The Misadventures of Professor Lassavante Vol 1 - Winds Light To Moderate
"Listen, little brother, have you any idea what I might do with a boat?"
The egg spoon paused on its' way to my mouth, my glasses nearly sliding off my snout as I looked up with that mix of incredulity and exasperation that has become to be the mainstay of dealing with my older half-brother.
"You bought a boat, Prilla?" To my relief, he threw up his hands, and nearly rocked away from the table, his golden scales glinting alongside those teal-green quill-feathers that marked his Incan heritage, eyes flashing.
"No, god no. That's why I'm asking. I've been offered one."
I set my spoon down, pushed my glasses back up my snout to better peer through them and tapped a finger atop the copy of the Times I was halfway through reading.
"Nobody just offers someone else a boat. What have you done this time?" I demanded, feeling the hackles on the back of my neck rise. This felt like was the beginning of yet another ridiculous adventure, many of which had arisen from the decision to offer a home to my bastard half-brother. Prillapintu looked hurt, which didn't normally fool me for a moment, but he kept the look rather than lapsing into the guilty sheepishness I'd come to associate with him normally.
"I haven't done anything. Or anyone. Well, I have, but not beyond my usual antics," he explained. "Carruthers, you know, the old soldier? I met him at the Viscount Club last night, and had him and a few others round the table for whist. He got into a right losing funk, the ass, and said if I would take a boat off him he'd forgive all the debts he'd racked up that he couldn't pay me."
"If he can afford to give away a boat, but not cough up the money he's probably..."
"...selling a leaky tub that's not even seaworthy. But if he can't pay the money, but he can give the boat up..." Prilla gave a shrug of his feathered shoulders, reaching for another slice of toast and the marmalade. He had quite a taste for the stuff, enough to make you think he was half Scottish at times. "...I guess there's a vague dream about having a gin palace. And if it's seaworthy enough to get you across to the continent..."
I sat back, thinking as my housekeeper, Mrs Blanche, bustled in to top up my cup of tea, and Prillapintu's coffee. I watched my half-brother, normally so confident and cocky, go silent and withdrawn as the fierce old matron silently filled his cup with steaming dark liquid to the brim, stopping at the exact moment it might overflow, but leaving it so that the first movement would send it spilling over the edge. Just one of the little dances of dislike between my housekeeper and my half-brother. One day I might even find what it was that truly set it all off.
"Do you know anything about this boat? Is it built for the Thames or the Atlantic?" I asked mildly, returning to my boiled egg, dipping a toast solider into the perfectly-done yolk and taking a ponderous bite, gauging his reaction. I had been pretty easy to fob off in the early days of our acquaintance, not long after I found out about his existence which is a story in its' own right.
Only my own mother's dogged determination to be done right by my father had left me as the main executor of his estate - which left Prillapintu and his native mother out in the cold. But he had been an affable chap and I too soft to tell him to get lost when he'd turned up on my doorstep a few months ago. So he'd taken up residence in my second best rooms, and started living the life of a proper cad, even in this age of propriety and manners. And more often than not, I was left to clear up the mess.
"Haven't a clue," he said, taking the cup gingerly, making a face as the hot black coffee poured down the sides, taking a gulp of the bitter first draught before adding a sugar cube. "He said it was green?" he offered, giving me a 'I'm sorry' shrug in between the crunch of the toast.
I could have despaired. Prillapintu, christened Pedro Chambinero at the insistence of a fiercely zealous local priest, had been born to an Incan-descended Quechua girl in Peru, my father's bounce before he returned to Europe and settled on my mother, an Italian heiress. Despite my mother's wealth, influence and insistence that her bambino was given the pride of place, Father had clearly heard of his Mesoamerican bastard and had the boy brought back and educated at a private school in England. Pedro had all the charm, wit, and lack of morals that my old man did, but he lacked anything close to the looks. He had metallic scales that ran from every shade of gold, bronze, copper and brass, with vivid teal feathers, certainly handsome and a looker, but it would be a struggle to compare him to the plain white drake in all the family photographs on the mantelpiece.
That was where I came in. I had every part of my father's appearance down to a tee, along with the natural curiosity that made him into such a renowned explorer as well as a bounder. What I lacked was his bravery, his charm... everything Prilla had in spades. Perhaps that's why I kept him around. I hoped in vain some of it would brush off on me. Well, I don't know if I learned how to be charming and seductive, but ever since he joined my household I can certainly count off a number of more interesting experiences since then.
