class
had poked and prodded, and he'd gotten chilly, but it had
made him two dollars.

Volentine put two circles of sheepskin over his eyes and

fastened what felt like a narrow belt around his head. It wasn't
uncomfortable.

“Open up.”

Henry felt the leather bit nudge his mouth and opened for

it almost gratefully. When Volentine stopped his ears with wax,
he shuddered. Volentine popped one plug.

“You don't need to hear what we say, either.” He stuffed it

back in.

Henry tried twisting away when he felt a chain go around

his throat. Volentine yanked on the chain and he gasped for
air. Bad enough to be Rat, now he was a dog on a choke-
leash as well. He stopped struggling.

Volentine had thought of every contingency, devil take him

for a clever bastard. Henry burned red when he felt Volentine's
hand on his cock. He jerked away, only to be choked again.

The pirate stroked him just enough to make him hard.

Henry felt the blush creeping down to his neck. He tried
pushing Volentine away, but the pirate just slapped his hand
and kept working. He tied what felt like a bit of leather around
Henry's cock, pulling it tight enough to make the organ throb
like a smashed thumb. Something weighed at the bottom of
the leather strands. Henry reached down to touch and found
small bells. He reached up to take them off, and Volentine
yanked his wrist around behind his back.

“Because you can't behave well,” Volentine said loudly

through the wax. He bound Henry's hands behind his back.

There was nothing to do but follow the two steps behind

Volentine as he left his cabin. The only consolation Henry had
was that the crew didn't know him from Adam and couldn't see
his face. He couldn't see or hear them. He concentrated on
walking where Volentine led him.

Slowly, he learned Volentine's step pattern and the subtle

signals through the leash. He only stumbled once. He blushed
hotter, imagining the crew laughing at him as his stiff, belled
prick waved and he tried to catch himself without his hands.

Volentine steadied him and stroked his face. “You're fine,”

he said near the plug. “I won't let you fall.”

Henry had no idea how long he wore the ridiculous get-up

or how many of the pirates saw him. No one touched him. No
one said anything to him. With only smell and touch left to him
as sensation, he drifted into his own thoughts as he stood on
the polished wooden decks of the pirate ship.

Gideon had talked about a house, a wife, and children.

Henry had never wanted anything other than to sail the skies.

He was a master boilerman, certified and all. He could get
work anywhere if this pirate let him live. He might even get
back on with the Star. He missed his berth, his little trunk of
personal effects. He missed Washington and George and all
the men. Ah, Gideon. That hurt. Henry worried at their last
conversation, his last memory of Gideon lighting his cigarette,
as if it were a scab. He'd liked Gideon. More than one night of
self-abuse had featured dreams of the big, dark man and his
flashing white smile.

The few encounters he'd had were mostly fast and

secretive, and paid, more often than not. For all his dreams of
the secret club in the cities, where all the swell men wore
green carnations and spoke gently to each other before
practicing refined debaucheries in well-appointed private
rooms, the reality had often been a dark, grubby alley, a rough
hand squeezing two cocks together and jacking them fast and
hot with no kisses and no words.

His hard cock ached in its prison. He wanted those

damnable bells off. More aware of his animal parts than he'd
been for weeks, if not months, Henry thought about sex. He
was unsure he'd ever know the joys of a marital bed. No
woman had ever taken his fancy, and he feared none would.

When he touched himself, in the dark, under the covers, it

was men he dreamed of. Kisses of sweetly mustachioed
mouths, strong arms to hold him and touch him. Broad, hair-
covered chests pressed against his in a shared bed. And
most of all, a cock like his own.

He had vague notions of what women carried between

their legs, unlike some of the more genteel passengers he'd
met who doubted women actually had legs, and the idea did
not appeal to him. Women were lovely to look at, but they
were fragile things, forever fainting and resting. How could he
love or live with someone like that?

True, his ma had been a sturdy woman who eschewed the

fancy corsetry and ruled her household with an iron fist
clutching a wooden spoon, but that was ma, not a wife to love
and live with. He just wanted to fly, to live in company with
men, and to work until one of his boilers went bad and blew on
him.

A tug at the leash woke him from his thoughts. His

shoulders had gone stiff, and he rolled them as much as he
could with his hands bound behind him. He followed Volentine,
heeling like a dog. Finally, they stopped, and Volentine
removed the leash and his earplugs.

“We're back in the cabin. You were a very well-behaved

pet today. We'll be landing soon. I think you'll be most
comfortable for that in the bed. Will you be good if I untie your
hands?”

Henry nodded, moving enough that he heard the bells on

his cock chime.

Volentine laughed and rang them with his hand. “This is

such a pretty piece, pet. I do think a bit of calming would do
you nicely.”

Henry shook his head when he realized what Volentine

was saying. The captain's hand closed on his cock, less
gentle now than when he'd tied it.

“No? I could have sworn you got hard for my touch.” A

rough stroke sent a shudder through Henry's whole body. “Yes,
say yes, Rat.” Volentine's clever fingers danced along the
bottom and tweaked the ridge of the head.

Henry shivered again.

“Tell me yes,” Volentine said again. His fingers slipped

down to stroke Henry's stones, sliding through the hair of his
crotch and thighs, and tracing the seam that ran down the
middle of his sac.

Henry tried to pull away but felt himself nod.

“Such a good little rat. Maybe I should keep you in a cage

by my bed forever.” Volentine took a firm grip and stopped
teasing. His fingers burned on Henry's over-stimulated cock.
He stroked along the length of it, and then swirled around the
head. Henry could feel damp wetness there already. All he
craved was more of that hand, more, enough to set the
simmering boiler in his belly to a full boil, so he could send out
his own jets of white as his beloved ship did.

Volentine obliged him, tracing extravagant curls and

loops. At one point, it felt as if he were writing his name along
the length with his finger. Henry felt a definite M and a V. The
small corner of his mind that wasn't stoking the fires of need in
his belly marked the M for later reference.

The leather thong moved, and the bells chimed and

jingled until Henry thought he would go mad from the sound. It
was worse than the horses that pulled sleighs through the
winter. He had to spend, had to send it all out. Volentine
grasped him and stroked the whole length at once, just as
Henry did in the dark.

He groaned around the leather bit as he shot forth, feeling

as if he were emptying himself from toes to neck. Volentine
laughed.

“Such a good rat. I always take care of those who serve

me well, Rat.” He pressed close, his scent fresh and male.
“Someday, you'll tell me your name.” He kissed the parts of
Henry's face that he could reach, his lips soft on Henry's
cheeks and forehead. “Maybe you'll even stay.”

Henry shook his head. Given a chance, he would run in

the opposite direction until he hit the nearest ocean. Being a
pet rat in a cage was not his idea of his life. He needed the
open sky, a sturdy ship around him, and a pretty copper boiler
steaming away for him.

“Shame. We shall see.” Volentine traced his fingers over

the pads that covered Henry's eyes. “Would you like to see?”

Henry nodded. He could feel the airship starting to

descend.

“Not until we're safely inside our refuge. Now,” Volentine

steered him toward the big bed, “Let's get comfortable until
we land.”

Henry lay still, letting Volentine wrap around him. It felt

almost as he'd always imagined a lover would. The tall man's
knees fit into his. His ass lay along the curve of Volentine's
hip. Strong arms lay under his neck and wrapped around his
bare chest. Henry relaxed into them, feeling oddly secure. The
blindfold let him focus on the sensation of being held. The gag
kept him from needing to speak. He chewed thoughtfully at the
leather bit, liking the resistance between his teeth.

He didn't expect the softness of Volentine's lips on his ear

or the warm breath that followed, whispering to him.

“You're such a good rat. I wonder if you're trying to lure me

in or if you like being where you are. Being a captain is a
lonely thing, pet.” Volentine ran his fingers through Henry's
short hair. “You can't trust the crew, since they'll all stab you to
advance. You can't trust your lover, who will likely kill you and
take your spoils. The whores just want money. So do the
barkeeps.” He kissed Henry's ear again. “I wish I knew you
better. There will be time at the refuge.”

Henry nestled in closer. Something in him had given way

at the quiet little confession. He found he had no real reason
to hate Volentine. He pressed back into Volentine's body and
felt his stomach rise slowly to the canopy as the airship came
in for a landing. This distracted him from the hard, and rather
large, cock pressing against the cleft of his ass.

Volentine rubbed the cock against him more. “Like that,

do you?”

Henry startled. He hadn't been thinking of the cock, only of

reassuring Volentine and experiencing the descent. He
squirmed against it and nodded.

Volentine brought a hand down to his hip and pulled him

closer. “Keep rubbing against me. You feel good.”

Henry set up a general rocking motion, staying in close

contact with the tight curve of the leather trousers. Incredibly,
he felt the bulge beneath the black eel skin growing larger.

Volentine pushed him away a bit and withdrew the hand

from under his neck. Henry felt something he figured must be
Volentine undoing the trousers. When the hand at his hip drew
him back, hot, flushed skin lay against his own.

Volentine's cock lay along the cleft of Henry's ass,

pulsating with his heartbeat, feeling hot enough to burn. He
fitted it between the cheeks, and pulled Henry back to kiss his
neck and ear. “Just time for a little rubbing. Help me fit back
into my pants, since you made me swell out of them.”

He moved, slow and sweet, thrusting along Henry's ass,

not fucking him like some men did to their rent-boys, only
rubbing. Henry relaxed, seeing he was not about to be
ravished. The thrusts grew faster and Volentine's breath
rasped in his ear.

“Good Rat. Someday, I'll fuck you, let you taste my cock.”

Henry hesitated a moment and resumed his rocking

motion, matching Volentine's pace. He wasn't at all sure what
to make of the words. The idea intrigued him and frightened
him both. The cock against his ass teased with the promise.
Almost without thought, he turned his face up offering it to be
kissed as well. In the next instant he hoped Volentine had
debauched enough gagged and blindfolded captives that he
could read the signals.

The kiss on his cheek that trailed along the line of the gag

told him Volentine understood perfectly. The kisses covered
his face as Volentine thrust against him. Long fingers curled
around his nipples, which were standing up as hard as his
own cock and stroked them. Henry shuddered and gave a soft
little gasp even through the gag. Volentine kept kissing him.
He sucked hard at Henry's throat as he pinched one nipple.
Henry bucked, his cock thrusting into the empty air. Volentine
laughed softly.

“Hot little rat. You need it so badly. Does no one ever touch

you?”

Henry shook his head.

“Pity. I plan to remedy -ah!” Volentine thrust hard against

him, gasping and shuddering his climax as he spent over
Henry's ass. He lay there, wracked with shudders for a few
moments, then wrapped his hand around Henry's own revived
cock. “I plan to remedy that.”

The gentle bump followed by the settling of the gondola

told Henry they had landed. He pressed back for a last bit of
contact.

“Yes, you'll keep until we're safe and private again.”

Volentine rose and urged Henry to sit up. Henry felt his pants
starting onto his legs and his shirt land in his lap. “Dress, Rat.
Your shoes are by your feet. I'll unbind your eyes when we're in
my rooms.

Henry nodded and finished dressing. He even managed

to get his shirt buttoned without his sight. He shivered when
Volentine cuffed his hands behind him and reattached the
choke leash. At least this time his body wasn't on display.

“I'll get you settled in my rooms, and then I have to do the

dividing. Make yourself comfortable while I'm gone. I'll have
some cheese sent in for my rat. He kissed Henry's forehead.

Henry followed the captain off the ship. He felt the sun on

his face and a light breeze, then they were inside. The sun left,
the wind stopped and a wet rock odor, like rain-drenched
cobblestones filled Henry's nose. The floor was smooth, and
Volentine led him at a sure and steady walk through the place,
moving generally downward, it felt like.

They stopped, and Volentine turned Henry around to free

his hands. He pressed Henry to sit. He felt the bed behind his
legs and sat. Volentine sat beside him and pulled him to lie
down with his head on the captain's boot-covered thigh.

With deft fingers, he undid the buckle that circled Henry's

head from chin to crown and kept him from opening his mouth
widely enough to spit out the gag. Henry chewed on the
soothing bit one last time. Volentine unbuckled the strap that
fastened behind Henry's head and eased the gag out of his
mouth.

Once his lips were free, Volentine covered them with

kisses. Henry's arms went around his neck and pulled him
down for more. Volentine kissed him until Henry's head spun
from lack of air, until his cock ached, trapped in his pants.

“You have the sweetest mouth,” he said when Henry finally

let them both up for air. “Tell me how much you want to see,
Rat,” Volentine said, stroking the edge of the blindfold. “Tell of
the treasures you'll give me if I restore your sight.”

Henry thought for a moment, coming up with the prettiest

words he could manage. As long as Volentine believed he
was willing, he would be safe. After the kisses, he wasn't sure
where his playacting ended and true desire began. But he
could show none of his confusion. Instead, he swallowed
against the last dryness in his mouth and began. “Please,
Captain. The darkness oppresses my spirit. Let me see you.
My mouth is yours and my hands and anything at all you desire
of me.” For good measure, Henry tipped his face and kissed

Volentine's fingers and licked the leather under his cheek.

Volentine chuckled. “Eager thing, aren't you? Offering so

much to have a simple blindfold removed. Shame we haven't
more time right now. I wonder what you would do still
blindfolded and with free rein on my body.” He unbuckled the
strap that circled Henry's head and held the soft pads in place
over his eye-sockets.

Before Henry could open his eyes, Volentine's hands

clamped down across his face. “Don't open your eyes until I
say to, Rat. The light will blind you.”

Henry lay quietly, the light seeping through Volentine's

fingers and showing inside his closed eyes as red streaks.
Volentine removed his hand, and Henry's eyelids went bright
red. Henry welcomed the soothing darkness when he
replaced it.

“Now, open your eyes a bit, but close them when I tell you,

Rat.”

Henry did. Spears of bright white light seeped between

Volentine's long fingers, sliding around the cool silver rings
and piercing his eyes. He longed for the comforting dark.

“Shut.” Volentine stroked his face with the free hand. “It's

not easy, is it Rat? I remember my captain doing this when
she first brought me aboard. I was younger than you and
comported myself badly, being a headstrong youth.”

“She, sir?” The idea of a female airship captain startled

him.

He took his hands away and all was redness again. “Oh

aye. I sailed the skies under Angelina Calamity until the War.
She retired, deciding a life of driving the mail, with her lady at
her side, was far better than the risks in the air from Union,
Confederate, and raiders alike.” Henry breathed easier when
his hands came back down. “Open your eyes a bit now.”

Henry opened his eyes and the light was less. Volentine

let him keep them open a little longer. Slowly, he eased Henry
back to full sight. Henry lay quietly in Volentine's lap, smelling
the man, feeling his hands on his eyes, his strong legs. In the
darkness, Henry remembered his boilers, the decks of the
Star. He was pleased she still flew. But the thought of the
crew's deck brought memories of the last time he'd seen it,
awash with blood and other, less mentionable materials. He
tensed, then relaxed. His only hope of escape lay in playing
his part to perfection. A dark voice from somewhere deep
asked how much of it would be acting, for Volentine was
indeed a man to make anyone's knees weak.

“Kiss me now, Rat, and I'll be back as soon as the dividing

is all done. There is beer and wine, help yourself to any food
you find. I'll send someone in with something in a bit. If you
read, there are a few books. If not, I have cards in the
nightstand. Be good while I'm gone, and we shall enjoy
ourselves thoroughly when I return.”

Henry nodded. He came to Volentine and stretched his

arms up around the taller man's neck. “Thank you, Captain.
You're very kind.”

“Not at all. I have an ulterior motive, which negates any

and all kindnesses I show you.”

Henry pulled him down and kissed him. The pirate tasted

better than good beer, better than the oysters he'd been
dreaming of before the attack. His lips unfolded, parting silkily
before Henry's tongue, and he sighed through his nose with
pleasure at Henry's invasion of his mouth.

Henry plunged in, taking full advantage of the invitation,

feeling Volentine's tongue under and around his, tracing out
the soft, sweet crevices of the lips and cheeks. He pulled
away slightly, giving faint little teasing kisses for a few
moments, and then dove back in for a long one. He rubbed

against Volentine's body, pressing against his chest and legs.
Shameless in his desire for the tall, beautiful man, Henry
rubbed his protruding erection against Volentine's thigh.

Volentine pulled back finally, gave him a soft peck and

cupped his demanding sex with one hand. “Pleasure yourself,
Rat, because I know you will anyway. I'd rather know the edge
was taken from your hunger than to need to punish you for
doing so.”

Henry stared a second. “Abuse myself? Here? With you

watching?”

“Right here. Let me see and think of you while I divide the

spoil among my men.”

Henry opened his trousers, and his cock sprang free of

the fly. He grasped it in one hand, staring at Volentine, and
rubbed, a ferocious yanking movement as if he hated it.

Volentine watched a moment and said, “In the bed.

Stretch out and be comfortable, pet. Take it slowly. I want a bit
of a show.”

Henry obeyed, the urgency not leaving him. He loosely

circled his cock in his hand and stroked, his eyes on
Volentine, remembering the kisses, remembering lying in the
bunk on the descent. The need in his belly chewed on his
vitals, demanding release. He rolled his thumb over the head
and slid down the shaft. His eyes closed, the sight of Volentine
smiling at him exploding into his climax. His toes curled and
his head went light. He arched up off the bed as his whole
world shattered and remade itself.

He lay, panting, on the big bed. When he opened his

eyes, Volentine had left. Henry dozed for a while, enjoying the
soft, herbal scent of the sheets. He woke, somewhat
refreshed and went looking for the promised beer.

A small keg stood on a rack and clean mugs beside it.

Henry drew himself a pint and wandered around the room,
checking everything out. A cabinet held bread that had been
fresh a couple days before and some apples. He found the
clothes press and looked into the armoire. Volentine liked his
jewelry. Henry knew this from the half-dozen rings the captain
wore. Even more rings, some necklaces, earbobs, bracelets,
watches and chains and even a couple of small tiaras filled a
large wooden box. Henry saw one silver ring with a square
topaz in it. He picked it up and held it. It shone golden and
silver in the lantern light. He tried it on, finding it fit his middle
finger best.

He wanted it. It wasn't really stealing, since Volentine had

probably taken it from some rich man on an airship. But, no.
he was better than that. He was no thief, even to steal from a
thief. Reluctantly, Henry tried to twist it off. He heard the door
scrape open and whirled, slamming the jewelry box and
grabbing his mug to hide the ring a little longer.

“Find something interesting as your were skulking around,

Rat?” Volentine settled himself in the large velvet chair. “Draw
me a beer and come get my boots. Bring your own. Dinner will
be here in a few minutes.”

Henry made as long a process as he could of drawing the

beer. He brought it over to Volentine and decided to get the
punishment over with. He'd decided Volentine was unlikely to
kill him for the ring, but he was afraid of losing a finger.

“I'm sorry, Captain,” he said as he handed over the mug. “I

didn't mean to pry. It got stuck.” He held up the hand with the
ring. “I'm really sorry.”

Volentine took the mug. “Let me consider this, pet. I don't

keep thieves and liars. But you confessed at once, so I expect
it may have been a simple mistake.” He twisted the ring, and
when it wouldn't come off, he kissed it, and mouthed Henry's
knuckle above it then sucked on Henry's finger. “But I think I

need more of an apology.”

Henry knew what he wanted. That was fine. Henry wanted

it, too. He set his own beer on the side table and sat down on
the floor to get Volentine's boots. As they slid off, he stroked
Volentine's calves. He realized there was no way he could
perform the necessary act while sitting. Apology or not, he had
no intention of kneeling to this man.

“Captain, please come to bed. Let me show you how

grateful I am and how sorry.”

Volentine smiled and got up. “Of course, Rat. Indulge.” He

stretched out on the bed, beer still in hand and made himself
comfortable.

Henry sat beside him and unbuttoned his shirt. “I really am

sorry. I was putting it back and it got stuck.” He licked
Volentine's nipples, ferreting them out of the chest hair and
sucking them until they got hard. He lingered, tasting and
nibbling, his hand stroking ever lower until he reached the
captain's crotch and felt the erection that lay along Volentine's
belly.

He unhooked the eel skin trousers and freed the organ.

For a moment, Henry just stared at it. It filled his hand with hot,
soft skin over the thick hard center. He had always loved this
sensation, the feel and smell of man. “Beautiful,” he whispered
as he bent to kiss the head.

Volentine stroked his hair and pressed down a little.

“Keep going, boy.”

Henry opened wider and let more of the big, gorgeous

cock slide into his mouth. He stopped a few inches down.
He'd never done this before and was afraid of choking. The
taste and smell of pure male filled his nose and mouth, waking
his own cock. He swallowed around Volentine, and gave a
soft moan. So much better than he'd ever imagined it could

be.

The tiny strip of skin on the bottom of the head, where the

foreskin attached, felt tight under his tongue. He flicked it a
time or two and ran his tongue in a circle over the whole head.

Volentine's fingers made small circles, almost massaging

his scalp, encouraging him. His cock seemed to swell even
more.

Henry added more suction. Vaguely, he wondered what it

would taste like when Volentine spent. He probed at the slit on
the end with his tongue.

Volentine's fingers tightened in his hair, urging him off.

Henry resisted, focused on the sucking and kissing. He could
stay here forever, the hard cock in his mouth, the smell of man
filling his nose. Volentine pulled, insistent, and Henry obeyed.

Volentine pushed him down just a little, guiding Henry's

mouth to his balls. Here, the man smell was even more
intense. Henry licked the darkly furred sac, unsure what he
was supposed to do.

He looked up at Volentine, who lounged against the

headboard sipping his beer. The handsome pirate stroked his
face.

“Please, captain, what do you want?”

“Just suck them, Rat. Play with them.” He laid a warning

finger across Henry's lips. “But gently.”

Henry rubbed his cheek against them, getting the smell on

him. He licked them and brought his hand down to hold them
gently. They weighed nicely in his hand and tasted slightly
salty. He sucked one into his mouth, stroking his tongue over
it. He glanced up at Volentine to see if he was giving as much
pleasure as he was getting.

“You're doing fine. Keep going.”