There were the many women Prillapintu had seduced - sisters, wives, daughters and even an aunt, god help me; gambling issues both positive and negative, which I had suspected this escapade to be about; and the unusual case of the Bulgarian ambassador, a gin distillery off Mornington Crescent and eight thousand pounds in gold bullion which I must write down some day. But always, the one who ended up having to put on his suit and make apologies for my Latin cousin was Muggins here.
At least this time I personally knew the other part of this particular calamity - Captain Caruthers was an old sot having served in India (where else?) and starkly bereft of cash. But he had connections, and so in exchange for me giving a nudge and a wink for a scholarship for one of his grandsons to go to the boarding school I'd swotted at, he got me passage, rooms and residence for my first ever adventure in the Subcontinent. Back in the day, it was said, he'd been as much a rake as Pedro was now, so no wonder the two were good friends (and both gambling with money that they didn't have). I ate another piece of egg-sodden toast thoughtfully and drained my cup, getting to my feet.
"I'll go and talk to him, and see what he can tell me about this damn boat when he's not foxed," I said. Prilla gave me an apologetic smile and a bob of his head to say 'thank you', but I saw the glitter in his eyes. I swear the brute was downright proud every time he got me into such mischief as I would never have managed on my own. "You can help Mrs Blanche clean up," I said, turning for my room, a jacket and a hat to go out, but I lingered long enough to enjoy the look of shock over his face. Mrs Blanche, when I passed her in the hall outside, didn't say a word, though she had no doubt heard my instructions. Serve him right, the ass.
I found Captain Michael Caruthers at the Viscount Club nice and early, buried behind his paper, but he folded it up and stuck his hand out to grasp mine in that handshake that's firm, but not crushing. Whatever they said about his personal life, I suspected he'd been a good soldier, especially if he was able to count on old friends when I was a wide-eyed young apprentice explorer, knock-kneed and hoping that I could live up to my father's old reputation.
"Aha, Professor Piccino," he said with a grin. "Let me guess, you're here about your brother's winnings last night?" The smile was there, but looked forced. I glanced to the chair opposite him and when he indicated I could sit I sank into it, waving the waiter away. I'd just had breakfast after all, but it looked like service was just starting for the club members.
"I am, but tell me how Frederick is doing," I said with a polite smile. He gave a rough bark of laughter.
"Expelled, damn their eyes. Public drunkenness, they say. I don't doubt there were another dozen boys as soused as he was, but they were eager to get him out. Now I have to find him a damn commission," he grumbled softly.
"Hence why you're offering Pedro a half-rotten and leaky tub instead of the monkey you've pitched this gin palace to him?" I asked lightly, gauging that I could be a little insolent. This was definitely something my brother had brought out in me, though he says it wouldn't have been there if I'd stayed in England and my library the whole life and not had to run screaming from spear-wielding primitives too many times for my liking. I worried I'd touched a nerve as the old dog's ears went back and he bared his teeth momentarily.
"How dare you sir!" he said indignantly, but there was no throwing of cutlery or even the crunching up of newspaper. As the waiter brought a plate of ham and eggs, he tucked in as civilly as you please, wiping his mouth before going on. "The Sun Seeker II is a perfectly seaworthy vessel, with a crew that regularly make money using it for pleasure cruises around the Cornish islands." My eye-ridges shot up.
"It has a crew?" I asked. This changed things. I had been expecting little more than a row boat or dinghy with a mouldy sail, but this made it sound like it was of some considerable size.
"Three of 'em. Sailors that got done for buggery on the way home from India. They were to be flogged, or sent home, but I figured I could use them given the news about my father. Oh, it was his," he said, spearing a mushroom. "Pride and joy, it was, but I never got my sea legs. It's too small for me, even at thirty feet." I whistled. "So you can tell your damn brother that it's worth every penny I don't have, and I'd hold onto it for the governor's sake, but... bah," he chewed, and swallowed with the look of someone mulling over regrets.
"Better that my brats don't have to fight over it. They'd just leave it to rot. At least now it pays for its' own upkeep with the tours. And even if your brother turns it into some ghastly gin palace, it'll be used rather than just another thing to fight over in the law courts." I thought of his three atrocious sons I'd met when I'd been round to the Caruthers', and four equally ghastly daughters even Prillapintu wouldn't have touched for a pension, as much as one of them had made fumbling, grasping motions at my crotch under the table as they were setting dessert out and decided he had a point.
"Don't worry, Captain. I think we'll be happy to give it a good home. The Sun Seeker II, you say? What happened to the Sun Seeker I?" I asked, amicably. The old dog snorted, and rolled his eyes.
"It found the Sun, didn't it?" I couldn't help but grin. "Governor's favourite joke. He never told me the truth of it either. Probably went down in a gentle breeze and he was too ashamed to tell." I stayed to keep the old duffer company, chatting and taking down more information about the dock it was held, the crew of three sodomites that had been running it out to the lighthouses and fast trips round the coast for tourists to pay for upkeep, and blow me if he didn't even have a receipt drawn up, signed by both of us and the waiter as a witness. I took it to the nearest branch of Lloyd's to get it verified, and just like it, Casa del Piccino was now up a wonderful boat.
--
As soon as I'd got home and told my brother of the details, and handed him the copy of the purchase receipt, he was off to Cornwall by the next train with the plans to pick up every pretty girl from Bristol to the Lizard Point. The fact that the crew were all as gay as a congregation of bishops seemed only to cheer him up. "More for me!" he said, swinging a hat on his head and dashing out in the vague direction of Paddington.
I might have joined him, but I had a series of lectures I had promised to attend, and to help a few newcomers to town. My knowledge of a few obscure languages has led me to sometimes being the go-to layabout to hep when translators are required by upmarket hotels - a drake in my circumstances can't be too choosy. However, it was only five days or so before I returned home to Mrs Blanche holding out a telegram with a smile doing its' best to crease that normally iron-hard swan's beak.
"From your half-brother, Professor Piccino," she said, as officious and clipped as possible, struggling to hide the grin. Of course, it had been opened. I wasn't altogether surprised to find what was inside.
am sick stop
please come at once stop
something strange with the boat stop
pc
Much like my normally taciturn housekeeper, I couldn't help but let a smile cross my lips at the first two lines. Seasick after a few days. Pedro and Caruthers had more in common than I thought. The idea of the cocky half-quetzal heaving his guts over the side while his chosen Dorset popsies either joined him at the rail or looked sullenly at their host was enough to cheer me up even after sitting through yet another meaningless talk about nothing interesting. But the second lines made my hackles raise a little.
Was that just him not understanding that sailing wasn't easy? No, he'd gone back to South America and back several times since he'd first been shipped over here by my father, he couldn't be averse to just the sea. I got that uncomfortable feeling that I was approaching something for which there wasn't an easy answer. I folded the paper up and tapped it on my knuckles softly, thinking.
"Mrs Blanche?" I called out. "Do you remember what I have in my diary for the next few days?"
"You have a fundraiser's dinner for Duke Bradshaw tomorrow night, and Mr McAlester wanted you round for dinner on Friday."
"Tell them I've had to cancel, urgent family matters in Cornwall." I said, having noticed she hadn't retired entirely to quarters, hovering out of the way, perhaps to see if I would burst into laughter or have some other form of reaction to my brother's plight.
"I had a runner out to get tickets for you, Professor. First class to Bristol, leaving first thing tomorrow morning." There was a reason my father kept the old bird around, despite her sour looks and noxious manner, I realised for the umpteenth time, watching as she bustled back to set the table for dinner.
The Sun Seeker II was moored in a small village called Trentaffen, about an hour's journey of having the teeth jolted from my skull over rutted roads by a carriage driven by a cheerful yokel who told me it would have been easier to get a boat down from further up the coast, don't you know. My sour mood and wish to clobber him with my walking stick began to fade though as we reached the sea and I was hit by that unique mix of salt and drying seaweed that is much more invigorating than it has a right to be
I had expected, judging by Pedro's letter, a grey, cloudy pillar of abject misery looming over Trentaffen but instead it was as bright and cheerful a day as you could wish for on the English coast. It was a small, isolated little horse-shoe bay with a smaller walled harbour to keep the worst of the weather away from the more fragile vessels, and as we got onto the shore road and clattered through town I soon identified one of the rocking ships at anchor as our new boat.
It was indeed, painted green, a lovely dark colour like locomotives so that the gold lettering of her name stood proud when the bow lifted from the water - though as I was to find out, the water was as clear as glass when you got close so you could see it even when the waves rose high on that sunlit day, and every day I remained in port in Trentaffen.