Henry sucked for a moment and then moved to the other

testicle, sucking it in. He saw Volentine's hand come down to
stroke his cock while he was sucking. He watched a second
and added his hand in to help.

“Come on back and finish me,” Volentine ordered.

Henry returned to sucking him. He worked slowly, trying to

swallow all of the cock. At last he succeeded, his nose buried
against the dark curls at Volentine's groin. He sucked and
pressed with his tongue then drew off.

“Yes, nice and deep, pet, all the way down. That will serve

very well.” Volentine guided him. Henry moved as if letting
Volentine fuck his face. He pressed his own nearly-painful
erection against Volentine's calves. Volentine laughed and set
down his empty mug. “Peace, Rat. You'll have your pleasure,
once you finish the apology.”

Henry put his own arousal as far out of his mind as he

could and concentrated on pleasing Volentine. He wanted
more, more of the cock, filling his mouth, more of the taste. He
wanted to know how it felt when Volentine spent, and how it
tasted.

His jaw ached and each stroke of his tongue grew slower.

Finally, he felt it, the surge from the bottom of Volentine's balls.
The hard pulsations against his lips and then a rush of hot,
salty fluid burned against the back of his throat. Henry drank it
down like good beer,

Volentine urged him away and held his head in both

hands. “A splendid apology, Rat. You can keep the ring, too.”

A knock broke the moment. Volentine fastened his pants

and went to get the food. Henry just sprawled on the bed,
staying on his stomach to hide his arousal.

The food was still the fine, fresh stuff from the passengers'

pantry. Henry enjoyed his dinner and felt his ardor cooling as

he ate. Halfway through, he refilled their beers without being
told.

Once he cleared the meal away, Volentine caught him

around the waist and kissed him.

“My sweet Rat. I think I'll keep you. If only so you can use

that lovely mouth.”

Henry stole a second kiss, his arousal flaring, having

clearly been only banked and not extinguished. Volentine
grasped Henry's cock and he thrust into his hand.

With a flick of the wrist, Volentine pinched the head,

sending all Henry's lust to ashes. “You'll keep, Rat. Get us
another beer, and I'll get the cards.”

Henry nearly whimpered in despair, sensing another long

day ending with only his hand for pleasure. But he drew the
beers and settled himself opposite the small table where
Volentine was shuffling the cards.

“Straight up draw poker, Rat. Since you have no money,

we'll have to find something else to bet with.”

Henry looked at him a little worriedly. “Like what?”

“We could play for kisses, with a hundred kisses to the act

you just performed, and a hundred of those equal to you
staying another day.”

Henry smiled. “Think I'm going to lose, do you?”

Volentine cut the cards and settled a pencil and paper by

his elbow. “No. If you win, I just let you go earlier than I had
planned to.”

Henry digested that bit of news as he looked at his cards.

It sounded like he was going to go free, unharmed except for
a new-found taste for sodomy. Then again, he was in the
hands of a pirate. He must never forget that, no matter how
much he was enjoying the company or the encounters. And a

pirate would lie about anything.

Volentine was good at cards. Henry, though no slouch

himself, fought to keep even. They talked as they played.
Henry found himself telling a mostly true and much
abbreviated version of his life story. Raised by a dock worker
i n Boston, he took to unloading airships as soon as he was
strong enough to carry the bundles and apprenticed himself to
the boilers as soon as he could. He'd had to fly. His
grandfather had sailed. His people had been sailors and
wanderers since time immemorial. Even his father still went
out on the fishing boats when he got a chance. He'd needed
the sky like they had needed the sea.

Volentine listened much, always amused, and talked little.

Henry hung on to what scraps the man did reveal of his past.
His accent came from somewhere west of the Mississippi, but
well north of Texas. They weren't much different in their love for
the sky and their need to be in it. Volentine had taken to the
sky young as well, and the formidable Captain Calamity had
set his feet on the pirating path. Now he steered his course by
the stars of profit and self-interest, taking his money and
pleasures where he could.

When they tired of the game, Henry found himself down by

fifty kisses, a sum he was well prepared to pay. Given the
improbable amounts they had been wagering all day, he was
just pleased that he didn't owe a year of his life to the pirate
captain.

“We'll be lifting again in three days. Do you want to come

along, Rat?” Volentine asked as he stripped for bed. “I can
leave you here.”

“Locked in to starve?” The words were out before Henry

could catch them. “I'd rather fly, if it's all the same to you.”

Volentine shoved him back onto the bed. “Flight. That's

what you live for, isn't it, Rat? You're a ship's rat indeed, unable

to be on land for any time at all.” He dove in for kiss, hard and
bruising across Henry's lips.

Henry bucked up against him, wanting more of those

kisses, wanting the captain's long, solid body against his own.
He pulled Volentine down closer, his earlier resolve to be
nothing but a prisoner forgotten in the heat of the kiss and in
his body's need.

“Let's see if I can make you fly, without an airship even,

hmm, pet?” Volentine opened Henry's shirt and trousers and
ran maddeningly slow fingers over his body. Henry squirmed
under them and then whimpered when Volentine lowered his
mouth to one nipple.

He'd enjoyed doing this for the captain, but he'd had no

idea how it felt. Little shivers went all over his chest when
Volentine blew on his nipple, followed by a pure spark of fire
when the hot mouth descended. Volentine's tongue danced
over his sensitive flesh, tormenting him and making his cock
throb harder. The only thing worse than the captain's fine teeth
closing ever so delicately to tease and torment him was when
Volentine abandoned his nipple. Henry breathed against the
loss, and then nearly yelped when Volentine nipped the other
sharply. It hurt, but his cock stood straighter than ever.

Volentine noticed. “We'll have some fun with those, Rat,

but not right now.” He wrapped his hand around Henry's cock
and before Henry could think, covered it with his mouth as
well. Henry just groaned at the long-awaited pleasure.

Volentine knew what he was doing, his clever tongue

darting all over, his suction firm and intense. But it was when
he closed his teeth just behind the head that Henry came, as
much from the threat as from the mild pain. Wracked with the
urgency of his climax, Henry arched into Volentine's mouth,
shooting all he had. The soft tongue teased a last burst from
him, and he lay still, breathing hard, his eyes shut.

Vaguely, he felt Volentine ease off his pants, then kiss his

way up Henry's short torso. He didn't open his eyes when the
captain kissed him again.

“Sleep, pet,” Volentine whispered, and gathered him in

close.

~* * *~

The next days were characterized by hustle and bustle

outside the door of the room. Henry listened to running feet,
heavy laden crews groaning under their burdens or drunken
laughter. Volentine left in the morning, after having Henry
pleasure him with his mouth, and returned late with supper.
They sometimes played cards, but more nights than not,
Volentine simply tumbled into bed exhausted after eating.

One morning, Henry woke early and watched his captain

sleep. He traced out the lines of the round face, the jet black
hair, and the straight nose. He had an odd feeling and
wondered if this was what men in love felt like when they saw
the woman they adored.

That was foolish, childish nonsense. Love was a game for

the swells, something for those who could afford it. They had
the time and money to play around. They could buy gifts for the
women, take holidays, and indulge on pleasure spending.

Henry had known from a young age that when he married,

as was expected, it would be to a woman he found tolerable
and could live with. So far, he hadn't met that woman. But
when he did, there would be no long afternoons punting on the
river or picnics or any such frippery. There would be a little
house and unending work and a steady string of babies until
one of them died. He and the woman would pull along, side by
side in harness, like a pair of sturdy oxen. Being fond of each
other might happen, but love and romance were never in his
life plan.

He looked at Volentine and the imaginary, expected

woman with her children faded out of his mind. Perhaps there
was more. More than duty and expectation. Perhaps there
was sailing the skies with free men, lying nightly with a man he
desired and living well for the first time in his life.

He shook his head and got up to use the chamberpot and

wash. That was a foolish dream as well. Volentine and his
crew were pirates. Henry found it disconcerting that he had to
keep reminding himself of that fact. He reminded himself he
was a prisoner, being cooperative and acting as if he desired
the captain in order to escape. That dark little voice asked if
he really meant that. He washed his face, calling to mind the
image of Gideon, blood staining the wood of the deck,
unspeakable bits of flesh clinging to the grappling spear.

Volentine had done that, or his men had on his orders.

Henry felt a deep self-loathing that he could completely forget
that in the rush of sheer physical pleasure. Good food,
leisurely sodomy, and a fine poker partner apparently had
destroyed all his sense of right and wrong.

He set to planning his escape while Volentine slept. He

lay on his back, staring at the blue velvet canopy on the bed,
wondering whose it had been before Volentine liberated it.

He had breakfast on the table when Volentine awoke. He

couldn't change his behavior or the captain would get
suspicious. He had to get aboard the airship, and then find a
way to make his escape. There had to be some method of
abandoning ship on board.

“Good morning, Rat. Ready to fly...on a ship?” Volentine

kissed him and settled in for breakfast.

“Yes, Captain.” Henry ate his breakfast quickly and

cleared away the dishes. “Is there anything you need me to
pack?”

Volentine caught him as he passed. He wrapped his arms

around Henry and pulled the smaller man into his lap. “I could
get very used to having you around, Rat. You make things
easier in so many ways. And I like our evenings together. Do
you want to join my crew or simply come aboard as my body
servant?”

Henry thought it through very quickly. Being crew meant he

would be subject to hanging with the others should they be
caught. As a servant, he could plead ignorance and his
master's orders and escape with a jail sentence. A crewman
would have more freedom to explore and find his escape
route. But if he came aboard as crew, he would be easy prey
for the rest of the crew.

Henry knew how new men were treated aboard even the

most law-abiding vessels. He remembered his own hazing
and having to stand and fight more than once to establish his
place on the Star of the Sky. He could only imagine how much
worse a band of cutthroats would be. He suspected he would
end up fighting for his honor or his very life. Besides, if he was
below decks, he wouldn't be seeing Volentine.

“If you please, I think I would be happier and safer in your

cabin,” Henry said.

Volentine gave him a smile and kissed him. “I suspected

that would be your choice, pet. I'm glad to know I was right.”
He stretched and sighed, pulling on his boots. “I almost wish
we lived ten years ago, and I could make you mine entirely,
forever.” He ran one hand around Henry's throat. “Mark you, an
iron strap lined with leather, so that everyone would know. But
that is dead and gone now.”

That statement firmed Henry's resolve. The first time they

were anywhere near a town, he would slip over the side by
whatever method he found. He was a Toben. Tobens did not
bend knee to anyone but God, and they most certainly were

not held as slaves, not by Englishmen or by handsome airship
pirates. He would look and learn and know all he needed to by
the time he made his escape.

Once on the ground, he would make his way to the town

and file a report with the Sky-Marshal's office. Aerogation
being a new science, there were not nearly as many Sky-
Marshals as the country needed. Most of them stayed back
east, patrolling the more heavily trafficked lanes. Only a few
volunteered for duty on the frontier, mostly men who were
having trouble going back to being civilized after the War.

Perhaps, after the report was made and Volentine had

been taken, Henry might see about becoming a Sky-Marshal
himself. If he could spare one ship from being robbed or
another man from his self-discoveries, the change would be
worth it.

He stayed quiet rest of the morning as they loaded the

vessel. When they left the cave, Henry saw the ship had
already been brought out. He flinched to see the words

Hangman's Strumpet

blazoned on the bow. Ugly name for an

ugly ship. She was all blunt lines and bristling weapons, her
envelope and hull midnight black. Hoses filled the envelope
and he could hear the first sounds of boilers beginning to
steam. Burning coal, sweating horses and unwashed men
filled the air with stink.

Volentine saw what he was looking at. “I mock fate, taking

it into my own hands rather than leaving it to the law and the
Sky-Marshals. Come along, Rat.”

Henry came, feeling a bit nervous to be lifting on a ship

with such a name. The adjusted leather belt that Volentine had
buckled around his neck weighed him with every step. He did
not want that, he told himself. But he had not fought and had, in
fact, encouraged it a notch tighter.

He deposited the captain's bags in his cabin and began

unpacking as they lifted off. Volentine went above to check on
the bridge. They would be flying for as long as it took to find a
prize.

Henry finished his work and headed out to explore. He

circled the deck, looking at the guns. He pretended to study
the cables that held the semi-dirigible envelope above the
ship. He smiled, having seen exactly what he was looking for.
Now to wait for an opportunity.

~* * *~

Cities were few and far between in Deseret Territory.

Volentine called the crew together and addressed them.
Henry knew this was common at the start of a voyage.
Richardson had done it upon every lift, simply to ensure the
crew knew what he expected.

Henry had always been one of a faceless mass of crew

during these talks. Now, he stood on the upper deck with
Volentine and the officers, well back from the rail on which
they leaned.

“Free aeronauts,” Volentine began. The men cheered.

“We have haunted the Boston to San Francisco lanes long
enough. Any more prizes and the Sky-Marshals will be down
on us. Now, we head south to Santa Fe. There is a weekly
airship through the city. We'll take what the fine Mexican lords
have to offer, shall we?” A deafening roar from the crew made
Henry want to tremble, but he stood his ground. “Three days to
Santa Fe. We wait and raid, then we head back here for
safety and the split.”

“What good does all this splitting do when we hain't never

getting a chance to spend it?” demanded one man from the
deck.

Volentine laughed. “That, my friend, will be remedied if

you will be patient through one last raid. After this, we alter the

Strumpet's lines, repaint her and the envelope and call her

Archimedes' Mistress

. We'll sail her right in to San Francisco,

coming from the north, and you can spend everything you have
on wine, women, and song.”

“Beer, brothels, and bread, more like,” commented

another, slapping the first in the back of the head until he
reeled.

Henry reconsidered the plan. He could make his escape

to the undoubtedly uninterested Sky-Marshal in Santa Fe, or
he could wait and sell Volentine to the ones in San Francisco
who would be very interested to have the notorious pirate in
hand.

Henry took it for granted that he had run of the ship while

the captain was otherwise occupied. He spent hours at the
rail, simply feeling the wind on his face and enjoying the flight.
He haunted the boiler room, not getting underfoot, but learning
these as he had his own.

“You've had a busy day, I hear, Rat,” Volentine smiled as

Henry came in for dinner. “Engineer Whitaker says you were a
great help repairing the gauges. Are you sure about not
joining the crew?”

“I was just helping out. I saw what was wrong and fixed it.”

He came to where Volentine sat and kissed him. “I'd rather be
your pet. You know how it goes for the new man below-decks.”

Volentine nodded. “I do, indeed.” He pulled Henry down

for another kiss. “I would not have you damaged in a brawl to
take your place there.” He ran one hand along Henry's face.
“I'd rather have you here by my side and in my bed. You're a bit
overdressed, though.”

Henry bit down on the sigh. Things were different in the air

than in the cave. Here, Volentine kept him as a trophy. He
wore clothing only when out alone. When out in Volentine's

company, he was allowed trousers but no shirt, and the pirate
captain had taken to having him wear the collar at all times. In
private, he was to wear nothing.

He stripped out of his shirt and pants, making sure to

stroke himself hard, and came to Volentine's side. Volentine
had him sit on the floor and ran a lazy hand over him as he
wrote the log and did calculations.

Henry was ready to be on solid ground. It was not that the

kisses and touches did not please him. He enjoyed them
much more than he should. There were laws against such on
the ground, he knew. Here in the air, Volentine's word was law.
And he obeyed, sometimes grudgingly.

His desires gnawed at him, like the rat Volentine called

him. He wanted the man. Not just for the short trip to Santa Fe,
but for a nice long time. There would be no little house or
quick, small babies, only the open sky and pleasure. Henry
reminded himself that Volentine's profession ended in either a
noose or abandoning his identity to live as a respectable man
instead of a wanted pirate.

They lay in wait on the route South of Santa Fe. The next

ship was due any day, leaving the city on its way to Mexico
City. Some of the men were in Santa Fe, spending their ill-
gotten wealth and learning about the ship. Two of them would
be aboard when it lifted.

Henry decided to stay in the captain's cabin while the raid

happened. He would be chained naked to the bed. If the raid
went badly and all the pirates were captured, he would not be
taken for one of them. It had been Volentine's idea, and Henry
wondered if the captain were growing attached to him.

He waited all through the long night, hearing the gunfire,

seeing the smoke and flame from the cabin windows. He
considered undoing his chain, taking an escape craft and
heading toward Santa Fe. But he decided to stay with his

plan.

The collar lay heavy around his neck, and the floor of the

cabin grew cold as the sun set and the desert night fell. Part of
him hoped the next person through the door would be security
officers from the other airship, hunting pirates. But most of him
was relieved when Volentine stepped in carrying a bottle of
brandy and smiling broadly.

The raid had taken its toll. Volentine's fine frock-coat was

slashed in several places. His boots were blood-stained up to
the ankles. A gash showed through one cut sleeve. His face
was sooty from the smoke of his guns and the fire.

The

Strumpet

picked up speed, abnormally fast, Henry

thought, and fled. They were not quite out of earshot when a
huge explosion split the night, accompanied by a fireball that
lit the sky for miles. The airship shuddered as the waves of the
explosion shook it.

“Damned shame. They put up too much of a fight. We got

everything of value,” Volentine said. He turned away from the
fireball that was sinking to the desert floor. “It happens
sometimes.”

Henry said next to nothing the rest of the trip back to the

hidden cave in the mountains of Deseret. Volentine noticed
and chided him.

Back in the cave, Henry felt the weight of the rock

pressing down on him. Gone were his days on the deck. The
sky was no longer his. Locked in a room, left alone for hours,
Henry found himself sleeping too much. He played solitaire.
He read what he could of the books.

His parents had never found the money to send him or his

brothers to school. A priest taught them enough to puzzle out
the book of common prayer. Henry had taken down a copy of

From the Earth to the Moon

and settled himself to read and

learn more words while the Strumpet underwent alterations.
He had stared at the Dickens and Carroll on the shelves and
decided they were more complicated than he really wanted.

He opened the book. “Chapter one, The Gun Club.” So far

so good. “During the War of the Rebellion, a new and
influential club was established in the city of Baltimore in the
State of Maryland.” He had to take each letter in rebellion,
influential, established, and Baltimore one at a time. Then he
had to read the sentence twice more before it made sense.

Henry paused after reading the first sentence, which had

taken him several minutes to sound out and decipher.
Doggedly, he plunged on. “It is well known with what energy
the taste for military matters became developed among that
nation of ship-owners, shopkeepers, and mechanics.” A little
easier. He knew some of the words and the rest, aside from
military and developed, weren't difficult.

He was most of the way through the first chapter when

Volentine entered.

“Find something good to read, Rat?”

“It's slow going. Do we leave soon?”

“Anxious for the sky again, are you? We have another

week here. I'm sure you can finish your book.” Volentine sat
down heavily. “We have a problem, my sweet Rat.”

“Yes?” Henry marked his place and set the book aside.

He came to Volentine and eased his boots off. He tried to
keep his features curious and not fearful. There was no way
Volentine could have discovered his plans. Unless he talked in
his sleep. He tried to remember if he did.

“The crew is unhappy with me keeping you all to myself

and flaunting you. They say you have to go, or to be shared
equally, or they need to be allowed to bring their paramours
along as well. I reminded them that you were a hostage and it

was my privilege as Captain to keep you.”

A knock came on the door. Henry rose to get it, but

Volentine motioned him to stay seated. The usual dinner
delivery, with Cowboy smirking and catching a glimpse of him,
made Henry obey.

“Ah yes. And Amos has been stirring the crew up as well,”

Volentine said as he put the tray on the table. “He wants you.
And he wants the

Strumpet

. I am expecting a mutiny in the

near-future.”

Henry stared at how calmly Volentine sat and ate, talking

about these horrors. He barely nibbled a pumpernickel roll.

“Eat, Rat. I've survived three mutinies already. Another

doesn't frighten me.”

“I don't want the others,” Henry said. “Are you going to

give me to Amos?” Knowing Cowboy's name felt strange. He
considered the young man with the hungry look of a hunting
wolf and the longish hair. Amos was not a bad looking man,
but something violent resided in him and that frightened Henry.
Sometimes, he still had nightmares about the pistol running
along the sides of his face. In his dreams, the gun often ended
up in his mouth or up his nose and Cowboy--Amos, he
corrected--would cock it. He always woke up just as Amos
pulled the trigger.

Volentine reached across the table and stroked his face.

“Never. I would like to keep you, Rat, as long as you want to
stay with me.”

Henry leaned into the touch and kissed Volentine's palm.

“I wouldn't mind staying.” Volentine smiled and stroked his
hair. Henry looked at him, and asked. “Do you like oysters?”

“Why do you ask?”

“We were on the way to San Francisco when...”

“When we intercepted you. Go on.” Volentine took a bite

of cheese and waited.

“When you showed up, I was thinking about going down to

the docks, getting some live oysters, having them steamed
then and there and eating them as I explored. Would
you...would you like to join me on an expedition like that when
we get in?” He felt all hesitant and shy asking and held his
breath after the question was out.

“Of course. I do like oysters. Or maybe there will be some

shrimp. Thank you for inviting me.”

Henry hid his blush behind his beer.

“Rat, my own sweet pet, why don't you clear away? I have

something to try with you.” Volentine padded to the bed and
stretched out while Henry set the tray outside.

“Will it hurt?” Henry sat down on the edge of the bed and

leaned over for a kiss.

“Not a bit. I think you'll enjoy it. I adore having it done for

me. You're not quite ready to fuck yet, are you, little love?”

Henry shook his head. He wasn't entirely sure what such

an act would entail, but he'd seen some of the nancy-boys
moving gingerly afterward and the word itself sounded harsh.
“Not yet. Does it hurt a lot?”

“Not a lot. There's always a little discomfort. That's just

part of it. But, as with a woman, the unpleasantness fades
quickly to be replaced by pure pleasure. I have played both
roles, darling,” Volentine pulled him down for another kiss,
“And both are wonderful.”

Henry held the kiss as long as the captain would let him.

Then he swung over atop Volentine and began unbuttoning his
shirt. He touched and kissed the skin as it was bared before
him and lingered on Volentine's hard little nipples until the
pirate bucked against him with need.