"Oi wouldn't give 'er too close a look if oi were you," growled the driver, seeing my attention. "Some town fop came in, took one look at 'er, an' changed her bloody name! Bad luck so that is, you must know, bein' a worldly feller an' all, Professor, beggin' your pardon, sir," he said, doffing his hat quickly as he remembered who he was speaking to. Well, I don't claim to be an expert on sailing - I know not to call the deck the floor, but that's about it. But it did seem to strike a note with me in terms of old sailors' superstitions. But that was absurd, surely. How could Prilla's name change on the boat result in his illness so quickly? It made my stomach clench, and yet I couldn't fathom a proper reason for it out.
"It used to be the Sun Seeker II... what did he change it to?" I asked, in what I hoped was a conversational way and not me desperately trying to find what had happened to my brother.
"The Champagne Lady, if you so believe it, sir. Boarded 'er with four lovely gals he picked up along the way, an' came back heavin' his guts up. Lucky them sailors are hearty lads, even for foreigners, keepin' them girls nicely entertained. Doubt we'll make honest men of 'em yet, but they never steered the Seeker wrong while they 'ad 'er, so there's good sailor blood in 'em yet," he said proudly.
I quirked an eye-ridge and glanced back to the boat in confusion. Hadn't the sailors been done for buggery? Why were they now making moves on Prilla's girls? As I looked once again at the Sun Seeker, I noticed a figure on deck of the green boat. It certainly wasn't Pedro, but it looked too shapely to be one of the hired hands I'd heard about. Not that I had much time to think about it, for we were soon round a corner and rolling to a stop outside the inn. I paid the driver (generously, when he might be your only way out of a place it pays to leave a good impression) and headed into the Crow's Nest in search of my ill half-brother.
I found Pedro in Room Four, still huddled on the floor with one arm around a tin bucket and his normally impeccable feathers scattered awry. But nothing about his ailment seemed to say this was anything other than a particularly rough, and long-lasting case of sea-sickness. He was able to meet my eyes, make a noise that might have sounded apologetic before he was back over the barrel making hideous noises and I left him to it. Rooms One through Three were apparently occupied by the local girls picked up and the sailors from the Sun Seeker, none of whom answered their doors.
My nerves began to jangle when I asked the innkeeper and he said he hadn't heard hide nor hair of them since they got in, save to open the doors briefly to snatch in platters of food three times a day, and then the doors were shut once again. But they were paid up, and paid up well until the end of the month. I felt my wallet aching. Had Mr Chambinero paid?
"No sir, it were the fourth lady aboard. She told me that Professor Piccino would be around and could talk terms of payment over with her. She's keepin' an eye on your boat, so she is." Now that sent every alarm bell off in my head. One of the local Cornish girls, keeping an eye on the boat, and seemingly having enough money to pay for bed and board for seven people for a month? I gave the proprietor a long squint, but the oystercatcher just turned his bespectacled eyes on me with a guileless nod, and brought out a spare key. "This one's for room Five, if you needs it, Professor. Hot dinner I serves at seven, and breakfast stops at nine."
Nonplussed, I pocketed the key, thanked him, and headed out the inn and down towards the quay. I must have looked a right sight in my fine travelling clothes, not ready for the water at all, but I needed answers more than waterproofs right now, asking an urchin if it was okay to walk down the slipway and onto the Sun Seeker.
"It's the Champagne Lady now, mister!" the little tyke said with a twist of his beak. "You gonna name it again, mister fancy London-dragon? At least you're not a goddamn dago!" My walking stick flicked out and over his ear and he squawked, dashing towards his friends who hooted and called as I glared at them. I'm perfectly free to call my brother whatever names he deserves, the stupid perverted ass, but he's all the family I have, and I won't let some dock bumpkin call him names.
With no dock master to tell me off, I walked down as far as I could down the slip road until I was just at the water's edge, and checked the boat once more. Nobody was on deck. I spread my wings and chanced a jump from the quay to the boat with a flap of my wings and upon landing, began to wobble, tail and arms going like a windmill to keep me balanced. Dragons, particularly skinny ones like myself, are not actually that skilled with our wings - blame years of inbreeding if you like, but often the muscles are not as well developed as you'd like - certainly sustained flight is out of the question. I was just bracing myself for a Cornish bath when a firm hand gripped mine, hauling me onto the deck and right into the bosom of a woman I doubt I shall ever see the like of again.
She was Echidna nebulosa - a Snowflake Moray Eel. She was a head taller than I was, and her hips were probably wider than my shoulders . Her body was creamy white, marked by charcoal black splotches trimmed with a golden hue that seemed to make the dark patterns look superimposed, as if someone felt the yellow was too bright and tried to paint over it with messy black. Whatever editor had tried to reduce her glow had failed in her eyes which shone as gilt as the letters of the boat's name I'd just been staring at while trying to gauge if I could make the jump.
Her lower half was squeezed into a pair of tight trousers of some slightly glossy material that must have been waterproof, and from her knees down she was dressed in solid leather boots soaked with salt-stains. Her top half practically ballooned out of a half-undone white frilled shirt - it was a struggle to guess where her scales began and her clothing began, an issue I have run into a few times as a pale-scaled dragon. But the thick, heavy captain's coat she wore like some buccaneer of years gone by in a rich blue stood out well enough, and screamed her role aboard my ship. She took in my evaluating glance with a huge grin showing those powerful sharp teeth - not much by certain draconic clan standards (I'm an intimate with a number of Glassmaws) but enough to call 'predator' in large enough font to get the attention away from whatever scandal the tabloids were breaking.
"Climb aboard, Captain," she said with a grin, turning away to give me a full view of how the coat split at the small of her back, draping over her thick tail and even thicker haunches. By god, how had she squeezed herself into those tight pirate pants I'd never know. My eyes must have been round as saucers, but I stood rooted in place by the tiller as she casually sauntered down the deck, occasionally pulling at a rope and I realised the boom was swaying a little in the breeze, the wind tugging at the sail.
"Shall we cast off?" she asked, giving me a lidded look, and I don't know why, how or what caused me to do so, but I took the tiller in hold and held on tight. The mooring lines slid free, and we drifted momentarily into the mouth of the harbour. I remember how clear the water was as it lapped at the sides of the boat, the sheer glassy expanse of the sea reaching out ahead, marked by the smallest of ripples, the great pillars of black slate rising up either side of me as I turned the rudder to point between them and out into the water. I even glanced up and saw the little urchin I'd paid for information, him alone out of the pack of young gulls staring open-beaked at me as I helmed the little boat like I'd been born to it. But I couldn't have told you for the life of me why I did it or what was going through my head. All I knew was that as soon as I had the Sun Seeker pointed towards the open sea, the wind lashed, rippled, and filled the sail. The boat leapt like a pouncing cat and leaned onto its' side and we were skimming out of the gates and into the glassy Cornish sea.
I stayed, rooted on the spot, twitching the tiller from time to time, guiding us further and further from land, further into the Atlantic without any rhyme or reason for doing so. I just... did it. The she-eel stalked up and down the deck, occasionally tugging at a rope with what seemed like the barest of efforts, and every step wobbling that perfect thick body within its' piratical dress. I knew something was wrong, there was a part of me that was screaming to stop, to throw myself overboard or turn for shore and yet... yet I knew if I was to do that, to break the spell, it would be all the worse for me. My brother's illness would seem like nothing compared to what this woman could and would do if I didn't obey.
So I stood there, rooted to the wheel, taking us further and further from land until England was little more than a smudge on the horizon and the dark stacks of cloud began to roll in overhead. But the wind, if anything, seemed to die down, the boat losing speed, coasting to and soon adrift, becalmed in the midst of what was otherwise a moody, threatening storm.
"Quite the seaman, aren't you, Leonardo?" my mysterious first mate said with a smile, checking that the boat swayed and settled happily. She padded down the deck towards me, each footfall on the planking impossibly loud in the swirling tempest all around us. I found myself able to step away from the stern, not realising how sweaty my palms were from having clasped the wood of the tiller for so long.
"I..." I began, not sure what to say. Pedro or even my father might have had some witticism about yard splicing or club hauling or comparisons between the sail and her bodice, but I was still shaking a little from the spell cast on me. I'm not a gullible person, or one given to flights of fancy, but I've visited the darker depths of the world where logic and reason simply don't hold up, and this was one of those moments. Like being in the shaman's tent, or under the night sky when something strange was happening with the stars and lights in the sky. Maybe there was a perfect explanation for everything, and it would come in time. But my heart beat as I adjusted my glasses and tried to think of what you could say to a sea-witch like this.
"Take as long as you like, Professor. I can keep my father's wrath away from this boat as long as I like," she said, seating herself just above the hatch to below deck, watching me with an amused expression. "He has a lot more to focus on that one little breach of sailor's etiquette. I have free reign to do with this little tub as I see fit." She tapped the boat with a finger, a smile not quite matching the look in her eyes. I swallowed.