Volentine's own fingers were no less busy. They divested

Henry of the nightshirt he hadn't bothered to change out of,
leaving him bare as the day he was born. Volentine gave his
cock a couple of light strokes, and then encouraged Henry to
roll onto his belly.

He rubbed his hands down Henry's back and squeezed

his ass. Henry relaxed. A single light swat, more testing than
painful, made him flinch. He got even harder. A second swat,
much more firm made him thrust into the bed, hungry and
desperate already.

Volentine kissed him low on his back. “Hot little rat. You

always need my touches until I fear you will drain me of all my
vital fluids.” He kissed one reddened cheek of Henry's ass
and then the other. “I'm going to perform a feuille de rose, little
one. It will not hurt. It may feel odd. Give it time.”

Henry nodded. “Yes, captain.”

He shivered as Volentine parted the cheeks of his ass

and stared for long minute. Henry squirmed under the scrutiny.
Finally he felt a touch. It was not a finger breaching him as he
had hoped and feared, but the wet, barely there touch of
Volentine's tongue.

Volentine teased his tailbone and then swept along the

cleft he dearly loved to frot off in, licking all the way to Henry's
balls. They tightened as he flicked his tongue over them and
then drew them both in to suck a little. Henry moaned into the
pillow.

He thought he would have to thrust into the mattress again

as Volentine's tongue teased him, but he held still. When the
tongue licked its way back to probe his opening, he could
endure no more. He pumped into the mattress, desperate,
starved as if he hadn't had a climax in a year. Volentine pulled
away and held him down, the big hands and better leverage

compensating for Henry's greater strength.

“Shh. You're fine. You'll come when I say to, Rat, or not at

all. Am I clear?”

“Ye...yes,” Henry managed, stilling his hips with the

greatest effort of will he'd ever committed.

Volentine swatted him again. “Yes, what?”

“Yes please, sir,” Henry ground out, remembering his

manners. “Please continue and I will climax when you say.”

Volentine spanked him hard, three times on each cheek

and then tucked a pillow under his hips to elevate his ass. The
cheeks felt twice their size and glowed like shop windows on
a late December evening. “Now hold still while I taste you.”

The delicate tongue returned to his ass. Henry groaned

and held still, biting his lip. He stayed still and silent as
Volentine tasted him, his tongue teasing all around the
opening and sometimes thrusting inside. Henry liked that
best, when Volentine pressed right into him and ran his tongue
in as deeply as it would fit. He felt a single, well-licked finger
probe him and he pushed back to welcome it. Volentine kept
licking as the finger entered, sliding in slowly at first and then
deeper.

“More,” Henry begged. “Please, more.”

Volentine hooked the finger forward and the top of Henry's

head felt like it exploded. He shot all over the bed with a shout
as the fire licked up his spine and fireworks, such as he had
once seen over Boston Harbor, flared behind his eyes.

Volentine laughed. “You're going to love it when I fuck you.”

He swatted Henry again. “But you'll pay for your disobedience.
You didn't wait for me to tell you to come.”

Henry gasped for air. He relaxed against the bed, spent,

and boneless.

Volentine's fingers stayed put, and he kept rubbing. Henry

felt another one press against him and pop inside with no
pain. “You're almost loose enough to fuck right now. Would you
like me to? Do you want my cock sliding into you, Rat? Do you
want to swallow me up, feel me inside you?”

Henry's mind swam at the idea. He could barely imagine

it. Volentine's fingers kept moving. They felt wonderful. His
cock would feel as good, Henry expected. He imagined it
plunging into him, just as the fingers moved in and out gently.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. Fuck me. I want to feel it.”

Volentine kissed the back of his neck and between his

shoulder blades. “I've waited a long time to hear you ask for
that, darling. I'll make it wonderful.”

Henry almost whimpered when Volentine's fingers

withdrew. He heard movement but couldn't be bothered to
look around. He lay in a dreaming haze, half post-orgasmic
float, half blissful anticipation, as Volentine poured water and
splashed and then rummaged in a drawer.

“You need more than my spit to take me in, my little

virginal rat.”

Henry felt oil poured over his ass, running down the crack.

Volentine rubbed it in, making sure to get it inside his hole.
His cock started waking up. He heard more pouring, but
nothing landed on him. He glanced over to see Volentine
rubbing his own cock with oil.

“I'm ready, Captain,” he said.

“I think, Rat, we should be a bit more informal.” Volentine

came to the bed and knelt between Henry's legs. “What's your
name, Rat? Your real name?”

“Henry Toben.” His name came out without thinking. Henry

wanted to bite it back, to say he was only Rat as far as
Volentine was concerned.

Volentine kissed his back and the dimples above the

cheeks of his ass. “I like your name, Henry. It's a solid, manly
name. My own parents had little foresight when they called me
Meriwether, after the great explorer.” He landed a swat that
was almost too hard to be playful on Henry's ass. “If you call
me Meri, you go over my knee.”

“Yes, sir,” Henry said. The spank had awakened his cock

fully. He spread his legs a bit wider and offered his ass,
hoping Volentine hadn't forgotten what they were doing.

Volentine swatted him again. “Impatient pet, he grumbled.

You will get fucked, I promise you that, my rat. Or should I call
you Henry?”

The sound of his name from the pirate's lips sent shivers

over Henry. The kiss on the side of his neck that followed only
added to the chills. Volentine nipped him on the spot and
lowered his weight onto Henry's back.

“Feel me, darling.” He rested his cock along the cleft of

Henry's ass.

Henry squirmed under it, wanting more. “Yes.”

The head nudged at his opening, pressing just a little at

the loosened ring. Henry felt a little spark of pain shoot all over
his body from the intrusion. It was bigger than Volentine's
fingers and he had closed up a little. But he opened, and the
pain vanished. The pirate's cock eased into him, slowly
enough that Henry wanted to beg for more. Instead, he
savored the feeling of being spread and filled.

All too soon, he felt Volentine's thigh against the back of

his own and nestled his ass into the curve of the captain's
groin. He wished there was more, although Volentine's cock
was not small by any measure of a man.

“You have all of it, dear Henry.” Volentine kissed his ear.

“Feel me, love.”

Henry lay quiet. He absorbed the sensation of being filled

like this. Shivery sensations ran all over his arms and legs.
When Volentine moved, thrusting very gently, much more
gentle than he had ever thrust into Henry's mouth, the sparks
flew up along his spine, too.

Henry gasped out, “More! Yes!”

“Greedy,” Volentine teased. He moved a little faster, his

breath growing quicker on the back of Henry's neck.

Henry rose to meet the strokes. Then Volentine shifted

within him and sparks turned to a jolt of pure galvanic energy
shrieking right to his brain. He moaned loudly, and Volentine
kissed his neck.

“Good, isn't it, pet? Have the more you so crave.”

Volentine pounded in hard and fast, making sure of his thrusts.
Henry's own cock was shoved against the bed in a most
delightful sort of friction. Henry thought he might die of the
pleasure, his brain exploding under the nerve energies, his
nipples and cock shooting sparks out as his whole body
turned to stars.

His cock did shoot, spending out more cream than he

could imagine having in him. His balls convulsed until they
ached. His head spun and felt lighter than the airship's full
envelope.

Above him, Volentine took four more thrusts and then

shuddered, burying himself deep inside Henry with a roar of
pleasure. The faint pulsations inside of him roused Henry to a
bit more interest.

“I spent again without your permission, sir,” he whispered.

“How am I to be punished?”

“Let me consider it, my naughty rat. You have given me

such exquisite pleasure, my mind is quite addled.” Volentine

rolled off of him and stretched out to his full length on the bed.

Henry rolled over gingerly, coddling his stretched ass, and

curled into Volentine's side. The captain stroked his hair and
face, stealing kisses here and there.

“Thank you,” Henry whispered. “It was wonderful.”

~* * *~

During the next few days, Henry had a great deal to

occupy his mind. The threat of the mutiny hung over him like a
pall. What if they pitched Meriwether overboard and shared
him around the crew? Worse, what if they shared him first,
making Meriwether watch and then pitched the captain
overboard? Henry wasn't sure he could survive either one.

He couldn't read. He paced incessantly, until his aching

feet made him sit. As often as not, he dozed off in the chair,
only to come awake from dreadful dreams.

Finally, he hit upon a course of action. Meriwether wouldn't

like it, but Henry felt he had to at least try. Perhaps, if he was
the cause of some of the trouble, he could alleviate some of
the mutinous grumblings. He decided to try the next time
Cowboy--Amos, he reminded himself--came with his lunch.

Lunch was soup and bread, and a long leer from Amos.

Henry smiled, took the tray and opened the door. He tried not
to be conscious of his nudity or of the leather around his neck.

“Won't you come in? It's very lonely here all day by myself.”

He set the soup on the table and turned to Amos. “Have you
eaten? There's plenty for two.”

The man looked him over suspiciously, but Henry saw the

desire. He licked his lips and made a short show of bending a
little to tease with his rear as well. Amos swatted him.

“Tired of the captain already, are you? Or is he too tired to

take care of you? He's working real hard on this trip.” The leer

in Amos' voice left Henry no doubt he could do this. He just
hoped it would be enough.

Henry smiled. “He works very hard, and I am alone all day

with nothing to do. Come, have some lunch.” He finished off
his coffee and poured half of the soup into the mug. He broke
the bread in two and pushed the bowl and bread toward
Amos. “How'd you come to be shipping with pirates anyway?
I'd think some little girl would have snapped you up, and you'd
be running a horse ranch somewhere in Wyoming.”

Amos stared at the soup and then took a bite. Henry

relaxed a little and listened. “Third sons don't get ranches or
businesses or anything. I got into pirating the same way most
people do, for the money.” He tore off some of the bread in his
teeth. “And yeah, someday there will be a little ranch and a
pretty girl. But right now,” he reached over ran his hand along
Henry's cheek, “I take the pleasure like I take the money, when
and where I can get it.”

Henry wanted to pull back from the long hand, but he

pressed into it instead. Steeling himself, he pulled one finger
into his mouth. “I see you looking at me. I know you want me.
You captured me and Volentine took me right out of your
hands before you got a taste. That had to rankle.” He sucked
Amos' finger again.

The wolfish young man had turned to putty, and Henry

molded him a little more. He took a second finger in his mouth
and sucked them both. He got up and sat on the floor between
Amos' feet, facing him. “You want to know what that feels like
someplace else, don't you?”

Amos grabbed his hair and yanked Henry's face toward

the crotch of his grubby waist overalls. “Suck me off, you little
whore.”

Henry unfastened the fly of the denim pants with

deliberate slowness, looking up at Amos' face. He let his

tongue slip out and just barely moisten his top lip. The ridge
under his fingers got harder. Once the fly was open, he eased
Amos' cock out of the underwear to stand proud and hard in
the light of the cave room.

Henry looked it over critically. Smaller than Meriwether's

but not by much, and no thinner. He could swallow it easily. He
really hoped it wouldn't come down to letting Amos fuck him.
An experimental lick from sandy-haired base to leaking tip
told him this wouldn't be too bad. Amos was clean and tasted
all right.

“Yeah. You do this a lot, don't you, little rat?”

“Let me make you feel like the captain,” Henry suggested.

He took just the head in and swirled his tongue around it,
sucking a little. Amos smiled down. Henry winked back and
swallowed the whole cock at one gulp.

“Keep you as my pet when I'm captain,” Amos sighed,

relaxing into Henry's mouth.

Henry hoped it wouldn't come to that. He gave Amos his

very best, a deep, sweet suck with plenty of tongue. Amos
came so suddenly that Henry knew he hadn't had any release
in a long time.

Amos looked down, his blue eyes slightly crossed and

unfocused. Henry licked along the bottom of his cock, came
off smiling and tucked him away in his underwear and pants.

“Now for my demands,” he said.

Amos laughed. “You don't get to make demands. Slavery

may be over where the law is concerned, and you may be the
wrong color, but we make our own laws.”

Henry ignored him. “As long as Meriwether Volentine is

captain of the airship, whether it's called

Hangman's

Strumpet

or

Archimedes' Mistress

or any other name, I will

give you great pleasure with no other demands upon you. The
day you mutiny is the day I bite your prick clean off. Are we
clear?”

Amos looked down, shocked to find Henry had a

backbone of such steel. “Then maybe that's the day I switch to
your cute little ass.”

“Amos, please. Volentine is doing his best. And I will give

you my mouth freely.”

Amos just shook his head sadly. “You don't understand,

pet. I want to be captain.”

“Then wait and earn your ship in your own time.” Henry

looked up imploringly. “At least let me keep him until San
Francisco? If you must mutiny, do it there. Take the ship
bloodlessly and leave him with me. This suits both our ends.
You'll be the captain, and my lover remains alive.” Henry had
planned the plea carefully enough, but was shocked to find he
actually meant the part about loving his captain. He would
save that knowledge until Volentine needed to hear it most.

“Clever little rat. You think everyone can get what he wants,

don't you?”

“I don't see why not. You get pleasure at lunchtime and

eventually the ship. I get Volentine. He gets to live.” Henry
stood up. He noticed the way Amos' eyes followed him and
fixed on his hard cock. He reached over and stroked the
man's face. “And maybe you can even have a taste of me, if
you want it. But right now, you've been gone a long while and
someone will miss you.”

Henry plucked up what courage he had left, although every

nerve in him felt like a slack cable. He bent in and kissed
Amos, making it deep and as passionate as he could. The
wolfish man reached up and pulled him in close, his hand
going to Henry's cock.

“Not a word of this to anyone. Put your men off. Let them

wait. Explain the plan once we're on the ground in Frisco.
Before that,” Henry kissed him again, “And I will tell Volentine
of your predations upon his helpless house pet and you will go
over the side. This rat has some teeth, Amos.”

Amos nodded. “And everyone gets what he wants in the

end.” He stood up, still holding Henry's cock. “If you call me by
my first name again, I rip it off, got it? Call me Clanton.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Clanton.” Henry gave him an apologetic kiss.

Amos let go of his cock and headed out the door, taking

the empty lunch tray. He paused and gave a satisfied smirk at
the door. “If nothing else, you got a real nice tongue.”

Henry breathed only a little easier when Amos left. They

hadn't been caught, and that was something. Amos had
agreed to his plan, and that was something else. Now, all he
had to do was make the lunch-time so pleasurable that Amos
would do anything to keep it happening. And not get caught,
he amended. Meriwether would kill them both, unless Henry
could talk very fast. Without Amos, the mutineers might move
before everything was ready.

Now, to figure out how to deal with Meriwether when he

discovered he had been grounded. The very word made
Henry's chest tighten. Grounded. Never to fly again, never to
have the open sky around him, was the worst fate he could
imagine. He wondered if he could figure out a way for them to
fly together, legitimately.

The next few days passed in a haze of nervous tension.

Every lunch brought the sinking feeling that their time was
short and someone would find out where Amos was spending
that extra time. Volentine's arrival in the early evening was no
better.

When Amos brought the dinner tray, Henry was careful not

to betray their intimacies or to look at him lingeringly. But still,
every fiber of his body whined the same telegraphic message,

he knows!

The refrain haunted the times he spent with

Volentine. It shadowed all his waking hours.

The worry that Amos would make his own plans and not

hold to the agreement provided a dark undercurrent. Soon,
Henry hoped to be dressed and uncollared, Volentine's lover
and equal instead of his pet rat. But if Amos betrayed him,
he'd be in no better straits, still the captain's whore, but without
the man he loved.

He thought of that idea often. Love. It wasn't something

he'd ever expected. But even with the fear, he still found
himself growing eager at Volentine's return each evening. He
enjoyed the caresses more than he'd ever expected to like
another's touch. Before Volentine, release had been
something taken quickly and furtively, always aware of the
illegality, always afraid of being caught. There was no time for
play, for long leisurely kisses and tender lovemaking in such a
life.

Sex was not the whole of the appeal. Volentine's stories

riveted him. The nightly card games were a challenge that
Henry had yet to master. He imagined them, perhaps sailing
pleasure cruises over San Francisco Bay, living in a little
house in the city. In his dreams, they made love every night
and flew every day. They played cards and walked in the city's
parks. They shopped for food in the open air markets and
wharves, coming home with prizes of fresh bread and oysters,
of shrimps and the occasional steak.

It would not be a glamorous or exciting life. There would

be no danger, but they still could fly. The money for their own
ship would be hard to come by, unless he found a way to warn
Volentine. With warning, they could take as much of the pirate
spoils as possible.

He considered that idea long and hard, turning it over. But

there was no good way to do it. He would be labeled a
mutineer, and Volentine's affection would turn to hate in an
instant. That idea, Henry could not bear. The one time he had
imagined Volentine's face turning to hatred, the tears that had
leaked from his eyes had surprised him.

The day of departure arrived at last. Henry dressed, the

clothing feeling odd after so many days of nakedness.
Volentine had given him new clothes for their trip. His own off-
duty clothes alone were not classy enough for the captain. A
collar and waistcoat, necktie and frock coat had been added
to his simple suspendered pants and shirt. He looked in the
mirror to tie the necktie. It choked him as much as the high
collar. He buttoned the waistcoat embroidered with blue birds
and slipped on the brown coat. He parted his hair neatly in the
middle and slicked it down. He shaved neatly, leaving only the
mustache he'd been growing. A pity. The beard had made him
look older and smarter.

“Ah, my Henry. You do cut a gallant figure when you put

your mind to it.” Volentine came up behind him in the mirror
and wrapped his arms around Henry's waist.

“You made a boilerman into a gentleman, Captain.” Henry

turned and kissed Volentine's cheek. He looked around the
room. “Seems a shame that I'll never see this place again.”

“You like it, then?”

“Ah, just a bit. I've been here all my hours and days for

some time. We've grown accustomed to each other, the room
and I.” Henry looked up and nuzzled him. “Besides, it was the
first place you made love to me.”

“You can always come back,” Volentine said, kissing his

ear.

“Not if what you've been saying about the mutiny is true.

Better take what valuables we can carry, hadn't we?”

Volentine laughed and kissed his forehead. “Practical, but

faithless.”

Henry tried not to cringe at the word. “If you mean I have

no faith at all in Amos' goodwill or the scruples of the crew, you
are right as rain.”

“Have faith in me, little love. I am Meriwether Volentine,

Terror of the Skies. I've survived three mutinies and four run-
ins with the Sky-Marshals. This will be nothing.”

“Lucky. But luck runs out, my captain. It always runs out

and preparation is never amiss. We can always return the
goods when we come back.” Henry tried not to hold his breath
as Volentine thought it over.

“Wisdom, from my rat.” Volentine kissed him. “Pack

everything of value, even the books. And keep some of it
always on you. Just in case.”

“In what case?”

“In case they decide to pitch us both overboard rather than

keep you. Although I think that an unlikely development. Amos
has had his eye on you since the day we took you.”

Henry nodded. “Aye, he said as much one noontide. He

told me when he was captain I would go naked aboard the
ship as well as in the cave, and all would see how often and
well he took me.”

Volentine's eyes narrowed. “He told you?”

Henry nodded. “He wants me as his and you gone. I

listened and pretended I wanted the same.” He clung around
Volentine's neck and gave him big, imploring blue eyes. “My
captain is a busy man who has little time for his pet. Once, he
made me love him and now, he has no time at all. My body
aches with emptiness, Amos, can you fill it?” Henry hammed it

up, playing the scene much as he had once seen a
melodrama troupe perform.

“Did he believe you?” Volentine's face remained

distressingly neutral.

Henry looked at the ground, letting some of his shame

and treachery show on his face. “He did once I kissed him.
Men don't kiss unless they're serious.” He looked up. “I'm
sorry, Meriwether.”

“Nonsense.” Volentine smiled again. “A single kiss to

save my life and make certain I remain a wealthy man? I'm not
angry, pet. Let me take the taste of him out of your mouth.”

Henry privately wondered if that was possible. He'd

sucked Amos' cock very thoroughly for the last several days,
and today he'd been ordered onto the man's balls as well. But
Meriwether would never know that if he had his way.

Volentine folded Henry close in his arms, his tall, strong

body dwarfing Henry's smaller one. Henry leaned into it,
pressing against his captain. He looked up and Volentine
descended for a kiss. Henry let him try taking the taste of
Amos out of his mouth. He concentrated on every bit of the
kiss, from the first touch of Volentine's soft mouth to the easy
entrance of his tongue.

He rested in Volentine's arms, open to his mouth and

hands, tasting only his beloved captain. Volentine lingered,
teasing with his tongue, his fingers running over Henry's face
and neck. Henry moaned a little into the kiss and couldn't stop
himself from thrusting against Volentine's legs.

When Volentine let him go at last, Henry smiled up. “I love

you.” He covered his mouth in shock that the words had
slipped out.

Volentine looked down, his face unreadable. “Do you,

pet? Do you really?”

Henry slipped out of his lover's arms. He busied himself

with the end of the packing. The blood burned in his face and
ears. He hadn't meant to say that.

Henry shut the valise and fastened the straps. Volentine's

arms came around him and Henry felt the man's body press
against his back. He could feel the beginning of an erection
pressing into the small of his back. Volentine kissed his still-
hot ear.

“I see you did. Liars don't get embarrassed when asked if

they mean it. They bluster right on through.” Volentine
straightened them both up and turned Henry in his arms.
“Henry, my own sweet pet rat.” He smiled and kissed Henry
then, his lips solid and demanding against Henry's mouth.

Henry opened to it, pleased when Volentine's tongue

slipped into his mouth, taking possession of him. He wrapped
his arms around his captain's neck and molded himself to
Volentine's taller body. The beginnings of an erection had
strengthened to a full flag-staff between Volentine's thighs.

“Meriwether,” Henry whispered when Volentine let go of

his lips. ”My Captain.”

Volentine smiled at him. “In San Francisco, we will find a

comfortable hotel room. I hear the Carlton has running hot
water in the bathrooms. We'll eat well, laze around, and then
look for work.”

“You'll spoil me,” Henry teased.

The heat in Volentine's eyes seemed to burn hotter as he

looked over Henry's new finery. He traced the mustache then
rummaged on the dressing table. After a moment, he came up
with some mustache wax and worked it into Henry's facial
hair, putting the ends into a twirl as was popular.