"You... aren't going to hurt any of us?" I said in a little voice. It's one thing to act the arrogant noble toff in town, and when you've been chasing around after your idiot brother trying to make amends for so long, it becomes second nature, but it's easy to tell when breeding, haughtiness and social standing count for naught and when you're faced with a sorceress that has already made you sail a ship into open waters and apparently has control of the entire weather system of this part of the coast, you play the card you get, even if that includes grovelling and pleading.
"Such a gentleman, Professor Piccino," the eel purred softly, her mouth open in a more oddly unnerving smile because it was real this time, in her eyes too. Enjoyment instead of just mirth and amusement. A playmate, rather than a child wondering what to do with its' toys next. "Thinking of your brother, the three sailors you've never met, the three girls that 'Captain' Chambinero picked up?" she asked with a twinkle of her eyes. "Seven lives you're asking about, not just the one," she murmured, and something twigged in my mind.
"Seven lives for seven seas?" I asked, not quite sure where the implication came from, but it was there, for certain. She clapped her hands together.
"Oho, you learn fast... yes, it's a special number for a reason," she cooed lightly. "Somewhat coincidental, but when you have seven crew members on board a boat, it rings a bell, so to speak... and when that boat has recently been re-named..." she said, eyes glittering. "It becomes so much easier to work magic upon it. Laying one man low with sickness, and turning three hardbitten sailors from queer as you like to working to keep three land-lasses satisfied night and day," she purred. "Father always could use good stock to serve him, and that was seed going to waste from those three," she said with a wistful smile.
I'd never even met the three men who had been the guardians of the Sun Seeker but it made me just a touch uncomfortable to think that they'd been coerced into bedding the farmers' daughters that Pedro had hoped to claim for himself. The witch was watching me with a long smile on her snout, her wet, slick scales gleaming even in the lack of any real sunlight in this grey wall of storms that surrounded the little boat that felt so far from safety. I could feel fear gripping my stomach, threatening to send me into an illness to rival Prillapintu's, back in the Crow's Nest inn.
"S-so... you're..." I began, haltingly, trying to get my natural scientific curiosity sated. It was about all that I could really think to do to keep myself sane, to follow the line of questioning. Could she explain more? Could she reveal the deep dark secrets of the ocean? Perhaps a part of me, fool that it was, was hoping to have material to share at one of the Society's lectures. Damn waste of time. They'd have thrown me out for a fantasist.
Nor did my shipmate give me any answer beyond a smile. A sheet of rain began to patter and rumble down the boat, not blown by any wind I could see as the sails gave barely a ripple even in the grey light, but as the curtain washed over her and hid her temporarily from view, I had the fleeting glimpse as it passed of pale white scales marked with yellow and black. In that instant of the rain crashing over her form, her captain's clothes had vanished entirely, leaving her standing upon the deck as bare as the day she was... well, I was doubting she'd ever been born at all, at this point, but the point stood.
I had a moment's glance through the curtain of rain at the sorceress' naked form, before the water crashed over me too, cold and sharp like I'd just run through a pane of glass for a second, and then I was naked too, my travelling boots, fine coat, walking stick... all of it just gone, as if I'd been hit by a rogue wave and it had stolen all my attire in one crash. I shivered, the light dusting of rain dewing on my scales as the curvaceous eel approached. Now devoid of her attire, I could see how voluptuous her hips were, how full her chest was, capped with plump, prominent nipples. My mouth was dry as each motion sent her a-wobble down the deck, approaching me.
"Oh, very good," she said, eyes glittering. "You'll do very nicely, Professor," she crooned, hand touching my chest, sliding down over my slim pecs in a way that had me shuddering, exhaling low and warm even amidst the grey cold sea air. I stood stock still, hands still by my sides as she padded about me, trailing over my shoulder, between my folded wings and down to my backside (which she took a teasing squeeze of and I tried not to react too strongly to), and looked just about to emerge from my other side when those tremendous aquatic breasts crushed to my shoulders, her dainty hand wrapped round my waist, and took hold of my member, stroking it gently with thumb and forefinger wrapped about it in an O-shape, her pinkie extended as if she were taking tea with the duchess, damn it.
"A-aaah..." I breathed, looking down as I was given the sort of attention you normally paid good money for in the... less reputable establishments in Haymarket. Not that I was a regular, you understand, but thanks to my darling half-brother I had... ended up being a patron, both willingly and unwillingly. And this daughter of Poseidon certainly put many of the madams to shame. She needed no oils, her smooth slippery fish-like scales and the pattering of the drizzle enough lubricant to slide up and down my manhood, using her open palm to cup the family jewels on the backstroke.
"Mmmm... slit-less," she teased. "Not like Señor Chambinero at all..." I flushed. Father had mentioned, grumbling, that there was a mammalian influence somewhere back in the family tree but damned if I could remember anything more about it than the fact that unlike Prilla, my tackle was free for the world to see if my underwear was snatched away in a hurry. I doubted whether even a more traditional reptile would have been able to keep his equipment sealed away though with that immense bosom pushing between my wings, and that hand working so slow and gentle. In a rhythm, I sensed, like the way the surf washes in and out of tide pools, or up and down a beach.
"You... why didn't you..." I began, protesting and feeling the first ability to squirm against her touch, but her other hand draped around my chest, holding me against her, and she giggled.
"...take your brother to bed? I couldn't profane myself with someone who breaks the unspoken rules of the sea," she cooed lightly, enjoying the way I jumped as she grazed a blunt claw along the underside of my member, following the artery line. She was slow, and deliberate, so unlike some women I've seen in action with their hands. Coaxing, teasing me. "But you own this boat too... she responds to you," she murmured. "You think it was all me that got us so far out of port? The boat would never have allowed you to handle her like that if you weren't hers, by right of salt." This was all too much. I hadn't the foggiest idea what she was talking about - I hadn't even brought the receipt for the boat, damn it. And yet she was talking about the craft as if it had a personality of its' own. I curled my toes against the deck, as if trying to feel some heartbeat in the ship against my nakedness.
She pushed me forward then, and my hands gripped the boom, struggling for balance as my chosen hold rocked and swayed under my touch, and still she loomed over me from behind, making my sticky product ooze onto the wooden boards between my feet. "No... I couldn't. Which is why he lies ill... and will do so until you give me a child, Professor Piccino," she murmured low in my ear, pulling all the way back to weigh and cup my testes. I swallowed.
"You want..." Her teeth seized on my horn, tugging a little to pull my head back, right into the path of the drizzle that misted my glasses, and ran down my muzzle.
"Elvers. Your elvers. And I will not return to my father until I have them," she growled, menace in her tone, like the rumble of distant thunder or the roar of a wave breaking against a stone beach. And what choice did I have? I was miles from shore, on a boat on my own that normally took three to crew it, with as much sailing knowledge as a wide-eyed cabin boy who'd just run away from home to steal aboard a navy vessel.
So when she moved to nibble at my exposed neck, and brush her tongue against my muzzle, still quivering like a leaf, I turned to press my lips to hers. I think it took her slightly aback, quite how active in turn I was, but as a wise man once said, when life has you in the mangle, pulling away only makes it more painful. You must simply try and ride it along until it releases you, however unpleasant it is.
And it wasn't like a figure of hers was a hardship, really. Women never credit it, but a stick-thin figure does very little for me. When the deed is done, you want something you can get your arms around and bury your face in... well, I do at least, but so does Prillapintu (not that you'll ever hear him admit it, or find any of the heftier ladies you'll catch him nuzzling into the bosoms of believing it either). So I did detect those golden eyes widen just a moment as I pushed my tongue past her own teeth and began to play with hers.
Well, she must have seen an opportunity too good to pass up, for she yanked me away from the stern of the ship, throwing me to the damp, drizzly deck, my pride standing fast and erect in the face of the swirling tempest above. It's not the strangest thing I've ever seen while in the sack, but it was certainly unnerving, especially with my Circe standing astride, looking down at me with a smug smile between her heaving breasts, tail lashing behind her as she sought her prey. Then with the smoothest motion I ever saw, especially upon a woman of her size, she folded her knees, squatting down and guiding my cockhead to her waiting tunnel.
My experience with aquatics in bed was limited before this point - since then I've encountered piratical tribal reef sharks in the Caribbean, amazonian she-orcas, chubby Bayou catfish and deviously minded dolphins, but that curvaceous, matronly eel was my first, and all I could do was stare up like a schoolboy as she descended, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as she engulfed me inside. She was slick, of course, not like oil, but wet and smooth all the same. It's difficult to describe without resorting to base terms that will put one off what was undeniably a very pleasurable sensation. I remember closing my eyes, head tilting back and nearly sending my glasses sprawling across the deck as she hilted me inside her, grinning down between those heavy breasts as she squatted upon me.