“When my lover looks this dapper, I have no qualms about

spoiling him.” He turned them back to the mirror so Henry

could get the full effect.

Henry shook his head. He looked like an officer, not a

below-decks laborer. “Getting above my station,” he mumbled.

“Nonsense. You are the Captain's Man and you look the

part, love.” Volentine kissed him again, his hands running over
the smooth waistcoat and down Henry's narrow hips to grasp
his ass.

A knock at the door interrupted them before Henry could

shed the new and uncomfortable clothing and allow Volentine
to take their kissing to its conclusion. Volentine opened the
door. Amos leaned on the door frame, his cap at a jaunty
angle, the smirk on his face giving him an air of menacing
insouciance.

“Captain, the crew is ready when you are.” Henry heard

the double meaning in the words and shot Amos a look.

“Come, Rat. We are off to San Francisco,” Volentine

cried, overly gay. “We shall sleep in a fine bed and eat good
food within two days.”

“Yes, Captain.” Henry picked up the bags and followed the

pirates out of the cave.

~* * *~

Amos came to the Captain's cabin while Volentine was

busy in the chart room. “Time to pay up, little rat. I want it all
today. I want to fuck you.”

Henry froze, ice gripping his heart and spreading outward

to root his feet to the deck. He couldn't even swallow. He
stood still and said nothing.

“Whassamatter? Getting cold feet? Your precious Captain

not worth letting a rough and ready guy like me at your tender
ass?” Amos closed on him, something ugly and deadly in his
face. “You're not thinking of backing out of the bargain are you,

you little shit?”

“N-n-no,” Henry managed. “I'm sorry, you startled me with

the request.”

“Tain't a request, boy. It's a fucking order, and I'm ordering

the fucking.” Amos laughed at his own wit but Henry simply
nodded.

“Lock the door. My leash doesn't reach.”

The grin was back, this time with an appraising look.

“Damn. He keeps you chained to the bed while he's away.
Naked looks awfully good on you.” Amos sat on the edge of
the bed. “Beginning to wonder if keeping my end is worth it. I
mean, I get the ship, but you won't be chained to my bed like a
pretty pet. If I chuck the captain overboard now, what's to stop
me coming back here and claiming you?”

“You like me willing. And if you kill my Meriwether, you will

quickly find I am not simply a pampered pet.” Henry leaned
over and shoved Amos to the bed, letting him feel the strength
that had not left his arms in his weeks of captivity.

“Strong, aincha? What'd you do before I caught you

skulking around like a fox around a henhouse?” Amos just
grinned up at him.

“I am a master boilerman, certified and licensed.” Henry

joined him on the bed and began opening Amos' pants. If the
situation couldn't be helped...it couldn't be helped, and he
would simply have to stand tall.

Amos' cock practically leaped out of his fly. Henry smiled

as he went to suck it. He had just learned something very
important about Amos Clanton.

Henry held the pirate down by his hips, pinning his legs

with his own body weight as he sucked Amos' cock, taking it
as deeply as he could. The big blunt hands tangled up in his
hair and held him down, making him swallow against the

fleshy intruder.

Amos yanked him off after a few minutes. “Want to fuck

you.”

Henry gave him a wink. “Of course. But,” he slid up to pin

Amos' shoulders, his strong body holding the taller man
immobile, “maybe you'd like me to return the favor, too.” He
came down for a kiss, hard and invasive, dominating Amos as
thoroughly with his tongue as the other man had dominated
him with his threats.

Amos let him for a moment and then pushed him away, a

wicked grin crossing his face. “Only if you can beat me in a
fight. Think you can?”

Henry rolled his eyes. He was sure he could, but decided

not to prove it. He let Amos roll him onto his back. “Just so you
know, if we're caught I will be fighting the second that door
opens.”

“I'd expect nothing else.” Amos bit his neck and then knelt

over his shoulders. “Better get it wet. Unless the captain's got
you so loose you don't need it.”

Henry acquiesced and sucked, slurping messily to make

sure Amos was wet. He was not surprised when Amos
pressed his knees back to his shoulders. Of course, he would
want the least comfortable position. Of course, he would want
to see the face of the Captain's Pet as he took the captain's
privileges for his own.

Henry set his teeth behind his smile and tried not to think

what would happen if Volentine intruded on them. His body let
Amos in without much protest. He'd added enough spit that it
barely burned. He had always welcomed the bit of stretch that
Volentine liked, the faint sting at entrance. Now he was glad
enough not to be giving Amos that pleasure.

“Damn, you're a loose slut.” Amos shoved hard and fast.

Henry obliged him by clamping down. “Yeah, that's better. Milk
me like a cow, little rat.”

Henry winced at the image, but squeezed hard around the

intruder that pushed deeper into him with each stroke. He
gasped when Amos rubbed against the place that Volentine
liked to probe, the one that made him feel weak in the knees.
Henry shifted his ass just a little so Amos couldn't get it. He
didn't want pleasure from this man, only from his Meriwether

Amos, lost in sweat and the business of fucking, never

heard the tread outside the door. Henry heard and braced
himself. He locked his wrists into the restraints at the head of
the bed and bit hard on Amos' shoulder as Volentine pushed
the door open.

“Rat?” Volentine just stared at the scene before him.

Henry could only imagine how they looked, with him chained in
and doubled in half.

“Captain!” Henry put every plea, every protest he could

manage into that word. “Help me, please.” He shoved against
Amos' body ineffectually, his manacled hands and pinned legs
making his fight an impossibility.

Volentine strode across the cabin and yanked the would-

be mutineer from his lover in one hard motion. “You
treacherous dog.”

“Your rat begged me for it, the lying little fucker,” Amos

spat. “He's a sweet little whore, isn't he? Begged me real
pretty with that silvery tongue of his then spread his ass just
right, the treacherous little bitch.”

Volentine drove straight from the shoulder in a hard punch

to the jaw. Amos went down like a pole-axed steer.

Volentine looked at Henry. Henry suspected he made

quite a sight, leashed to the bed by his collar, manacled, his
body moving stiffly as he uncurled from the awkward position.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Rat? Did you beg?

Did you want this?”

Henry stared deep into Volentine's eyes, leaving himself

completely open for the truth. “I didn't want this, sir. I didn't beg
for it. I didn't fight as much as I could have, since he
threatened to strangle me in the leash if I gave him trouble.”

“He locked you in and raped you.” Volentine seemed to

have settled the matter in his own mind. “The only thing I miss
about being at sea is the ability to keelhaul a man. I think I'll
have to kill him myself.”

“You'll have a full mutiny on your hands.” Henry blanched at

the thought. “He's the leader.”

“Yes, I know. I'll do it as we reach the city. If he lives, I'll

dump him on a hospital's doorstep. I don't think that will be
necessary.” Volentine aimed a sharp kick at the unconscious
man's ribs. Henry jumped at the cracking sound.

Volentine came to the bed and unlocked the cuffs from

Henry's wrists. Then he unlocked the leash from his bunk. “I
am sorry I left you in such a vulnerable position, pet. Maybe
you should get dressed.”

Henry noticed that Volentine wasn't looking at him. He felt

filthy, shamed like a fallen woman. He set his teeth and pulled
on his pants, anger starting to boil in him. Tempted though he
was, he didn't aim a kick at the fallen Amos.

“Henry.” Volentine's soft voice made him want to turn and

see what it was that caused such yearning and pain. He
finished fastening his suspenders and then turned.

Volentine's hands on his face, pulling him up for a kiss,

startled him. He blinked a couple of times, and then settled
into the kiss, his own arms going around Volentine's neck.

“Forgive me, Henry. I had no idea he'd be so bold. Are you

hurt?”

Henry wanted to say he was fine but hot anger, both at

Amos for abusing him and Volentine for leaving him
vulnerable, boiled out of him like steam from one of his old
boilers. “Only in body, Captain.” Though he wanted nothing
more to stay in Volentine's embrace, he squirmed out of it and
turned his back to make the bed.

“Pet, how can I make things right?” The yearning still

sounded in Volentine's voice, but there was an edge, whether
of anger or desperation, Henry wasn't sure.

He loved this man, he reminded himself. He loved him

enough to keep the truth from him. He loved Volentine enough
to sacrifice all he had and was to keep Volentine alive. A
snide nasty voice from deep inside him, one that sounded
suspiciously like Amos Clanton, asked “Do you now? Do you
really love him? Don't you tell your loved ones the truth, rat?”

Henry spun around. Volentine had lost the look of yearning

and adoration and now scowled in his face.

“Last chance, Rat.”

“I wasn't as unwilling as it looked. It wasn't rape. It was a

bribe, to keep him from killing you.”

“You went willingly...” Volentine's handsome face clouded

over and his bright blue eyes turned stormy gray. Then the rest
of what Henry had said struck him. “For me?”

“For you.” Henry didn't add the doubt that had bubbled up

that Volentine wasn't worth the loss of what small portion of his
self-respect remained. “Now you know.”

Volentine stood still for a few moments then pulled Henry

close. “No one has ever found me worth sacrificing anything
for. Oh, Henry.” He cupped Henry's face and kissed him. “I
love you, my own sweet rat.” His hands trailed over Henry's
bare shoulders.

Henry swallowed hard at this confession, the ugly voice

suddenly vanishing. “I...”

“Shh.” Volentine laid a finger across his lips. “I already

know. Tomorrow, Amos and I will duel for the ship. The winner
gets everything, including you.”

“I don't want him,” Henry protested.

“Gets you. Whether he can keep you is another story

altogether. You're welcome to follow my corpse over the side,
if I lose.”

“Hush. That's very bad luck.” Henry muttered the Angelic

Salutation under his breath against that harm.

“You had best finish dressing, Henry. I'll get this piece of

flotsam to the brig.”

Henry scrubbed with hot water before pulling on his shirt.

~* * *~

San Francisco loomed off their bow when Volentine

assembled the crew on the main deck at noon. Henry had
spent an uncomfortable night chained to the bed, but not in it.
Volentine had not touched him since Clanton had fouled him.
He still felt dirty, soiled inside and out from the man's touch.

Clanton stood scowling at Volentine, one hand pressed to

his side, cradling his cracked ribs. “High time you stepped
down, Meriwether,” he challenged. “You run this ship like it's
your plantation. You ignore our advice and plans. You don't
share out fair, and you keep choice morsels to yourself.”

Volentine stepped out in front of the crew, his usual black

coat set aside in favor of a gleaming metal waistcoat. He
threw a similar one at Clanton. “You've listened to Amos
Clanton, and his mutterings and mutinies. I know several of
you planned to make this my last trip by air. Say now who you
stand with. I've kept you free men for ten years, brought in rich

prizes, and if I keep myself a pretty maid or a handsome
youth, that is merely the Captain's privilege. Those who think
you'll do better under Clanton, go and stand on the port side. If
I win, you'll be put aground to find a new ship. Which is, I
believe more mercy than you planned to show me and my pet.
”

Henry held Volentine's frock coat close, feeling the weight

in the pockets he'd stitched shut. His own pockets were
likewise heavy with gold and jewelry and good cash. He
searched for a possible escape, but no lifeboats presented
themselves. He touched the experimental levitational belt that
Volentine insisted he wear. He hoped it would slow his
descent to the ground, a hundred feet below.

About ten of the crewmen went to the port rail. Henry

recognized them all as troublemakers and lower-level
aeronauts. If Amos won, they would make a hash of their first
job, or quarrel among themselves until they all killed each
other and saved the Sky-Marshals the trouble.

Clanton pulled on the vest. Volentine tossed him a long

knife and announced, “Pirates we are and as pirates, we
settle this. Swords are for gentlemen and pistols are
hazardous to the ship. Take it up, Amos, and come for me.”

Volentine sank into a fighting crouch, his knife held ready.

Clanton picked up his own and stepped closer. He feinted,
testing Volentine's defenses, but the captain anticipated, and
the blow missed.

Teeth bared, the mutineer circled his captain. Henry

watched as they probed each other's defenses. He gasped
as Clanton drew first blood, a small scratch on Volentine's
knife arm.

“Sure you want to go to the death, Meri? Maybe two out of

three would suit you better?” Clanton taunted.

Volentine bared his teeth. “Death and no quarter asked

nor given.” He slashed low, opening a shallow cut on Clanton's
leg,

Henry stayed as calm as he could, edging to the

starboard rail. He found a coil of rope near the edge and tied
one end to the rail, scarcely daring to take his eyes from the
fight. He did his best to be casual, but the ship was very high
and he had no idea how long the rope was. If Volentine died,
he would not remain aboard to be Amos Clanton's prize.

The men circled. The crew watched. Clanton lunged in,

driving hard and low. Volentine crouched to counter him, but at
the last second, Clanton changed the angle of his attack. With
a vicious backhand stroke, he came in from the side, as if
planning to gut his captain from hip to hip.

Volentine caught the change at the last instant but had to

let the knife bite deep into his left arm in order to protect his
body. The pain seemed only to anger him, and he gave a
great bellow like an enraged bull. Blood spattered the wooden
deck. Volentine's shirt took on a slow seeping crimson color.
Clanton gave his wolfish grin and shook a few drops out of his
hair. He licked at the one that landed near his mouth.

Henry bit down on his gasp. He didn't need to distract his

lover. There was a single instant and Henry held his breath
that Volentine would see it through his pain and anger.

In the instant Clanton was open, Volentine struck. He

plunged the long knife into Clanton's vulnerable belly and
yanked upward. The mutineer's eyes went wide, and he
dropped his own knife. Volentine pulled him closer in a brutal
parody of a lover's embrace, driving the knife deeper.

“Four mutinies now, Amos, and you should have known it.”

He made as if to kiss Clanton, but instead licked away the
blood that trickled from the young man's mouth. Volentine
jerked upward again and Henry's gorge rose as a loop of

something slippery and gray slid over Volentine's knife hand.

“Hear me!” Volentine shouted as Clanton's blood pooled

at his feet. “Meriwether Volentine is still captain of the

Hangman's Strumpet

. I have survived four mutinies, two

maroonings and escaped the Sky-Marshals three times.
Those who stand with me, bind those who chose Clanton.
They can follow their leader to the ground.”

Amos Clanton shuddered once and groaned before he

sagged against Volentine, adding his blood and fluids to the
captain's befouled clothing. Volentine staggered to the rail,
holding the dying man.

“You were a fine officer. I regret that you had to grow

ambition.” Volentine backed Clanton to the waist-high rail that
ran around the ship's main deck. “I would say farewell, but you
will not. Give the Devil my regards.” He shoved Clanton over
the rail, pulling his knife back.

Henry, despite his better judgment, went to the rail to

watch and immediately regretted it. Clanton plummeted
ground-ward, a few of his guts trailing up like obscene blood-
splashed ribbons. He heard a disturbance behind him and
turned just before the mutineer hit the trees.

Ten crewmen hustled the bound mutineers who had sided

with Clanton to the rail. “Do we kill them first, Captain?” one
asked.

“No, just throw them. This way, they have a small chance

of living, which is more mercy than they would have showed
me and mine.”

Henry covered his mouth, trying not to be sick, both from

the sight of Amos and from the ruthlessness with which the
crew dispatched the others. Some screamed all the way
down. He turned to Volentine, who clutched the rail, stern and
impassive.

Volentine reached out his good arm and drew Henry

close. Henry rested against his chest, the stink of blood
turning his stomach. Volentine caressed his hair. “Come,
Henry. Clean and bandage me in the cabin.” He raised his
voice. “Frederick, get that deck swabbed. We berth in San
Francisco in two hours. We must put forth a good face.”

Henry let Volentine lean on him all the way back to the

cabin. His love was pale and his hand trembled around
Henry's shoulders. He was bleeding too much for safety,
Henry knew.

In the cabin, Henry eased his lover into the large, soft

chair. “Take off your vest if you can,” he said as he threw open
the linen chest. He seized a sheet and took his jack-knife to
the hem, tearing it into strips. Henry paused for a moment
and yelled out the door, “The Captain needs a basin of hot
water from the boiler!”

A curt “aye,” met this request followed by running feet.

Henry used his knife on Volentine's shirt rather than trying to
get it off over the gash.

“Raise it, love,” he said. “Get it above your heart. All fluids

flow downward.”

Volentine lifted his arm, exhausted and pale. The wound

was already starting to clot, but too much blood still seeped
from it. Henry tore more strips and pressed them to
Volentine's arm.

“Hold that tight, darling,” he said when a knock came at

the door.

“The captain's water.” The very young man looked into the

cabin. “Will he be all right?”

“I surely hope so. Come help...” Henry hesitated, waiting

for the youth's name.

“George,” he supplied.

“George, Captain Volentine has lost a lot of blood. He is

weak. Hold his arm and the bandage.” Henry soaked a piece
of sheet in the hot water and washed Volentine's arm to see
the depth of the injury.

“Henry, pet,” Volentine whispered.

“Yes, love?”

“All I have is yours.” He opened his eyes with what

appeared to be a huge effort and tried to smile at Henry.
Henry finished washing him and set the cloth aside. He laid
one finger across Volentine's lips.

“Hush. Those are the words of a dying man, which you are

not.” He turned to George. “Is there a surgeon aboard or even
someone handy with needle and thread?”

George nodded. “I'll go fetch him.”

Henry took Volentine's arm and held it up, pressing the

bandages to it. When George fled in search of the surgeon,
he bent in and kissed his lover. “Meriwether. I love you. I will
fight to keep breath in your body. We will stitch your arm shut
as neatly as mending a sleeve. You will live. We will eat
oysters in San Francisco on the wharves and hurry back to the
hotel when they have their effect.”

One side of Volentine's mouth went up, almost in a smile.

“Dreamer.”

Henry checked under the compress. The bleeding had

almost stopped, but the least jar would set it running again.
“You will live,” he commanded.

“Orders? On my own ship.”

“This is why you should never fall in love, Captain.” Henry

kissed him again.

George and a tall saturnine man came in then. The

surgeon looked over the situation. “You did well. Boy, go fetch
the captain some food. Meat and beer and bread. He needs
it.”

George hurried out again, almost glowing at his sudden

promotion to Captain's Errand Boy. On the surgeon's orders,
Henry helped Volentine to the bed and then pushed the table
over so the doctor could work.

“Edward?” Volentine peered up at the doctor. “Why are

you away from the repairs?”

“Because your boy called for anyone who could stitch. I

sewed more than a few men at Gettysburg and Antietam.”

“You're not a doctor,” Volentine protested.

“I know enough about death to know you won't keep the

three hours it will take to reach one.” Edward spread
Volentine's arm on the table and looked it over. He rummaged
in a black satchel he carried at his hip and came up with a
curved needle and a length of string.

Henry stared in horror at the needle that looked big

enough to pop the envelope of the Strumpet and the line that
appeared more like twine than fine silk.”You're no doctor and
you're still going to stitch?”

“Whiskey, Rat.” Volentine beckoned him with his free

hand.

Henry picked up the bottle from the cabinet and came to

him. “Drink, love. Drink enough that you sing old songs and
never feel the great hook he's slinging through your flesh.” He
poured as much as Volentine could drink at one breath down
his throat. Henry took a small mouthful himself. He would be
steadier for it.

Volentine winced as Edward drew the needle across a

cake of wax and then began to sew. Henry poured more
whiskey into him. He finished the half bottle and sent Henry for

more, gritting his teeth every time the needle went in or came
out.

Henry rationed the next bottle more carefully. Volentine

had lost a great deal of blood and putting too much whiskey in
him would kill him as certainly as the cut. He was relieved to
see George come back with bread and beer, and a slab of
the bear the crew had killed a few days earlier. He carved off
a piece of the meat.

“Eat, Meriwether. Meat and blood to replace what you

lost.” He fed his lover small bites as Edward stitched, and
George hovered.

After what seemed like hours, Edward packed up his

needle. He wrapped Edward's arm in clean cloth. “Change it
when it soaks through,” he told Henry. He gathered George in
behind him with a glance and left.

Henry spent a bad night. He fed the fainting and half-drunk

Volentine bits of bread and sips of beer, nibbles of bear,
barely taking a bite himself. He felt the

Strumpet

make berth

in San Francisco but paid it little mind until Frederick, the first
officer, put his head in at the door.

“Is the captain alive?”

Henry nodded. “Come in, but don't tire him.”

“Captain, we've made port.”

Volentine smiled up, looking a bit less pale but very tired.

“Good. Give the lads leave for the night. Tell them to come
back by noon for their pay. You and Williams and Jones and
Fenster, take care of the loot. Have their shares and pay
ready. Then give them three days.” He closed his eyes. “I'll see
about being there for payday.”

Frederick nodded. “Just as you say, Captain.”

Henry shooed him out the door. “You're tiring him.”

Volentine smiled at Henry. “Mother hen. Or should it be

mama rat?”

“Hush you. Sleep would be best. But if you won't, have

some more beer.”

Volentine reached for him when he came with the beer.

Henry set the drink aside and went gently into his arms.
Volentine felt cool to his touch. Not corpse-cold, but chilled,
and Henry moved in close to share his warmth. He drew the
thick quilt over them both.

“We'll go down before shore leave is over,” Henry said.

“We'll stroll in the park and on the bay. We'll have those
oysters or your shrimps. And then, we will fly.”

Volentine stroked his hair with soft fingers. “Yes, pet. We

will.”

Henry stayed where he was, spinning out dream after

impossible dream, all theirs for the taking. Volentine's breath
came more easily, but his fingers stilled in Henry's hair.

Until George arrived with soup and supper, Henry didn't

realize he'd grown hungry. Volentine had dropped into a thin
sleep, and Henry extricated himself from his lover. He kept an
eye on his captain as he ate. The first traces of blood oozed
through the bandages now, little red poppies against the white
cloth, but he was reluctant to disturb Volentine's sleep.

Unable to do any more for his lover, Henry finished eating.

He sat the tray outside the cabin door, taking in the last of the
late light of September, and went to bed. Volentine felt
warmer. He planned only to doze, certain he would awake if
Volentine needed him.

~* * *~

Volentine looked much better in the morning. Henry

brought him his coffee and breakfast and refused to allow him
out of the bed except to use the thundermug. He answered the

door and let Frederick in after a discreet knock. Volentine
smiled smugly from Henry's royal pampering.

“Captain, all is ready for payday.”

Volentine nodded. “If my Mama Rat will let a wayward pup

out of bed, I'll tend to it.”

“You can get up for payday, but not before. I need to dress

you.” Henry tidied up, packing their carpetbags and laying out
their clothes for the day. Things had come to a head and
blown, but a secondary explosion was still possible. He
packed everything, not letting Volentine see, hoping he would
need to unpack it back aboard the ship.

“I've been dressing myself since before I was out of

skirts,” Volentine said. Frederick just hid a smile.

Henry sighed and came to the bed. His stubborn pirate

just waited. “Well then, if you're so hale, stand up and get your
trousers on.” Henry tossed the clothing on the bed and made
no move to help.

Volentine sat up and regretted it at once, if the look on his

face was any indication. His eyes unfocused and Henry knew
that green was no healthy shade for a man ever. Volentine
stayed sitting for a long moment. He flexed his wounded arm
and winced. Carefully, he swung his legs over the side of the
bed and grasped a bedpost. He took a couple of deep
breaths and planted his feet on the floor. He stood. He
wobbled as if deck pitched and rolled beneath his feet, as if
the

Strumpet

was caught in a tornado or he was. He stayed

on his feet, but his knuckles went white on the bedpost. After a
moment, he breathed more easily.

Henry just glared at him with his arms crossed on his

chest. “Stubborn pirate,” he grumbled.

Volentine pretended he didn't hear and picked up his

pants with his free hand. Balancing on one foot was clearly out

of the question so he sat back down. He pulled his pants on,
then stood to pull them all the way up and fasten them.

Henry came to him with a sweet kiss on his lips just for his

sheer determination, heedless of the presence of Frederick.
Volentine took the kiss, half-using Henry to support him.

“I didn't think you could. But I'm glad you managed,” Henry

said.

“Now may I go pay my crew, oh most ruthless lord and

master?”

Henry laughed. “Not until noon. Let me feed you more

soup and beer.”

“Anymore and I'll float away, darling. But I will sit up. Are

we packed for a few nights in the luxurious Carlton Hotel?”

Henry nodded and set the carpetbags by the door. “And

for the walk on the wharves.”

Frederick cleared his throat. “Captain, if you don't mind, I'll

see myself out. The crew will be waiting at noon for their
money.”

Volentine nodded, obviously not liking his first officer's

discomfort. When Frederick left, he drew Henry into his arms.
“Darling boy. You take too good of care of your Captain.”

“My captain nearly died for me. No care is too good,”

Henry objected.

~* * *~

They met the crew on deck at noon, Volentine in fresh

clothes that hid his bandaged arm. Henry waited quietly, near
the debarking dinghy that would take them to the ground on
leave. He'd made sure all their goods were packed. Amos
and the more foolish of his mutineers might be gone, but he
knew most of the crew had supported the mutiny. Amos liked
to boast. He claimed even Frederick, who appeared steady

as a rock would just as quickly turn to a denying Peter. Henry
was ready to find the Strumpet gone when they returned.

The crew took their pay. Volentine tucked his share into

the carpetbag and let Frederick lower the dinghy, laden with
men on leave, down the pulley rope to the solid earth.

Henry picked up the baggage and followed his Captain

through the streets, looking when Volentine pointed out sights
of note. He puffed up the hill that led to the grand Carlton
Hotel. Once inside, he looked around the lobby, staring at the
marble and velvet and all the things that went to above-decks
folk, not to boilermen like him.

“Have you a room for two?” Volentine inquired at the desk.

The clerk checked. “Yes. Third floor. The bathroom is

down the hall. If you need anything, ring for the desk.”

A Chinese porter took their bags up, and Henry slipped

him a fifty-cent piece. “Ring me, not the desk, if you need
anything,” he said with a wide smile. “I'll get here quicker.”

“Thank you. We're fine for now.” Henry shut the door.

Volentine had already gotten himself seated.

“Good lad.”

Henry went to him for kisses. “So, an afternoon of luxury,

or shall we see what's down at the wharves? At this hour, likely
nothing. They'll come in with their catch in the morning.”

“Bed, I think. We'll try out this big and very expensive bed.

I'm afraid they gave you the butler's cot in the closet.”

“Mmm, that would be nice.” Henry stood up and began

stripping out of his clothes. “Let me help you, Meriwether.”

Volentine smiled. “I do like it when you call me by name.”

He pulled Henry down for a kiss with his good arm. “Henry,
would you consider staying on? I know a life of piracy isn't
what you'd planned, but I do love you.”

Henry smiled. “I'll stay with you.” It was the closest he could

come to answering without a direct lie. Amos had blabbed the
whole plan, in stolen moments. Henry suspected the ship
would be gone and there would be no life of piracy left.

Volentine kissed him again, spreading his mouth open

and plunging his tongue in. Henry shivered under the invasion,
but met it, putting his desire for the handsome pirate into his
own kiss. He eased to sit in Volentine's lap and wrapped his
arms around Volentine's neck to make the kiss easier. He
smiled up when Volentine let him go.

“That, my beloved captain, is exactly the sort of thing I had

in mind to pass the afternoon. Then perhaps a good steak
dinner.”

“Then finish baring your body and fill the bed.” Volentine

dumped Henry off his lap and swatted him as he passed.

Henry spread out naked and let Volentine look at him. Of

course Volentine had seen him naked quite a lot of times
before, but this scrutiny seemed more intense. Volentine ran a
gentle hand up Henry's calf and thigh and along his torso.

“Are you well enough to make love with me, Rat? Or did

Amos sour you for such pleasures?”

Henry looked down at his rampant cock, which lay pulsing

on his belly, seeming to twitch toward Volentine's exploring
hand. “So long as it's you doing the loving, I am quite well.”

Volentine gave him a wicked smile. “I want to make you

scream my name, darling, but we mustn't disturb the other
guests.” He rose and Henry rolled onto his side to watch.
From the baggage, Volentine produced the leather bit gag.
He dangled it and asked, “Would you like your old friend
back? I believe it still bears your teeth marks from last time.”
Henry looked at the gag for so long that Volentine lowered it.
“Ah, refinements are still a bit much, I expect.”

“No!” Henry moderated his voice. “No, I'll wear it for you.

I'm right as rain.”

Volentine came back to the bed. “I enjoy such things now

and again. I won't bind you for a long while, though.”

“Thank you.” Henry opened for the gag and felt the leather

settle comfortably in his teeth. He worked his mouth around a
little and gave Volentine a small nod because he could not
smile.

Volentine pulled oil from his coat pocket and knelt on the

bed between Henry's spread legs. Although Henry as quite
accustomed to such entrances of his body, Volentine still
slicked him with two well oiled fingers, before rubbing his own
cock until it gleamed in the sunlight filtering past the heavy
drapes.

Henry wiggled a bit in anticipation, wanting to demand

Volentine inside of him. They had not made love in this way for
over a week and the stain of Amos Clanton needed purging
from his body as well as from his life.

Volentine pulled one leg up and Henry rested his ankle on

his lover's shoulder. Soon the second joined it. Volentine's
thumbs parted his cheeks and he felt the first familiar nudge at
the entrance of his body. He breathed against it, letting the
blunt head of Volentine's cock push into him.

This time, he felt every inch of penetration. Volentine took

it slow, savoring it, and Henry chewed the leather in frustration.
He wanted all of his lover buried in him, owning him and
cleansing him.

“More, pet?”

Henry nodded vigorously and gripped Volentine's hips, his

fingers digging into the captain's ass. Volentine laughed and
slammed into him, striking deep and making him groan
around the bit. He bucked his hips, wanting that sensation

again. Volentine obliged him, his knuckles going white from
clutching Henry's thighs as he pounded, never letting up on the
thrusts.

Henry's cock lay along his belly, red and aching, droplets

seeping from the slit as he felt his balls start to tighten.
Volentine hit him just right, setting off little explosions along his
spine, complete with sparks that seemed to collect in his
groin, burning hotter and begging for the next explosion.

“Henry.” Volentine's voice had sunk to the distinctive growl

he got when fucking. “My Henry.” The sheer possessiveness
of the voice, coupled with an extra deep thrust, pushed Henry
over the edge. He came, spending streams of white across
his belly. Volentine did not see, since his eyes had rolled
back, and he thrust mindlessly, consumed with the need for
orgasm. The pirate shuddered once and twice and let out a
groan as he buried himself in Henry's body. Henry lay quiet
beneath him, savoring the pulsations and depth as he came
down from his own peak.

After several long minutes of holding the position, just tied

together and letting their climaxes dissipate, Volentine slipped
out and eased Henry's legs to the bed before coming up to lie
beside him.

“Henry,” he whispered, while removing the gag. His hands

cupped Henry's face, blocking out all sight but his own.

“Meriwether.” Henry returned the kiss. “I love you.”

~* * *~

The next morning, they went back to where the

Strumpet

had berthed. Volentine had expressed a wish to fetch his
walking stick and tobacco. Henry trailed along, indulging his
captain. The man had slept like a stone after their lovemaking,
and they'd never gone for that steak dinner. But Volentine had
promised him the oysters after their trip to the Air Harborage.

The

Strumpet

's berth gaped empty. A small airship, one

that looked home-made and a bit cobbled together, eased
into her slip. A man with frizzled white hair looked over the
side and yelled “Halooo, lads, guy me down, would you?” as
he tossed a mooring rope over the side.

Henry caught it and made it fast almost before he realized

what he'd done. He turned to look at Volentine, ignoring the
old man.

The pirate captain was stark white and seemed to be on

the verge of a faint. Henry settled him on a nearby bench and
loosened his collar. “Meriwether, beloved...” He had no more
words. The man was clearly not well. His ship had vanished.

“Gone. My ship is gone.”

Henry watched the old man and his pretty daughter slide

down a pulley-line. The girl wore pants and looked appealingly
masculine in her leather vest and flying helmet. He returned
his attention to Volentine.

“Did you know, rat?” he snarled, his good hand clamping

down hard on Henry's shoulder. “You sold your sweet ass to
the mutineers for my life. Did they tell you of their plans?
Grounded is dead, and you know it.”

“I knew there were more than the few that went over the

side, yes. And you should have too. I didn't know the plan.” He
winced as Volentine squeezed harder and hoped he lied well
enough to escape true wrath. He offered out the consolation.
“You're alive. We have a fortune. We can do anything we
please.”

Volentine stared into his eyes and Henry met his icy blue

gaze without flinching. The hand on his shoulder eased but did
not leave. “How much do we have, Rat?”

“Seventeen thousand, two hundred forty-eight dollars and

sixty-three cents, cash. A deal more jewelry and other salable

items.”

“And what do we do when that runs out?” Volentine

demanded. His hand snaked around the back of Henry's neck
and drew him to sit closer, draping over Henry's shoulder.

“I'm sure we can find a way to live. We still have each

other. And now, there are no Sky-Marshals to worry about.”

They sat for a while in silence, watching the ships come in

and out of the Harborage.

“Let's go see about those oysters, shall we?” Volentine

said.

Epilogue

Eighteen Months Later

“All set, Master Toben?” Volentine's voice sounded down

the speaking tube into the boiler room. Henry smiled.

“All set here, Captain,” Henry answered. At the sound of

the double whistle from the bridge, he threw the lever that
opened the steam turbines.

The latest tour of the San Francisco Bay and the

California coast, by the excursion air-ship,

Sky-Rat

, Captain

Valentine Meriwether in command, set out over the waters.

Henry smiled and checked all the gauges. His gauges, his

boilers. He wiped a speck of dust off the brass speaking tube.
And his beloved captain on deck, showing a couple dozen
sight-seers their money's worth.

He'd get his own money's worth tonight, in the little house

not far from the Air Harborage. His lover might no longer be
known as the notorious pirate Meriwether Volentine, but he
still plundered like one.

About the Author

To learn more about the author, please visit her website at

http://www.brooksandsparrow.com

.

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Enjoy the first chapter from…

Shell Shocked by Angelia Sparrow &

Naomi Brooks

Sean Dempsey came home from Iraq with artificial knees,

scorched retinas and a lot of baggage. He supplements his
disability checks with money made writing romance novels
under a female pseudonym, ironic as he has grown very
nervous around women since a certain suicide bomber.
When he meets Gabriel Herne, legless phone psychic, the
sparks startle him. It's everything he's written about and never
believed.

Swept into a whirlwind romance, Sean has to learn about

his newfound bisexuality and his lover's pagan faith at the
same time. And when he has a religious experience of his
own, he discovers everything changes in its time, just like the
Wheel of the Year.

NOTE: This book contains gay sexual themes, accurate

depictions of Wiccan and Pagan beliefs , as well as the
stark reality of living with PTSD or a disability. It's also a
very hot read!

Chapter One

The Humvee bounced along the rutted, shell-pocked road

to Baghdad. Heat shimmers on the sand made the distant
date palm grove look like a mirage. They'd been joking that
camels and flying carpets would be faster, while drinking
water gone hot out of canteens and keeping their eyes open.

The IED had looked like a shredded tire.

Sean woke, sweating, reaching for the M-16 he'd turned

in two years before. He finished the automatic reaction by
reaching for his glasses instead. He sat in the dark of his
apartment, on an ancient Murphy bed, collecting his wits with
the litany he’d always used. "I am Sean Michael Dempsey. I
was medically discharged in Germany on 15 August 2005. I
live in New York. Baghdad is on the other side of the world."

He repeated it four times, about what it usually took for

that particular nightmare. Others took more, or fewer,
repetitions. Dreaming about the pretty little Iraqi whore who'd
cost him his kneecaps and had earned him that discharge
usually took at least seven or eight repetitions—ten on really
bad nights.

Sean got up and stretched, feeling the tight skin of his

scarred and grafted legs flex, and the metal joints within work.
He imagined rusting up like the Tin Man some day, even
though he knew the knees were aluminum. He was very
damned lucky. His dad had lost an arm in Vietnam, and most
of his grandfather's friends had war wounds of some kind from
the Second World War. He was lucky he wasn't a double
amputee in a wheelchair.

He'd seen a guy like that last week at the neighborhood

clinic where the VA had sent his PTSD meds. A cute long-
haired guy about his age, maybe a bit younger, who'd sent
him a couple smiles when he was caught looking. Sean hadn't
had the nerve to ask where the guy had served, or if it was just
diabetes, the sugar as so many of the poor called it. Poor,

they were all poor in this neighborhood, but able to afford
food, even if it was the empty processed garbage that gave
them the sickness. He'd seen really poor and had done his
share of both causing and alleviating it.

The clock said four in the morning. There wouldn't be any

more sleep tonight. Sean flopped out on the creaky old relic
the landlord called a sofa and turned on

Freaks

. He loved the

new DVD print of his favorite old movie. It always made him
feel better. Most movies did, if they were comedy or monster
movies. He hated thrillers and anything with a lot of gunfire or
blood. Damn shame. He'd always liked action movies before
the war.

Seeing half his squad get it on patrol and then surviving a

barracks bomb had kind of killed that pleasure. The bomb had
happened only because some over-eager horny jackass had
thought with his cock. He hoped the suicide girl got her
seventy-two cabana boys and they were all gay.

He puttered around, determined not to think about the war.

He made coffee and read a couple of chapters of the Zane
Grey novel he was plowing through. Sean waited for sunrise.

At six, he showered. By six-fifteen, he was dressed.

Before seven, he had eaten breakfast and cleared out all his
computer stuff for the morning. At seven sharp, he cracked his
knuckles and started typing.

Fiction. It was the only thing that let reality make any sense

these days. Moving fiction on his TV distracted his thoughts.
Written fiction in a book swept him away. Creating fictions of
his own helped the most. All of it let him be in New York or
Nevada territory or somewhere among Jupiter's moons for a
while and not in a Baghdad barracks.

He’d meant to type until eleven. He'd learned early in the

last year that the biggest market was romance, especially on-
line. He had no pride. The only person who knew that Shawna

York was Sean Dempsey was his editor. His readers just
swooned over his cowboys and soldiers and space marines,
fancying themselves the pretty ladies in the tale.

Lately, he'd been seeing a lot more calls for gay

romances. Bless Billary and Don't Ask, Don't Tell, he thought
as he saved his editing on the syrupy sweet Christmas
cowboy piece. The Air Force hadn't asked. He hadn't told.
And no one would associate Rock Dickinson, gay romance
writer who had a gorgeous cafe au lait long-term live-in just
outside Santa Fe and drove a monster truck, with Sean
Dempsey, New York hermit and pedestrian.

He put in a good hour on a science fiction story, getting

six pages written. Typing wasn't his strongest skill. The edits
took another hour and a half. Finally, it was his time and he'd
found a great idea under the soap dish in the shower this
morning.

He opened the new document and started with the

description of the minotaur, careful to make him sexy and not
scary or silly. The centaur was more complicated because of
all the legs. Fortunately, there was a lot of good centaur porn
on-line and he'd read widely before starting this. It flowed off
his fingers, in the way the right story always did. He looked up
at eleven-thirty, taken by surprise at the clock's chime. There
was barely time for him to swallow a Valium and head out to
the clinic. The pill hadn’t had time to kick in yet, and it was a
long two blocks without it.

Sean wondered if the cute guy in the chair would be there.

If he was, Sean decided he'd offer to buy him a cup of coffee
at the Greek place around the corner. Greek sounded really
good, his stomach decided, and he checked his wallet. He
had enough to buy one lunch, so he couldn't offer that.

Sean paused at the door to put on the big wrap-around

sunglasses that protected his flash-burned retinas. He tested

his knees to see if he needed the cane today. He decided he
didn't. He took three deep breaths, wishing the Valium worked
faster. He could do this. He did this every week. The clinic was
only two blocks away. This was New York. There were no
snipers, no IEDs. He'd be fine.

Sean sneered at himself in the old, dim mirror by the door

as he grabbed his jacket. September in New York was
gorgeous, but it could be chilly in the shade. Stupid. He was
being stupid. But his shaking hands didn't seem to listen.

He made it halfway down the block before he started the

habitual scanning for anything unusual. He made the second
block before he started hugging the building and presenting a
smaller target. He smirked to himself. A new fucking record.
He took a minute to breathe and walked in the clinic at twelve
on the dot.

Of course, he had to wait. The Valium kicked in,

spreading a soft blanket of fog over his internal alarm system.
The cute guy in the chair rolled in about half-past. Sean got a
better look while he was signing in and saw he'd been
amputated high on the thighs, leaving only enough for him to
sit up. It must have been really bad for him, Sean decided.

Despite the Valium, Sean saw her again, pretty, about

sixteen, scared shitless with her big dark eyes darting
everywhere. She was pale as she let the guys get her out of
her over-robe, but only Sean saw her hand go to her waist.
He'd dived under the bunk which had both protected him and
ended him.

When the bitch blew herself up, she took the captain she

was kissing and most of the first louies. The bunk had crashed
down on Sean, its metal edge like a guillotine on his knees. A
blunt guillotine, which pulped them and left him screaming in
the inferno of the burning barracks.

He shook the memory away. Two artificial knees and a lot

of skin-grafts later, his body worked, mostly. He just wanted
his mind to stop playing tricks on him.

He got up and walked, more gingerly than he should, to sit

beside the guy in the chair. Sean saw his eyes were blue. His
long, slightly wavy dark brown hair went about half-way down
his back and looked very soft and clean. A long silver chain
necklace with several pendants, including a pentagram, hung
around his neck dipping into his well-worn black denim jacket.
He had on black jeans as well, cut short and sewn closed by a
neat seam to cover his stumps.

"Hi." Sean started. "The Sandbox?" He gestured to the

guy's missing legs. Blue-eyes looked up from the 1997 issue
of Time he was reading. He looked a little startled.

"Huh? Oh, no, no. Medical reasons." His voice was pure

honey pouring all over Sean's skin. Sean needed to hear
more of it like he needed Valium to sleep. His cock twitched
and he ignored it.

"Could I buy you coffee anyway?" Sean asked softly. "I

promise not to freak out."

The chair guy smiled. "I'm Gabriel. You must be the crazy

flyboy I've heard people whispering about around the
neighborhood. The one with a bad case of the panics. Heard
you freaked out in Kim's store last week."

Sean nodded, too comfortable between the drug and the

voice to be ashamed of the screaming terrors he'd had
between the salad dressing and the cereal at the
neighborhood market. "I'm Sean. I'd offer lunch, but I'm skint.
My VA check's next week and my next royalties don't come for
another month."

Gabriel gave him a nice, white, well-kept smile, a rarity in

this neighborhood. "I can buy. I just got paid today."

"Dutch?" Sean offered.

"Sure."

The nurse called for Sean.

"Wait for me when you get done. I shouldn't take too long."

Gabriel grinned at him again. "There's a great little Greek
place around the corner."

Sean smiled back and went with the nurse. He barely paid

attention to all the usual medical crap. He got his week's worth
of Zoloft and Valium and was dismissed. Under new trial
policies, the VA had farmed out the drugs to the little clinics
which were supposed to monitor the vets for addiction.

Some monitoring. Sean knew he was hooked through the

bag. He couldn't walk out the door without a Valium and he
sure as hell couldn't sleep without one. It kept the dreams
away, at least until the drug started to wear off. Then the
crazies swarmed in with a vengeance.

He settled back into the waiting room chair and thumbed

a magazine, thinking about Gabriel. Nice guy. Nice package,
too, and he hadn't minded Sean checking it out. After the
barracks, Sean was off of women for the foreseeable future.

"Hi. Ready?" Gabriel rolled up beside him.

"Uh, yeah." Sean stood up. "Gabriel, you, uh, is it all right

if I push you? I know it's no fun eating after a couple blocks of
wheeling."

"You can call me Gabe." He smiled again and stopped

putting on a pair of fingerless gloves. "Sure. I don't mind." He
laid one hand on Sean's fingers as Sean gripped the handles.
"Thanks for asking first."

Sean gave him a grin. "I hate it when walkers just grab

and push." They headed out, Sean gripping the handles too
tightly.

"Been in one, huh?"

"Yep. Got my knees blown off in Baghdad and had to wait

two weeks for a flight to Germany and then even longer for
replacement knees. My stupid immune system was all
weakened and I got infected on the first pair, so they had to
swap them out. So yeah, about three months, all told. And a lot
of PT afterward."

"Conducted by a sadistic Churman nurse," Gabe added

in a really atrocious accent. "Und now, Herr Sean, now ve mek
you hurt until you valk again!"

Sean laughed and it felt good, like sunshine coming in

after a week of clouds. It had been a long time since he'd had
anything to laugh about. It might be gallows humor, joking
about PT with a man who would never walk again but Gabe
didn't seem to mind. They stopped in the lobby and Sean
fished out a pair of wrap sunglasses that went over his own
eyeglasses. Gabe watched him.

"You okay to drive? Can you see where we're going?" The

apprehension in his voice made Sean drop down to one knee
beside him.

"I'm fine. I'm not blind. Just photosensitive." He took the

sunglasses off and showed Gabe how thick his glasses
weren't. "It's flash-burn. Too much light hurts." He smiled as he
put them back on. "Otherwise, I couldn't see you smiling at
me."

"Ah, good. And your eyes are really... pretty."

Sean, feeling very daring, laid one finger on Gabe's lips.

"Shush, you're gonna embarrass me." They walked out,
bantering. Before he realized it, Gabe was telling him to park
the chair at a sidewalk table.

"The restaurant is really narrow and Alex hates when my

tires scuff his floor."

Tasha, Alex's oldest daughter, came out to get their order.

Sean glanced at her once as he gave his drink. There was still
enough Valium in him that he didn't shake.

Gabe looked him over after Tasha took their order inside.

"You've glanced at my crotch twice, but Tasha sends you all
eyes-front?"

"Long story," Sean grunted, taking a sip of his water.

"Don't ask?" Gabe questioned.

"Don't tell," Sean supplied and then buried his face in his

hands as he realized that wasn't what Gabe had meant at all
and he'd just outed himself.

"It's all right." Gabe touched his hand again. "I'm gay." He

rifled through his carry bag and found his wallet. He laid it in
his lap. "So, flyboy, where do you live?"

"The Archangel Building. Old place."

Gabe nodded. "I looked at it when I first moved here.

Couldn't resist living there with that name. Too bad it's not
chair friendly." He sipped the Coke that Tasha had brought
him.

"Since that's not diet, I'm guessing your medical reason

wasn't diabetes."

Gabe shrugged. "Subway accident. So, what do you do

now that you're back in the world?"

"Play chess. Screw..." Sean drawled in a passable

imitation of Gene Wilder in

Blazing Saddles

. "No, seriously, I

watch too many movies and write a lot." Sean gave him a real
smile as Tasha brought the food. "I got a bad case of
agoraphobia alongside the PTSD. So this is about as far out
of doors as I get. The real laugh is that I'm claustrophobic too."

"What do you write? Memoirs? A life in the Halliburton

War?"

Sean looked down at his gyro, almost embarrassed.

"Romance novels. They're huge on-line. Some of the
publishers pay really well too."

Gabe smiled. "I can't laugh. I'm a phone psychic. I also do

in-person readings, but only on Fridays. I get a lot of traffic
every Friday the Thirteenth."

"I bet. You got the voice for it, too. So," Sean asked,

picking up the gyro, "You live close too, huh? The Donald
building is the only one in this neighborhood with an elevator."

Gabe swallowed a bite of his souvlaki and gave him a

small smile. "That's me. At least the rent is cheap. The super
doesn't mind if I do fortunes occasionally." He drank a bit
more. "Have any books out?"

"Nothing paper just yet. They keep saying

Samantha's

Hope

is coming out next summer. I write a novel about every

three weeks, two for the draft and then one for editing. Easy
when you really can't go out. My editor adores me. Even if she
can't decide whether to call me Shawna York or Sean
Dempsey in the e-mail." He looked sharply at Gabe. "If you
sing Blackthorn at me, I'll have to hurt you."

"Never even heard of them." Gabe raised his hands in

mock surrender.

Sean ate some of the chips. "Irish band. Look, I'm mildly

stoned and blathering. Tell me to shut up."

"It's all right. I like to listen. That's what phone psychics do,

mostly. We listen a lot and read the cards. I'm a shrink with a
tarot deck who charges $3.95 a minute. And just to show how
non-psychic I am sometimes, I promise that I saw nothing
special in the stars or cards for me today."

"Don't believe in psychics."

"I knew you were going to say that," Gabe grinned at the

old joke. "It's a living, right?"

"Yep. I don't make great literature, but my fan base keeps

me in hamburger."

"I'd like to read it, though." Gabe finished his souvlaki. "If

you don't mind. How'd you get into romance novels? Doesn't
seem like the usual thing for a combat vet."

"Fast money." Sean gave him a smile. "I don't have

anything to sell on e-bay and I suck at making crafts. Work at
home scams always fall into selling or making. So I dusted off
a story I wrote back in the Academy, sent it to an on-line
magazine and the check let me eat a little better the next
month. Romance sells best. Action and science fiction novels
don't have nearly the on-line readership you'd think."

"That's what they say, sex sells," Gabe said. "Are they

really hot?"

"Oh yeah. Mostly girl, boy, meet cute and fall hard. Then

fuck like bunnies." Sean finished his coke. "Working on some
boy meets boy. You know, meet cute, fall hard, and fuck like
queer bunnies."

"Oh yeah, now that I really want to read." Gabe's smile

broadened.

Sean sopped up the end of his sauce with the last bite of

pita. "Except I didn't go for the meet cute. I went for four-
legged and hairy meets bull-headed, as in with horns. Stupid
thing turned into an ancient Greek fantasy, set in modern
times."

Gabe leaned in a little. One of the pendants of his

necklace, a man with antlers, fell out of his shirt. "Horns, huh?
Okay, now I'm even more interested."

"Minotaur and centaur. Very hot. The Minotaur is a

specialty porn star. He wears thigh-high boots, a sling and a
chest harness, and has horns. He's kinda bullish looking. Big

rings through his nipples not his nose."

"Ooo, kinky too." Gabe's eyes got big and Sean could tell

he was getting turned on.

"Only kinda. The centaur is good looking, an accountant,

so kinda conservative. He's black, all black, except for white
socks and a white blaze on his chest and forehead that goes
up into his hair. He wears a shirt and tie, with pinstriped suit
coat, during the day, and glasses, but he doesn't need them.
His hair is long and black and tumbles down his back, turning
into a mane. He's kinda vain about his tail too."

"Okay, I may start drooling here. Who's on top?"

Sean kinda fidgeted. "So far, the minotaur. It's just more

convenient. But the centaur is the top."

"That sounds so sexy. So I have to wait until you get it out?

"

Sean smiled. "How about just until I get it finished? I can

let you read the rough and smack me upside the head with the
plot-holes."

"I'm no critic. I just want to read something hot. I want to

know where your mind goes."

"No, you don't. It scares me sometimes." Fortunately,

Tasha came back to check on them and Sean finally looked at
her. "Two cups of coffee, hon, and put that on my check." He
looked at Gabe. "You okay with being awake for the next
seventy-two hours?"

Gabe smiled and touched his hand again. "I am, if you

are."

Sean shuddered and pulled his hand away. "It's not you. I

mean, I know you're hitting on me and I'm fine with it being
you. But I have--"

"Issues?" Gabe supplied.

"A whole fucking subscription. Another long story." Sean

sighed and sipped the coffee. "I follow Joss Whedon's
philosophy of sex, as set down in the sacred text of Buffy the
Vampire Slayer." Sean's face changed from glum to mock-
serious.

Gabe giggled. "Sex is bad, all vampires are gay and

sexbots are hot?"

Sean finally smiled at this. "Maybe not the last part."

Gabe nodded. "It's all right. Hey, look me up if you want a

reading or a friend or just someone to sit with at the clinic." He
dropped a fiver on the table to cover his lunch.

Sean paid his own. "I'll, uh, power you back home, if you'd

like."

Gabe's smile dazzled him. "I'd like. A lot."

The Donald building was an art deco nightmare of beige

stone and fake marble. Gabe directed him first to the
mailboxes and then the elevator. The four button was low
enough Gabe didn't have any trouble reaching it. They rode
up, Sean listening to the creaks of the old cables and
breathing deeply. The walls stayed in place, barely inching
inward on him. It was only four floors, he reminded himself.
The cables wouldn't break, and if they did, it wasn't that far to
fall. He took another deep breath as the elevator doors
opened.

Four B was about what Sean had expected, older than his

place, airier and not so dingy. It was filled with furniture that
had been second-hand two tenants ago. Most of it was the
same height as Gabe's chair. The counters in the tiny kitchen
had been lowered for him. A hot plate sat on a lower counter,
in place of the stove whose knobs Gabe could not reach. A
low futon, unmade, with pillows and comforter in disarray filled
almost the entire bedroom floor, under a wall full of posters.

Sean recognized Jim Morrison and a couple others looked
vaguely familiar.

Half of the front room could be curtained off. It was hung

with tapestries and rugs and a large astrological chart. The
profusion of tassels and floor pillows made it look like insane
gypsies--insane,

colorblind

gypsies,

Sean

amended

silently―had run riot. The short little table held a covered
crystal ball, and the whole place smelled vaguely of incense.
Sean didn't miss the small statue of a man with antlers
hanging on the wall of Gabe's area. It was about where a
Catholic family would hang a crucifix or Sacred Heart painting.

"Atmosphere is everything," Gabe said when he caught

Sean looking.

"It's all on the floor." Sean looked puzzled. "How do you---

?"

"Get there? Getting down out of the chair is easy enough.

As for how I get around...You ever see a movie called

Freaks

?

"

"One of my favorites." Then it hit Sean. "You walk in on

your hands like Johnnie Eck." He caught himself making the
motion and stopped hastily.

"Exactly. It has quite the effect. Gabriel Herne, the Half-

Gypsy, in whom deformity of the body has opened the Third
Eye. I have a whole costume." Sean gave a half smile at that
and sat down on the sofa. Gabe wheeled over to face him.

"I'm sorry about the café. I just --" Sean started

"Shh." Gabe laid a finger on his lips. "It's all right. Do you

know that you're the first person who has really looked at me
in a year? The first to offer coffee or even treat me like a real
person? And then your being gay on top of it... I'm sorry. I
probably came on too strong."

Sean nodded. "I know. You're in a chair, you're invisible. I

Sean nodded. "I know. You're in a chair, you're invisible. I

have one of my attacks and they might as well throw an
invisibility cloak on me. The only people who can see me are
kids and cops."

Gabe smiled. "Well, then. I'm just gonna look out for you."

"And I'll look at you." Sean knew he was staring, that he

hadn't taken his eyes off of Gabe. "You're good looking. And I
confess, I was looking at your crotch. Can you still?"

"They took the legs, not my gear," Gabe grinned. "I can do

anything you can do, except play hopscotch."

Sean laughed. "Shit, I never saw an amputee take it all so

well. I know I was horrible in the chair. I sulked. I barked at the
nurses. I bit one."

"Do you still bite?" Gabe asked, as he leaned in for a

kiss.

Sean hesitated a moment. "Hell, I'm discharged." He met

Gabe's mouth with his own.

Sean melted into the kiss, feeling better about it than he

had any other. Gabe tasted right. Sean enjoyed the strength of
Gabe's arms around him. Even his tongue, nudging at Sean's
lips, was welcome, unlike all the girls who'd tried to gain
entrance and been rebuffed. Until now, Sean hadn't liked
kissing much, but this one sizzled straight down to his groin,
making him gasp a little and look down in surprise.

Gabe let him up and smiled more. "Good?"

"More," Sean said and started the kiss this time,

wrapping his arms around Gabe. When they parted, several
minutes later, he hesitated.

"What? What do you want?" Gabe asked, his face

flushed.

"I want to pick you up and hold you on my lap for the next

kiss." Sean looked at him. "There is a next kiss, isn't there?"

"Hell, no. I only drag you up here to steal your vallet and

your wirginity!" Gabe announced in a very fake eastern
European accent. "It is time-honored Gypsy profession!" He
smiled. "Of course there is. And I'd love to share your lap."
Gabe tightened his arms around Sean's neck, and Sean
pulled him closer to the edge of the wheelchair and then onto
his lap

"Oof, heavy. You're what, about a hundred pounds?"

"Ninety-five according to the nurse this morning."

Sean kissed him, holding him very close, just tasting and

feeling the wonder of Gabe in his arms, enjoying the sensation
of breathing for each other. He was definitely hard. Gabe was
too and rubbed against him.

"I've never--" Sean started.

"I know," Gabe said. "Don't ask, don't tell, flyboy. But I

won't tell anyone. We can do this all night, unless you want
more. If you do, I'm clean. Got tested last month."

Sean grinned. "This is fine. Shit, I'm gonna shoot off in my

pants like a kid in a minute here. I kissed a lot of girls, but
you..." With that, he had to kiss Gabe again.

Gabe pressed him back and leaned on top of him. Sean

held him and kept kissing as if his life depended on it.

"Shoot off yet?" Gabe whispered in his ear, and sucked

on the earlobe.

"Rub a little more, darlin', and and I'm gone." Sean's

Midwestern non-accent had broadened a little, the country
vowels and slurring coming out.

Gabe obliged, grinding a little against him. Sean

shuddered and gasped.

He sighed. "That did it. You need some help?"

"Yeah. You okay with this?" Gabe looked at him worriedly.

Sean laughed. "I'm lying on your couch, kissing you and

just shot my wad in my jeans. Hell yeah, I'm okay."

"Oh good." Gabe's fingers had both of their pants open

and their cocks together before Sean could think. "How long
since you've been with anyone?" he asked, teasing Sean's
cock back awake.

"Four years." Sean looked embarrassed at that

admission. "She was my girl all through school and all through
the Academy. But when I got shipped to the Sandbox, I got a
good-bye fuck and four months later, a Dear Sean letter. I was
over there for two years and I've been home for two. And,
yeah, I'm clean."

Gabe kissed him again. "Poor baby. All those hot men in

their sexy uniforms and you couldn't have any." His fingers ran
up and down their shafts, teasing each head in turn.

Sean looked down at their close cocks. "You're uncut. I've

only seen a couple." He gave a sharp groan. Gabe stroked
them together. "So fucking good."

"Oh no. We're not nearly at fucking yet." Gabe kissed him

again, pushing him over the edge.

Sean was too busy coming again to listen, little jets

splashing over Gabe's fingers and cock, over both of their
stomachs. Gabe kissed him throughout the whole orgasm,
and then through his own a minute later.

"Messy," Sean managed.

"We could sixty-nine to get it all clean," Gabe teased.

Sean stuttered and Gabe kissed him once more. "Yeah, too
soon. The washcloth is on the towel-rack." Sean set Gabe off
his lap and went to get it. He saw the rail and shower seat in
the tub.

Afterward, Sean was content to feel Gabe on his lap, his

arms wrapped around Gabe's warm body. "I could stay like
this all night," he whispered, nuzzling Gabe's hair.

"My futon is big enough for two," Gabe offered.

"What about dinner?"

"Ramen and veggies. I eat it a lot. I have trouble getting to

the back aisles in Kim's. Not chair-friendly. Chin-sun helps me
sometimes, if the store's not busy."

"I'll cook if you want," Sean offered. "And if you give me a

list, I can get it at Kim's for you. If it's not very long."

Gabe stroked him. "Thank you for offering. You're so

sweet."

"Yeah, well, wait'll I wake up screaming at three in the

morning and see what you think then."

Gabe smiled. "Mmm, maybe you need a teddy bear." He

nestled closer. "This feel about right? When do I get to share
that three in the morning?"

Sean looked at him for a moment, strongly considering

the offer. "I have my meds..."

"And I have a good-looking guy who likes to make out

cuddling me on my sofa. I'm ready to brave the wee hours of
morning if you are."

"You're insatiable."

"Yep. More than ever." Gabe squirmed on Sean's lap in a

way that threatened to turn him on a third time. "Did you know,
the legendary Amazons would cripple their men because they
said the lame were better in bed?"

"You're a trivia geek."

"I'm getting 'geek' from someone who considers Joss

Whedon a sexpert?"

"Touché." Sean ended the disagreement with a kiss.

True to his word, Sean cooked dinner, using the stove

after wiping down the layer of dust that had accumulated. He
saw the hot-plate on a low counter and guessed Gabe used
that most of the time. There was a single chicken breast in the
fridge, so he sautéed it with the Chinese five-spice he'd found
in the cupboard and added it to the ramen and Chinese
vegetables. Gabe kept everything in his own reach and Sean
had trouble finding it, even with directions.

He dished out the meal and Gabe rolled over to the table,

smiling. Gabe's smile always seemed to make the whole
room look brighter. Sean knew then that he wanted to see it all
the time. "Good looking, a great kisser and he cooks. What
more do I want in a boyfriend?" He traced a pentagram over
his chest and shoulders, not unlike crossing himself.

"Someone sane? Someone pagan?" Sean suggested,

hesitant but needing to get the next part out between them.
"Because I'm not either one."

"You're fine. Is the pagan a problem? I didn't think you

were a fundie."

Sean grinned around a mouthful of bean sprouts, amused

by the idea after the make-out session. "Not even close.
Kinda Methodist but the only reason I went to church as an
adult was to get out of KP. What kind are you?"

"Celtic solitary. I talk to Cernunnos, lord of plenty. Some

folks in the local groups don't really like me. I freak them out, I
think."

"Okay, I got a rule to not get involved with religious

fanatics. I've been Jesus-jumped and missionary-dated a few
times. Lotta evangelicals in the Force, and the few pagans
were loud and defensive about it."

Gabe just smiled. "I'm neither. I do believe strongly. But we

all walk the paths we're called. Trying to change someone's
path only gets you both lost. While Father Cernunnos is
always happy to hunt, he gets annoyed having to track down
his strayed children."

Sean smiled, relieved, and addressed himself to his

dinner. He wasn't going to get the Crimes of Christians
Through the Ages lecture one Wiccan had given him. Gabe's
faith was important to him, but didn't seem to make him
hostile. "I think we'll be okay then." He slurped up the last
noodle from his plate. "Let me get that." He picked up the
plates and took them to the sink. "I've had a nice afternoon. I
hate to go home." Sean finished washing the dishes and put
them in their low cabinet.

Gabe caught him by the shirt for a kiss. "If you don't go

home, how can you come back? I'll go with you to the
building, if you want."

"Nah, I'll be okay. I don't like the thought of you out late."

"I'm not totally helpless. I do carry mace, with a permit

even."

"All right." Sean sat down in a chair and Gabe wheeled

close to him. Sean kissed him, slowly tasting him, trying to
remember everything in case they didn't make it back
together. "But only if you let me buy the groceries for dinner
tomorrow. Any special diet?"

"Sea food. I see food--"

"Yeah, yeah." Sean kissed him again, light and teasing.

"Omnivores are great." He gestured at the handles and Gabe
nodded.

"I tried vegetarianism, back when I was a baby pagan. It

was the big thing in the Wiccan circles. When Cernunnos
called me, I gave that up in a hurry." Gabe grinned up.

"Because doing a Wild Hunt for the dreaded tofu? Kind of
silly."

The four-block walk to Sean's apartment was a lot easier

than the two to the clinic had been. Gabe chatted back at him,
keeping his mind focused on New York. The feel of the
wheelchair handles in his hands was solid and reassuring.

At the door of the Archangel building, Sean dropped to

kneel beside the chair. "So, I can carry you up if you want to
see my place."

Gabe kissed both of his cheeks. There were enough

immigrants in the neighborhood that no one would notice.
"Tomorrow. Let's take this all very slowly and enjoy it."

Sean nodded. "All right."

"I'll come over after lunch and we'll go out for an adventure.

Then you can shop and we'll have dinner at your place."

"But your work?"

"Wednesday is my day off. Cassandra covers that night,

and I cover for her on Sundays." He turned Sean's hand palm-
up and looked at it, making a few mystic passes. He dropped
back into the accent, this time not nearly so fake. It sounded
almost real and his intensity made Sean understand why
people would pay to have him look at cards. "You will meet a
legless, blue-eyed man. Tomorrow, you will cook him dinner."
He dropped a kiss into the hollow of Sean's palm then added
the end in a whisper. "And you will get very, very lucky."

Sean grinned. "I already have." He made sure Gabe got

safely across the street and then headed up the stairs to his
own apartment. Curiously cheerful, he cleaned a little. He
actually had enough energy to go down and run a load of
laundry, something he'd been putting off for a couple of weeks.

He got another five pages written on his laptop as the

laundry ran. He had to stay nearby or someone would steal it.
That night, the Valium left him sleep until five in the morning.

Enjoy the first chapter from…

Shell Shocked by Angelia Sparrow &

Naomi Brooks

Gunslinger Matt Court has hung it up for good after a

disastrous encounter in El Paso. He moved to Dakota

Territory, took out a homestead and started courting Annie, the

banker's daughter. But when Annie comes up pregnant and

runs away with her lover, her father calls in the notorious killer,

Paz, to eliminate Matt.

But the mysterious Paz holds many secrets and Matt

discovers not only the gunfighter's personal code of honor, but

a truth that is worth both their lives.

Note: This book contains a bisexual hero who knows how to

handle guns and women.

Chapter One

Dakota Territory, 1886

The streets of Williston bustled around Matt with the

energy that only a trading town in its first growth has, an
excitement rivaled only by the boomtowns of silver and gold.
Williston had neither. Rather, it sat where the Yellowstone and

Missouri Rivers met, a crossroads for trade among settlers,
trappers, foresters, and the local tribes.

The trading post and a loose collection of houses had

sprung up when Fort Union had been built. The town proper
had officially been chartered about a year before, and many of
the buildings were so new their boards still oozed pine-sap
from the haste with which they'd been erected, as Matt had
learned at the expense of his shirt.

Matt hated it on sight. It was going to be a prosperous

little place, the sort where a man could make a living without
half-trying, if he was in the right trade. It also looked incredibly
boring. The only excitement other than a low-key saloon was
the church picnic announced on signs scattered about town.

He preferred the wild lawlessness of Dodge City or

Tombstone, but those cities were long behind him and even a
gunslinger got old. Pistols were a young man's game and he
was nearing forty. Old men were predictable, and Williston
would most certainly be as well. He could get used to it.

A pair of dowdy matrons paused in their clucking to watch

him as they stepped out of the general store. He knew he was
handsome as ever. His smile, and its attendant dimples, still
made men check up on their wives. He tipped his hat and
flashed all three dimples at them.

He ran a hand through wavy brown hair that was just

showing the first gray. He wondered if they would continue to
giggle like schoolgirls if they saw his eyes go lethally cold over
a gun. Enough men had, but none of them had lived to tell the
tale. He knew that after a shoot-out, most of the women who'd
watched him stand in the street wanted nothing more to do
with him, no matter how handsome they had found him before.

But today, unlike almost every other man on the street, he

wore no pistols.

After Santa Fe Jack had shot him in the leg two years

before down El Paso way, he'd quit. He'd got the sly bastard,
but during those long nights of healing, he'd decided to hang
up his guns and settle down. No more gun fighting. No more
trouble.

When he had hung up his guns, it meant all the way. The

pearl-handled Colts resided at the bottom of his saddlebag
and he had no bullets for them. Getting shot once was enough
for him. He'd have the scar and weak leg for the rest of his life.

Since then, he'd drifted. He'd ridden herd on a drive going

up to Abilene, got caught in a range war over water rights up
near Iowa, and then holed up in Sioux Falls when the weather
had turned cold, working as a farmhand on a horse ranch.
He'd taken to the work and the horses had taken to him. With
the spring, he'd worked west again, laboring on the railroad
and then just riding.

Now, autumn found him in Williston, of the Dakota

Territories. As he limped into the Land Office, he saw a pretty
red-haired girl twirl her pink parasol and wink one big brown
eye at him. Maybe he'd stick around.

~* * *~

The Dakota territory winter melted into spring and Matt

was quite comfortable in a little sod house on a quarter-
section spread about two miles west of town. It wasn't much,
just him and the vegetable patch he'd dug and manured, the
chicken coop and the milk cow. He had a one-room sod
house, a solid barn and a good corral. It felt strange to put
down roots and stay in one place more than a season or so.

He'd filed his intent to homestead at the land office and

was committed to work the hundred and sixty acres for five
years. At the end of that time, he'd need to show what he'd
done in order to keep the land.

He worked harder than he'd ever done in his life. His days

started early and ended late, and he ached all the time. He'd
gotten used to soft beds in hotels or boarding houses, good
food in cafes, long days of idleness, and then fifteen minutes
of anticipation followed by ten seconds of sheer grinding
terror. It had been a soft life and had made him soft, too.

Now, his bed was the ground. His meals were what he

could throw together at the end of the day, and he was sick
and tired of it. He didn't want to see one more pot of beans. It
was high time to get married.

A wife would see to everything. She could cook and make

his place a real home instead of a place he slept. He'd tease
her and bring her pretty things. She'd keep the vegetable
patch and the chickens, so he could have eggs for breakfast
instead of cold beans and hoe cake. He'd never make her kill
one though. He'd do that for her.

Eventually, there would be strong sons to help him with the

horses and pretty daughters for him to cosset like he did their
mama. The thought of Rosa Ortega watching him ride away in
the dark before dawn, her swelling belly hidden below the
narrow window, kept recurring in his memory.

Leaving hadn't troubled him then. He'd ridden away from

dozens of women. Mama Ortega had been after him to take
the wafer and marry the girl, settle into something respectable.
After long consideration, and many talks with Rosa, he'd done
the only thing his wanderlust had allowed. He'd run.

Now, he wondered whether he should wire to El Paso.

The baby would be a year and a half, big enough to travel. He
decided he would, soon. He'd been wrong to go. He knew that
now.

He'd send money for Rosa and the baby to join him.

Maybe, even enough for Miguel to come along. He could use
the help.

To marry, he needed that money and a real house. A one-

room sod cabin was fine for him, but he wanted better for his
wife and children. He had an idea how to get all he needed.

~* * *~

Spring made Matt restless, like it always had. He asked

questions of the farmers in town, and learned how to put his
garden in right to take best advantage of the short Dakota
growing season. He made sure everything was settled and
vanished for a few days.

He returned to the farm with four mustangs on a lead.

Through the lengthening days, he worked at gentling them and
teaching them. By June, they were saddle and harness
broken. He sold three of them down in Deadwood for a
hundred dollars each and vanished for two more weeks, only
to return with four more horses.

The big buckskin stallion was taking longer than the

others. Matt knew it would take more time to get the horse to
trust him. So he kept it, called it Brutus for its stubbornness,
and worked with the others as well.

~* * *~

The mustang money was the talk of the town and, soon

enough, they saw what he was using it for. First, he'd wired to
El Paso, said John Hill, the telegraph operator. When the reply
had arrived the next day, Matt had still been in town, buying
supplies.

He'd crumpled the telegram up and walked out of the

office without a word. John had sworn he'd seen tears on
Matt's face. Of course, any man would cry learning his son and
wife were dead, he said. Someone named Padre Lorenzo
had wired Matt back that Rosa Ortega and his son, Mateo
Felipe, were buried together after a diphtheria outbreak.

The soft-hearted ladies of the town clucked over this news

and resolved to be extra nice to the poor widower.

Matt hired the Smith boy, Luke, to see to his garden,

chickens and cow, as well as help in the corral. He paid
Parson Johnson's wife, Harriet, a dollar a week to come out
every other day, bake and put up some meals and tidy up.

He started putting up a two-story frame house. Harriet, an

incurable gossip who had inspired her husband to preach
more than one sermon on controlling the tongue, put it about
that the house would have running water in the kitchen, running
hot water--a luxury unheard of outside of big city hotels--a real
bathtub and a water-closet when it was finished. She said
that, at the moment, he had a little kitchen table and chair, a
nice wood cooking stove with warming ovens, a comfortable
easy chair and a big double bed. The downstairs was mostly
finished. The bed, however, sat in an empty room, all in
pieces, waiting to be taken upstairs. He planned to leave
most of the furnishings to his wife.

She also talked about his revolvers. Not the rifle that

everyone kept behind the kitchen door to protect his stock, but
rather those matched pearl-handled Colts that she'd found in
the bottom of a drawer she'd been tidying. The special tooled-
leather holsters seemed to tally a dozen deaths, each marked
with a little stamped tombstone, for mild-mannered Matt.

Not only did Matt not wear the shooting irons, but he didn't

fight at all. One bleak November afternoon not long after
Matt's arrival, Ed Tanner, a failed prospector, had tried starting
a quarrel with him at the Purple Garter saloon.

Although Ed's accusations of cowardice grew louder, Matt

ignored the man. As Matt finished his whiskey, Ed, wobbly
from his own beer drinking, threw a roundhouse punch. Matt
ducked the punch and walked away.

The Colts were the quiet talk behind fans and in buggies.

Their mere existence led to much more interesting gossip

being created about Matt. Because of his lack of weaponry
and the Tanner incident--which had grown in the telling until
Matt had been knocked on his ass and both eyes blacked
before crawling out the door--most of the town considered him
as yellow as the rocks that gave the river its name.

He'd learned a lot more about the lay of the land since

he'd come to town. He'd learned how gossip flew fast and
furious among the isolated folks. A woman buying cloth for a
new dress was enough to keep the folks gabbing for three
days. There weren't too many women in Williston yet. One or
two more came every month, but it was still a man's town.

The few women who lived there were mostly already

married. Harriet Johnson, Elizabeth Williams, the banker's
wife, and Mary Madison, the schoolmistress considered
themselves the doyennes of Williston society. They made
everyone their business and ruled their households with as
much iron as they could manage.

The three prairie doves of the Purple Garter wouldn't be

considered marriageable by most men. Catherine, the owner,
stood tall and middle-aged, her brown hair going gray and her
impressive voice capable of carrying half-way to the church
when she called closing time. It was a rare man who would
even consider her as a wife. Matt knew he couldn't tangle with
her. Ardis and Melanie, although younger, were no less
acquisitive than their employer.

The few teenage daughters of established families had

more than their share of suitors. The pretty redhead was no
well-dressed saloon girl as her forward behavior had led him
to believe, but rather Annie Williams, daughter of banker
Artemus Williams, who was by all accounts a greedy,
grasping man. What was his, he kept, until it could pay him a
proper dividend, and that included his only child.

Common talk had it that she was sweet on the Jacksons'

hired-boy, Pete Brown. But everyone knew he wouldn't make
a suitable match. He was an orphan who'd signed to work in
exchange for a trip west. He had no fortune, no land and few
prospects. Artemus Williams certainly didn't consider him
nearly good enough.

~* * *~

Matt sold the next batch of mustangs in early August and--

yellow or not-- was said to be doing very well for himself.
Brutus was still not letting him ride, so he was still in the
stable.

Of course, some of the money made its way into the

hands of Catherine, the saloon keeper, and her girls, Ardis
and Melanie. No one said much about that. Matt Court was no
drunkard and any man living alone got to hankering for female
companionship now and then.

Still, with that reputation, folks were amazed to see Matt in

the dry goods store, getting a nice suit, and more amazed
when he showed up for Sunday meeting on August twenty-
third. The church ladies' fans moved a little faster in the hot air,
covering the rustle of gossip.

He sat quietly through the service, seeming a little lost and

left with everyone else. It was when he made a habit of
showing up that people settled the issue in their minds.

“Tryin' to get right with God. They say he got shot a while

back and that took him closer to Hell than he wanted to go.”
The old men who sat in the dry goods store all nodded sagely
at this statement over their checkerboard.

On the second Sunday of September, Matt asked Mr.

Williams for permission to court his pretty daughter Annie, she
of the red hair, pink parasol and big brown eyes. Williams
grudgingly invited him to dinner.

Matt was on his best behavior all afternoon. He put on his

best table manners and still felt like a dancing bear among all
the fragile and pretty things from back east in the Williams
house. The spindly furniture and delicate china looked like
traps to his large frame and thick fingers. He handled it all as
gracefully as possible and made a hasty exit for the porch as
soon as was decent.

He felt better on the swing, with Annie sitting on the far

end. He told her the story of how, last summer, he'd been
hiding in a little gully, hoping the bad guys would miss him
before the rain drowned him. She listened avidly, gasping in
the right places, laughing when he was funny. He left, knowing
she was the one for him.

By the fourth Sunday, he asked Annie to go walking with

him, and scandalized her, making her blush as pink as the
roses on her bonnet, by taking her hand. He was careful to
stay well within sight of numerous people at all times. He
couldn't be too careful of her reputation.

Well before dark, he walked her back to the front porch of

her father's house and kissed her hand, thanking her for a
lovely afternoon.

“Why, Mr. Court,” she smiled, “the pleasure was all mine.”

“Thank you, Miss Williams. I shall see you soon.” He

strolled the two miles out to his ranch and hammered away
half the night on the house.

~* * *~

He saw her every Sunday after that and Annie seemed to

like him. He never again imposed on her parents for dinner,
but he came calling afterward. He'd take her for a walk or just
sit on the porch swing with her, telling her about the places
he'd been.

Annie enjoyed his stories. He enjoyed her flirty little ways,

the batted eyes, the well-timed blushes, her little fan which

seemed to have a language of its own that he couldn't quite
decipher. He listened to her ideas about what a properly
furnished house should have and let them inform the orders he
placed at the general store. He planned to leave most of the
fine details until after the wedding, but he ordered in the things
that seemed important, including the wash basin and pitcher
with yellow roses that she mentioned.

One afternoon, he brought her four rolls of Necco wafers

that he'd ordered in special. He'd tied the bundle in a pink hair
ribbon. The candy had arrived just the day before.

Annie cooed over the ribbon, protesting that she shouldn't

accept it, not even from her fiancé. Matt gave her his most
charming smile and asked if she'd like him to become that.
She blushed and rapped him with her fan.

She tied the ribbon in her hair and they sat on the porch.

She nibbled a piece of candy from time to time. He noticed
she had already developed a liking for the white ones. They
watched the leaves rustle across the yard, talking of nothing
much.

Matt knew it was time. He made sure her parents and the

cook were not around. Then he brought Annie's hand to his
lips. Boldly, he kissed both the back and the palm, and then
her wrist. She flushed and giggled.

He did a second check, and then clasped her round her

corseted waist, the tiniest in Williston, drawing her close for a
real kiss.

He devoured her soft pink lips, turning them red with the

pressure of his own. He parted them with his tongue and
slipped in, tasting her like a rare vintage. She didn't struggle,
and he kissed her long and deeply, knowing no man had
kissed her so before. He stared into her huge brown eyes,
listening to her gasp for breath, and said his piece.

“Miss Annie, you're a clever girl. It can't have escaped you

that I'm very fond of you. I plan to ask your father for your hand,
soon, if you'll have me. I don't plan to spend another winter
alone.”

Annie twisted out of his embrace and he let her go. She

moved to the far end of the porch swing, pressing her
fingertips to her swollen lips. After several false starts, she
found the words she wanted. “I'm so flattered, Mr. Court. If
Daddy says yes, I'll certainly consent.” She felt her lips again,
and he saw her breathing slowing.

Matt moved to the middle of the swing. “May I have

another then, dear Annie?”

She nodded and slid closer to him, her brown eyes big

with desire. He liked the way she looked like this. He couldn't
wait to see her naked, looking up at him from the big bed in
the frame house, her copper curls all over the pillow, her lips
red from kissing and her eyes dark with wanting him.

Matt grasped her waist again, imagining her without the

corset. Her pert creamy breasts would stand up tall and her
lush hips would drive him mad with the need to be inside
them. He resisted the urge to crush her close, but drew her to
him gently.

The kiss started gently enough too, but something in the

taste of her mouth made him wild. He plunged in, devouring,
when she opened freely to him, her soft lips under his yielding
until he groaned and felt himself harden in his trousers.

She pulled away a little breathing fast and blushing to the

low neck of her dress. She fanned herself, trying to cool down.
Matt tried to calm himself, but he couldn't help wondering if the
blush went lower and whether her little nipples were standing
up hard in their whalebone prison. It would look terrible to run
to the Purple Garter immediately after leaving Annie. He would
get his hand tonight and dreams of his future wife, he decided.

Annie, her blush faded down to mere pink spots on her

cheeks, gave him a naughty smile. “Maybe, Mr. Court, you
should take me out for a ride soon.”

She hadn't slid out of reach, so Matt gave her a little

squeeze. “Are you free tomorrow for a ride?”

She nodded. “If you can get away from working. I know

harvest is busy.”

“Always for you, my dear Annie. Miss Harriet is just putting

up some of my vegetables for winter tomorrow, so if I dig all
the carrots for her in the morning, I can slip out and play hooky
rest of the day.” He winked, deliberately being a naughty
schoolboy for her amusement.

Annie giggled. “Yes, tomorrow afternoon. Have me home

for supper, mind.” She leaned in close. “There will be many
more kisses.”

Matt shivered at the thought and pressed her hand to his

lips. “I'll stop by around two.”

“I'll be ready,” Annie dropped her voice to a whisper, “Matt.

”

Matt smiled and waved at a wagon full of farm hands and

children that rolled past on the street. Once they were out of
sight, he stole a goodbye kiss.

He turned to wave once and saw the heels of Annie's little

gray shoes and the tail of her pink skirt disappearing into the
house. Matt hurried home.

There was plenty of work to be done. He hammered and

laid flooring on the second story until it was too dark to see.
Then he lit a lantern and worked until he ached, making up for
the time he was sure to lose tomorrow. He fell asleep the
moment he dropped into the blankets.

~* * * ~

He arrived at two o'clock sharp, only to find Annie waiting

for him. She twirled her parasol and let him hand her into the
wagon. He noticed she wore rather older clothing than was
usual for her and sturdy shoes.

Matt smiled. Such a clever girl, she was. He loved clever

women. He drove them out on the road a way and then turned
off. He'd found this location when he was scouting for a
homestead site, but hadn't chosen it.

The cave was half-way up the side of the hill, well

concealed by some brush. Clean and dry, it showed no
evidence of having been used for an animal lair. He spread a
blanket on the floor and helped Annie sit down.

He sat beside her and pulled her close for a long kiss,

hotter than those on her porch. One hand held her in while the
other traced the soft mounds of her breasts and gripped her
bottom. She'd been sensible enough not to wear a bustle.

Matt laid a trail of kisses on her burning skin, the kisses

making her blush even harder. He made his way to the
neckline of her dress and tasted the plump globes that teased
him.

Carefully, before she could protest, he unlaced her just a

bit and her breasts popped out, white and capped with dark
red nipples that stood tall from their crinkled halos. He licked
one, and Annie squirmed under him with a cry.

He pressed them together and licked and sucked as her

moans and squirming grew more fierce.

“Oh! So very naughty. Oh, Matt. You make me feel like I'm

going to fly all into flinders,” she gasped.

When he nibbled one perfect nipple, she bucked under

him gasping. He laughed, trailing his tongue between her
breasts.

“I'll put you back together again, darling Annie, I promise.”

He slid one hand to her ankle and started working her skirt up.

Annie, distracted by his kisses, let him get above her

knees. Then, she came to her senses with his hand high on
her thigh. “No...I can't,” she moaned, pulling away a little.

Matt stopped, but didn't remove his hands. He gave her

breast and thigh a gentle squeeze. “No?”

Annie shook her head. “No, so wicked... I'm bad. A bad,

shameful woman to act so.” She fumbled with her basque and
corset, tucking away her breasts.

Matt kissed her, easing them out again and cupping one

in his hand. “No. You are a lovely girl who I adore.”

“Really?” she breathed as he dropped a kiss on the tip.

“Really. With all my being. I'll ask your father for your hand

today if you like.” He inched his own hand higher on her thigh.

“I'd like that very much.” She trembled as one finger found

the slit in her pantelettes and stroked her.

Matt smiled and slipped two more fingers into the opening

in her clothes to rub the soft, wet folds. Annie rubbed against
his hand and kissed him. “That's right,” he said softly, sliding
one finger into her.

Annie gasped and when he rubbed her more, she

screamed, flooding him with wetness. “Matt, please.”

“Are you hurt, pretty?” He kissed her neck. She shook her

head, trembling like an aspen in a gale. Many women were
frightened by their first pleasure. He held her until she stopped
shaking, but his lips never left her soft skin and he didn't take
his fingers out.

When she began rocking on his hand, he whispered soft

words of encouragement between passionate kisses until she
peaked again. She lay smiling in his arms, her neck and

breasts flushed with desire and her eyes liquid and dark. Matt
caught one of her soft little hands and kissed it, sucking on
each fingertip in turn.

Annie blushed hot when he guided it to the front of his

waist overalls, letting her feel the long, hard ridge. She ran her
hand over it as he unbuttoned the fly and peeled the denim
away. Her eyes got big and her clever fingers darted into the
opening of his underwear, grasping his cock.

“Brave girl,” Matt smiled. He'd never encountered a virgin

so easily aroused or one so bold. He wondered, but decided
he didn't care. If Miss Annie had been slipping around on her
daddy with other boys, she'd have a few tricks to use so she
could see him as well. He could make sure she knew how to
find her own pleasure, which he knew most younger men
wouldn't care about. He certainly hadn't until he'd gotten older.

“It's strange. Hard, but soft too. It feels nice.” She tugged

him out.

“Have a look, sweet.”

Annie stared and ran her fingers all over him, tracing the

veins, stroking the head, tickling that sensitive spot on the
bottom where the foreskin met the head. Matt saw no fear,
only curiosity as she wrapped her whole hand around him.
She added the other and the head still showed above her
fingers.

“That's right,” he said again. “It's all for you.”

Annie gave him a wink and rubbed him a little, seeing

what would happen. She wasn't as sheltered as some he'd
seen. He wondered if she'd be willing to taste him. Most nice
ladies wouldn't, and most whores required gold for the act.
Kisses being unlikely, he hoped she'd let him have her. She
rubbed him some more.

“Just like that, Annie.” He looked at her soft pink mouth, all

pursed up with concentration as she watched what she was
doing. He wiggled the fingers that were still inside her and it
turned into a perfect O of surprise.

As she rubbed him, he imagined being in that O and

feeling her tongue on him, or driving into the soft wetness
around his fingers, kissing her as she gasped.

The images and her gentle hand on him sent him over the

brink embarrassingly fast. He hadn't had a woman's touch in a
couple months. Annie looked startled at the pulses of white
smearing over her hand. Matt whipped out his pocket
handkerchief and wiped up, not making Annie deal with the
mess. Reluctantly, he slid his fingers out of her.

She adjusted herself while he licked his fingers. When she

saw what he was doing, her adorable nose wrinkled and she
made a little disgusted face. Matt just sucked on the fingers
that had been in her, making happy moans like they were the
best things he'd ever tasted.

“That's nasty, Mr. Court.”

“Not at all, darling. You taste good.” He fastened his pants,

helped her up and folded the blanket. “Getting on to supper
time. When can I take you riding again?”

Annie climbed into the wagon. “Not tomorrow. Come back

in three days. That should be a decent interval.”

“I'll be by at two again.” He kissed her once more,

reluctant to take her back. But back at her house, he handed
her out of the wagon, kissed her wrist and made sure she got
inside.

He took her out every three days for the next couple of

weeks. Sometimes, they made sure to be seen very publicly,
such as a ride down by the river, on a favorite promenade.
Some days they slipped away to the quiet cave.

Annie let him make love to her on the third trip there.

She'd protested that he'd never fit, but then welcomed him in
easily. He expected it was his fingers that made sure she
didn't hurt or bleed. She hadn't peaked from his loving, but he
had spilled quickly, before he could pull out.

He promised himself he'd marry her if she kindled. He

wanted to, regardless. She would make a fine wife. Her very
eagerness for his kisses and more told him she wasn't the
lady her mama had tried to make her.

Matt drove into town one evening, licking the corner of his

mustache in anticipation of the sweet juices that it would soon
be harboring. He'd put on his best clothes and decided to
press his suit with Artemus Williams. He became aware of
people glaring at him and ladies moving off the street. He
checked his appearance and continued on, head high, to the
Williams house.

Annie wasn't waiting on the porch for him. Instead, her

father stopped him at the gate.

“You're not welcome on my land, Court. You're a cad and a

rounder.”

Matt looked puzzled. “Sir?”

“Don't play innocent. You've been taking my Annie out

riding. Well, now she's ruined and my reputation with her. Do
you plan to stand like a man or run like the yellow coward you
are?”

“I'm here to step up and take responsibility. I love Annie.”

Matt climbed down from the wagon, deliberately giving up the
advantage of height it gave him. He tied the horse and came
to the gate.

“A bit late, aren't you? Shoulda taken it well before. But

are you saying you want to marry the little roundheels?”

Matt ground his teeth at Williams' harsh words.

“Absolutely. I wouldn't have been courting her if I didn't.”

Williams folded his arms and looked Matt over, slowly.

Matt refused to be made to feel less than he was. “What do
you have to offer her? Other than being an old man with a
taste for pretty young girls?”

“A nice new house, a good supply of money coming in,

and a man who loves her. She'll have everything she could
ever want.”

Williams scowled a moment longer and opened the gate.

“I think you'd better come in. She's confined to her room until
we get her married or she stops being sick. It seems only right
you should marry her, since you're the one who got her in such
a state.”

“Thank you, sir. I won't do wrong by her.” Matt followed him

up to the house.

Matt sat down in the parlor, waiting. Williams didn't offer

him a glass or a cigar, but simply left him there. He heard Mrs.
Williams sobbing in the kitchen and her husband's low voice
speaking slowly, patiently.

Williams came back. “All, right, Court, man to man. Tell

me how you plan to support my daughter and grandchild.”

“I break mustangs. It pays well, since folks always need

horses. Might do a little farming to keep us in food and money
too.”

“What's this I hear about you having a Mexican wife? I

don't want some dusky bitch coming up and challenging my
daughter.”

Matt tried very hard to keep the scowl off his face. He

didn't quite succeed. “My Rosa died last winter and my son
with her.” He repeated the lie that the whole town believed.
The words pained his mouth. “I'd left her in El Paso while I got
settled here.”

“I'm not pleased you've been rushing the pleasures of

marriage, nor that you've soiled my daughter. But, very well. I'll
fetch the parson. And then we'll unlock the door and salvage
what we can of the situation.” Williams stuffed his hat on his
head, seized his cane and marched out the door.

Matt sat and waited. Mrs. Williams peered in. “Oh, Mr.

Court, could I get you something while you wait?” She stepped
in closer, almost as if worried he would bite. For a moment he
was tempted to shout “boo” and see if she really would jump
out of her skin. She looked nothing like her usual self. The fear
that the sharp tongues of the town would turn on her had
clearly cost her sleep.

He didn't look longingly at the decanter of brandy or the

cupboard where Artemus Williams kept the whiskey. He would
marry with his head clear.

He gave her the most soothing smile and spoke as if to a

skittish horse. “No ma'am. Too excited.”

She hovered near the buffet. After several false starts, she

finally got the nerve to speak. “You do love her, don't you? It's
hard enough living out in the wild country, but doing it with
someone you don't love is worse. You'll take good care of her?
”

Matt put all the earnestness he felt into his eyes and voice.

“I adore her, Mrs. Williams. She's a fine girl. I'll love her as long
as I live.”

Mrs. Williams seemed to relax at that. She took a quick

breath and poured him a glass of brandy and a smaller one
for herself. He sipped and noticed the practiced way she
tossed the drink back.

She paused a second, listening, grabbed the glasses and

fled to the kitchen. Williams and Parson Johnson stepped into
the front door. Matt stood up to greet the parson. Williams

rummaged in a desk and then in a drawer of the buffet.

Finally, he found the key and called for his wife. He sent

Mrs. Williams up to get Annie ready. Without offering a drink to
Matt, he poured himself a shot of whiskey.

A shriek came down to them, Mrs. Williams appeared at

the head of the stairs. "She's gone!"

Matt gaped in shock. Annie had been locked in her room

and the window boarded up. He shut his mouth and hid a
smile. Clever girl, even if she was leaving him holding the bag.

Artemus was half-way up the stairs when Mrs. Williams

fainted. He caught her, saving her a nasty tumble down the
stairs.

"You! You arranged this, Court!" Artemus shook a

threatening finger down as he made sure his wife didn't fall
down the stairs. "You'll pay for this.” His voice went low and
deadly. “I will see you dead before another year is out. You will
pay for the insults to my family, my name, my fortune and my
honor.”

Matt grabbed his hat and darted out the front door before

Williams could unburden himself of his wife. He untied the
wagon and set off for home as fast as he could go.

Matt changed clothes when he got home and busied

himself around the place until sunset. Then, he sat. There was
no need to hurry on the house now, no need to lay flooring until
the lamps burned low and his shoulders ached with swinging
a hammer.

A knock on his door didn't surprise him. He opened it,

half-expecting to see Artemus Williams with a posse behind
him. Instead, Annie stood in the door, looking tired and a little
grubby. She wore pants that were too long for her and a boy's
shirt. He wanted her more than ever.

He reached out and drew her into the house, then saw the

boy behind her. “Come in, Pete.”

The boy took off his hat and stood awkwardly in the

doorway. Matt sat Annie down on the sofa.

“Matt, please, can you help us?” She looked scared but

excited.

He couldn't resist. She could have asked him for the

house, the homestead, anything in that moment and he'd have
said yes.

“Tell me what you need, darlin',” he said. “Have you had

supper?”

She shook her head. “But Matt--”

“You're expecting, that means you have to keep your

strength up.”

He beckoned them both into the kitchen. Harriet had left a

pot of beans and bacon for him, so he stoked up the fire and
put the coffee pot on to boil, too.

“Now, Annie, what do you need?” Matt didn't miss the

boy's sour look at his familiarity. He set a glass of milk in front
of her.

“We don't need much.” Annie said. She stood up and

wrapped her arms around Matt's neck. “You will help us?”

He gently disentangled her and turned to the stove before

the boy could see how hard he'd gotten just from that touch.
“Of course.”

Annie sat down and took a drink of her milk. “I'm so sorry.

Don't you see? I couldn't marry you, because I knew his baby
was coming.”

Matt stirred the beans more thoroughly than he needed to.

“Tell me what you need, Annie.” The words were almost a sigh.

“A horse. It doesn't have to be fast, just healthy. Some

food if you can spare it. Pete's got his tools. There's always
work for a farmhand who can build. We're going south.
Deadwood maybe.”

“I'll help you get there safe.” Matt ladled up a plate of

beans for each of them, then set a loaf of bread on the table.
“You eat. I'll go get the horse ready.”

He went through his pantry, packing everything he could

spare, and much he couldn't, into saddlebags for them. Flour
and lard, dried apples, salt and sugar, dried vegetables and a
couple of soup bones all went into the pouches. He added
thirty dollars in gold, money he had planned to use to furnish
the house.

He carried the bags, with a couple of extra blankets, down

to the corral. Sugar, a steady, sweet-tempered strawberry
roan, nuzzled him for a treat. He petted her nose. “You be a
good girl, hear me? You take care of my Annie while I can't.”

He slung the saddlebags over her and folded the blankets

over her for a saddle. Sugar trailed him up to the house.

Annie came out of the kitchen as he entered. “I washed

up.” Pete trailed in her wake, still unsure where he stood. She
caught sight of the horse and saddlebags and kissed Matt
sweetly on the cheek. “Thank you. Oh, Matt.” She looked
about to cry as she hugged him tightly.

Pete shifted from foot to foot and cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Mr. Court. We'll pay you back, somehow.”

Matt looked at him sternly. “Get yourself established.

Annie and the baby come before paying me back,
understood?”

Pete offered a hand and Matt shook it. “Yes, sir. I

understand.” He helped Annie out the door and climbed on
Sugar. Matt helped Annie up to sit in front of him. He wrapped
a third blanket around Pete and Annie.

“It's cool and will get colder, children. Be happy.”

“Good-bye,” Annie waved as they rode off into the night,

heading south by the stars.

Matt watched them until they were gone. Then, he saddled

up his own horse, stuck a five dollar gold piece in his pocket,
and rode in to the Purple Garter.

That evening, Matt wanted nothing more than liquid

painkiller and a soft woman. He'd been staying out of the
saloon since he'd started courting Annie, trying to keep
himself proper.

“Well, well, look what the hellcat dragged in.” Catherine

set up a double shot as he walked through the door. “Heard
about Miss Annie running out on you, Matt. What'd you expect
from a straight-laced porcelain dolly like that?”

He straight-armed the whiskey and tapped the glass.

“How'd you know?”

“Tain't a big town, Matt, and word travels fast. You know,

there's only one look to a broken heart.” She refilled the glass.
“I'll run a tab tonight.”

“You're all heart.” He took this shot slower.

Ardis finished singing and left the stage. Melanie took her

place to dance. She came up to where Matt sat at the bar, on
his third double.

“Evening, Matt.” She gave him her best smile.

“You free?” he asked. When she nodded, he took her

hand. “Then I got a five dollar gold piece that's got your name
on it.” She let him kiss her, right there at the bar.

Later, as he lay sated beside her, playing with her long

hair, he kissed her. “Miss Ardis, will you marry me?”

She kissed his forehead, and pillowed his head on her

ample bosom. “Ask me again in the morning, Matt,” she said
softly.

When morning came, his head hurt too much to do

anything more than stagger home to tend to chores.

It was only later he heard the talk in town about his wicked

rakish behavior. A coward and a rakehell, the gossip went,
and decent women began keeping their distance, despite
Harriet's counter-assertions that he was nothing of the sort.
Even the word of the parson's wife couldn't balance the talk.

~* * *~

On a gray Saturday afternoon in mid-October, when his

bad leg said snow was on the way, Matt had finished laying up
his supplies and stopped in at the Purple Garter for a drink.
He took a single glass of whiskey at the bar and sipped it,
watching the men around him. Cowpokes in off the trail and
ranch-hands eager to spend their pay crowded the tables. The
Professor plunked away at the old piano, with more
enthusiasm than skill, and Ardis did her best to keep the song
on key. He was glad she was busy. She teased him now and
then about his proposal. Never unkindly, true, but he disliked
making a fool of himself.

Matt glanced through the front window and saw Luke

Smith hesitating just outside, a look of distress on his young
face. He caught Matt's eye and twisted his kerchief in his
hands, the picture of indecision. Matt gulped the end of his
drink and hurried out just as Luke laid a hand on the saloon
doors to enter.

"Luke, you can't go in such a place," he said. "You're too

young and your Ma would skin me alive."

"Mr. Court--" He saw the boy's face was paper-white. "Mr.

Williams is trying to have you killed. He just put it out on the
telegraph wire for Paz. I saw the topaz this morning at the

bank. A rider brought it in from Utah territory." Luke pulled a
penny-dreadful out of his pocket. Matt knew most of the boys
in town collected and traded the serials. This one showed a
gunslinger with a gem-studded hatband, his face so
shadowed as to be invisible.

“They say he never misses a kill, Mr. Court.” Luke flipped

to a passage he'd clearly read many times. “See? Here.

Paz

moved like a ghost through the streets hunting his prey.
While Braynard had considered absquabulating, under the
notion that discretion is the better part of valor, he had
decided to stay. He regretted that decision when the
gunslinger stepped into the mouth of the alley where he was
hiding and said, 'Draw.' Braynard drew, but too slowly. The
shooting irons fell from his cooling fingers and Paz walked
away from him to collect another stone.

”

Luke's voice carried into the saloon. The men nearest the

door fell silent. The silence spread to the surrounding tables,
creeping over the whole establishment until even the
Professor took his fingers off the keys.

Matt felt his face go hard. Paz was an outlaw, a hired killer

with a name that ironically meant "peace." The only peace
Paz dealt in was eternal peace. The serial novels and hack
writers had built him up into a folk-hero of sorts, but Matt knew
the truth of it. Wealthy men called him in to do their dirty work
and paid him well to vanish. Vanish he did, every time, and
when the U.S. Marshals arrived, nobody knew anything about
the newest grave in the town burying ground.

Matt had actually seen Paz once, at a distance in Denver,

but the outlaw didn't mingle, and he wasn't the target, so they'd
had no congress. He had, however, taken the two dollars to
help bury the poor fellow Paz had been gunning for.

"Mr. Williams wired for him," Luke repeated, "and he's

coming to kill you, Mr. Court. Go to Montana. Hide in your

mustang herds, until this blows over.”

Matt shook his head and rubbed his jaw. "Winter's

coming, kid. A man doesn't run. If it's time for me to be sent
on, nothing can stop it happening. I'll take Paz's bullet or I'll fall
off a horse and break my own fool neck." He looked at the
boy, almost a man. He guided Luke into the saloon and sat
them down at a table. A half-dollar on the table got them
drinks. Luke just stared at the amber liquid.

“Come on, boy. Let your doomed boss buy your first

drink.” Matt looked at him, sandy hair and freckles, his ears
sticking out as all boys' did at that age. He wondered if he
dared Mrs. Smith's rolling pin for a taste of the lad. He'd
decided that part of his life was over, dead and buried with
Miguel, but right now, Luke looked tempting

“You're a man now, or near enough to know. If I run, he'll

follow and I'll have no peace until I meet him. I'll stand here,
Luke, here in Williston, where I have something of my own."
He gave Luke what he meant to be a bracing smile. "I lived by
the gun for twenty-three years, kid, and only got shot once. I
can take any man in boots."

Luke tried to return the smile, but his face twisted in

misery. He sipped at the whiskey and coughed when he
swallowed. Matt pounded him on the back. Luke finished the
whiskey.

“I'd best be going. I'll be out tomorrow to manure the

garden.” Luke stood up, and wobbled from the drink. Matt
stood with him and helped him out the door.

Matt walked back into the silent saloon, feeling every pair

of eyes in the place following him. Catherine poured him a
double, but caught his hand when he reached for it.

"You pay up front from here on, Matt Court," she said, her

brown eyes as friendly as frozen mud. "I don't extend credit to

dead men, even if they are still on their feet." Her voice shrilled
through the saloon, frightened and harsh.

He set the four bits on the bar and drank the whiskey. It

was going to be a very long winter. The low rumble of talk
started back up as he drank.

The snow flew that night.

Matt straggled home in it, wet and cold, his hat low and

his greatcoat turned up around his ears. He regretted buying
the whole bottle, now that he could feel it starting to pound
behind his eyes.

As he stepped past the last house on the way out of town,

something caught his eye. He ignored it and kept walking. The
little black and white dog caught up and trotted along beside
him as if they'd been together all their lives.

When Matt stopped and looked down, the dog sat and

looked up, its big brown eyes catching the light of his lantern.
The dog thumped its tail in a hopeful sort of way. Matt smiled
despite himself.

“Well, come on then,” he said.

The dog followed him all the way home. It waited on the

porch, well-mannered at least, while he went in and brought
out some scraps and a pan of water. He petted its ears as it
sniffed the food. The dog was skinny and its coat was a little
matted, which made him feel better about taking it in. Wasn't
as if he'd stolen a family pet.

“You look about as lonely as me, boy,” he said softly. “Why

don't you stick around? I can put you to work in the spring.”
When the dog finished, he let it in the house, where it flopped
down by the fire with a big doggy grin and made itself at
home.

~* * *~

Matt made it into town as often as he could, trying to stock

up in case he was snowed in. He was in the telegraph office
when word arrived a week later, with the last stage that made
it up from Deadwood, that Paz had been seen in Tucson and
would likely be wintering over there or in Mexico. Everyone
knew he'd be in Williston to attend to Mr. Williams' business in
the spring when the trains and stagecoaches ran again. No
one talked to Matt as they left, treating him like a ghost
already.

He bought his supplies, loaded the wagon and had a

couple of drinks. He headed home before dark. Duke would
be waiting for his supper. The dog had proved good company.
He was glad to have a friend as the winter deepened.

~* * *~

Paz rode easy out of the spring sunset on April first, when

the first hint of green was starting to show, a relief after the
bitter cold winter. The great Schoolhouse Blizzard, named
because it had come on so fast that children were trapped in
their schoolhouses, had wracked the territory in January.
Everyone was glad to see the snow going.

The tired pinto lifted its feet in slow, steady rhythm. The

topaz stones caught the last light and flared brown and gold,
making his hatband look like a mirage. He customarily
required one in payment as well as cash money.

More than one man had tried to take the trophy stones

from him. Only one still lived to tell about it and folks said he'd
never walk or see again.

Paz climbed off the horse and loosened the blanket that

served for a saddle. The folk of Williston gave the outlaw wide
berth. Nobody knew where he came from, or where he called
home now. Nobody was even sure what he was, other than
death in boots.

Most people said he was just a drifter, maybe a half-breed

Mexican because of the name. A rare person said he was
half-Apache, carrying on the war with the white men one kill at
a time. Most folks laughed at that notion, since any Apache
caught killing whites would be dancing on the air very quickly.

He tied up his horse in front of the telegraph office,

ignoring the crowd of curious onlookers. Matt lurked near the
back of the crowd, stealing a look at the man who'd been
hired to kill him.

Paz barely glanced at the crowd, but Matt saw a pair of

hungry, wolf-yellow eyes gleaming out from under the broad
brim of Paz's hat. They seemed to land on him and bore into
him. He had to be imagining things.

He'd heard that the man had buried his real name with his

parents down in Abilene and sworn revenge on their killers.
Others said it had been his wife and babies in Carson City.
Whoever he'd taken to killing for, all those years ago, he'd
done the job and done it right. When the dust had settled and
the bodies were buried, the only thing left for Paz to do was
become a gunfighter.

The crowd broke up. Matt was one of the few who

watched him come out of the office. He moved with an easy
grace and natural alertness, like a watchful panther. He still
looked young, what little Matt could see of him, although he'd
heard tales of Paz for at least a decade. The fringed buckskin
jacket and the low hat covered most of his average-sized
frame and obscured his face. He untied the horse with deft
fingers and led it around back of the office.

Most gunfighters were young. Matt himself had started at

seventeen, when he'd called out a drunk in Atchison for
cheating at cards. The speed and the eye both faded with
age. Paz had been killing for about ten years now, so he might
not even be thirty. The light-footed killer moved as if he were

still in his teens.

The last of the crowd dispersed when Paz did not return.

They whispered he was bunking in the stable behind the jail.
Of course, he couldn't stay in a rooming house or hotel. A
decent, white gunslinger might, but a half-breed like Paz
wasn't welcome.

Matt made his way back into the Purple Garter, by way of

the necessary, the only thought in his head that he was a dead
man. He couldn't take Paz. The killer looked too young, too
fast, for his poor old battered body to match--let alone beat.
His reprieve was over. He strongly considered taking Luke's
advice and running for it, but that would only prove he was the
coward so many of the townspeople already said he was.

Being shot in the back was not how he wanted to die,

anyway. He'd rather face it, see it coming, and maybe have a
chance to dodge it. He laid a five-dollar gold piece on the bar
and laid a second beside it. “I want Miss Melanie all night and
as much good whiskey as that will buy.”

Catherine looked at him. “If I was you, I'd be getting a

good night's sleep and keeping my head clear.”

“If I'm dying tomorrow, I am not sleeping my last night

alone.”

“Word moves faster than you do, it seems. Paz isn't going

to kill you. He says he never kills innocent men. Artemus
Williams is beside himself.”

Matt stared, unbelieving at this news. He hadn't realized

how resigned he was to dying until the sentence was lifted.

He put the money back in his pocket and dropped a

single quarter on the bar, ignoring Melanie's hurt look. “Just
one drink then, Catherine, and I'll head home.”

He was half-way down the glass when Artemus Williams

barreled into the saloon like a bull, trailing three very large

selectmen, and stopped in front of him.

“We have an outlaw in this town,” Williams announced. He

slapped something onto the bar right in front of Matt. “And our
new sheriff is going to take care of that problem.”

Matt looked at the tin star and wanted poster that the

banker had dropped in front of him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Williams,
you got the wrong man. I'm no sheriff. I don't want the job,” he
announced more loudly to the whole room. The blatant ploy to
get him killed or get him to kill the outlaw rankled him. He
expected more subtlety from a man of Williams' position.

“You seem to think you have a choice, Mr. Court. Show

him, Frank.”

Frank Bailey, the barber and head selectman, held up a

different wanted poster, showing Matt Court, gunslinger, cattle
rustler and gambler, wanted for hanging by the Amarillo town
council, who offered two hundred dollars for him.

“Now, Mr. Court, you can do this my way and continue your

nice quiet life here in Williston or I will pin the badge on myself
and have these gentlemen,” he nodded to the local smith and
butcher, “take you into custody. I got no love for Texicans or
their laws, but I will personally escort you to Amarillo and watch
you hang.” Williams leaned in closer. “Do you even remember
who you killed in Amarillo?”

Matt thought back. He hadn't been to Amarillo in four

years. “A scrawny drink of water called Big Nose Ned. A
hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet and fifty of it was
nose. He pulled a full house, using the same three queens I
was holding.”

“Edward Williams was my brother. All the pieces came

together when my cousin sent this up. You've robbed me of my
brother and my daughter, Court. Now, put on that badge or I'll
see you swing. I have the right.”

Matt picked up the badge. “Well, since you put it that

way...” He pinned it on. “It seems I have an outlaw to arrest.”
He shot his most charming smile at them, the one that had
melted every saloon girl from Kansas City to San Francisco
and had gotten him out of more than one shooting affair. “But
not tonight. I am going home to bed. The outlaw will be there in
the morning.”

He walked home. Orion the Hunter hung low and head

down in the western sky, fleeing the rising Scorpio, with his
Dog Star following after. It only figured that Artemus Williams
would have his killing done second-hand. Matt shut the door
and lit the lamps of his house carefully. Then, with a bitter
frown of regret, he took his pistols from the bottom of the
drawer and cleaned them.