"Ah... mmmh..." she crooned, my mysterious sea serpent whose name I would never end up knowing. I throbbed, groaned, curled my toes and did what might have been termed of as 'lying back and thinking of England', but that would imply I wasn't enjoying it. She took her pleasure in her own time, moving from the almost relaxed backwards squat to almost hunched over me, hands on my shoulders, hammering her hips down, hissing softly as her hefty form wobbled, bounced and jiggled about, each time she crushed those heavy hips into mine.
As I said before, I am not a sexually active character. Many of my escapades before Pedro arrived were mere accidents, mistaken identity or a fondness from a less civilised girl who was curious about the white dragon from England in the pith helmet who was discoursing with her father about the lay of the land and whether the other locals were likely to use his wedding tackle to decorate their spears. Since my half-brother intruded, my life has become a lot more... exciting in that regard, which is why I've begun to write it all down. But you must understand I'm not a virgin. By god I felt like one though beneath the ministrations of that snowflake moray.
She was an animal, quite literally, savage and greedy, taking what she wanted with each swing of her heavy form into me, threatening to pulverise my hips with each down thrust. Crying out again, my glasses askew and speckled with rain, she shoved a tit into my waiting muzzle to stifle me and I dutifully took a hold with my teeth, tongue flicking and running over the exposed nub and taking a moment's pleasure at the extra, serpentine flick of her body against mine in enjoyment. My manhood throbbed, twitching, my pre mixing with her own slick juices that puddled about my hips and sank onto the decking below.
Even muffled in her tits, she must have heard my wail of ecstasy as I found my peak, crying out into that bountiful flesh as she drove me to the edge, my waist aching with each of her slams down onto me, the top of my tail bruised against the deck. I could feel myself letting loose inside her, throb-twitching as my essence splattered inside the she-eel and her face curled back in that lurid smile. I panted, leaning back as I gulped in great lungfuls of the salty air to get my strength back.
"Mmmm. That will do nicely, Leo," she crooned, using the affectionate name for me that nobody other than Prilla used. Maybe that was what encouraged me to take the next steps, because as she sat back, looking mighty pleased with herself, I think she really thought that was all the skinny little smartypants was good for. She's not the first and she won't be the last to think that, of course, but I was full of righteous indignation enough to prove her wrong that time.
She had settled back on my lap as if she'd just played a full house at poker, smug as you please, but balanced more precariously than she might have liked, I bet she would have tried to cross one leg over the other had I lain there for long enough to give her a chance. But I swallowed a gulp of air and pushed forward, and I had a sight of the sea-witch's surprised, shocked eyes as I upended her onto her back, grabbed her ankles, and hauled those thick thighs up to begin hammering between them again.
She cried out, which I took heart from, looking down... I must have looked such a fool, as angry as a skinny, bespectacled dragon can do after you've ridden him senseless, but I swear I gave her as good as I got in that first round, and she was moaning delightedly, clutching at her fat breasts and writhing on the deck in bliss as I drove her to orgasm, and as I felt her shudder and clench with her headfins awry, I gave her another load with a panting climax, meeting her gaze through the rain-spattered glass, chest heaving as she stared at me. It was as though she couldn't quite believe I'd rattled her again, of my own volition. She didn't look vulnerable, afraid as some women do if you take the initiative. She seemed more astonished that it happened at all, but those teeth came out in a broad smile and she pulled me in to another deep, long kiss to drain my air once again.
But do you know, she let me catch my breath as she rose, sauntered to the stern and bent right over, tail arched over her back as she held on either side of the tiller, exposing herself and daring me to have another go. I don't know how I had the energy, but I took her at the helmsman's position, and then twice more - one with me dangling dangerously off the prow and her legs around my waist and once against the mast, the plump sorceress howling to the sky and clinging to the wood with her thick tail draped around my neck like a feather boa. God knows how I survived, it all turned into a blur of salty, slick fish-scales, heavy flesh that distended perfectly when you grabbed it, the pitter-patter of grey rain and the wash of the surf against the hull and those golden eyes looking at me with rising amusement.
But I must have given out some time. Sprawled upon the deck, my back against the gunwales, cock finally limp and my orbs drained, blowing like a bellows and somehow still with my glasses on. She was standing there, naked and wet again, hands on her hips expectantly, but I shook my head. I had no more to give, and her face curled into a smile, dropping to one knee beside me, her talon lifting my head to stare into those golden eyes once more. I moaned softly. There was nothing left, surely.
"Oh, I could keep you going until the very soul drained from you, Leonardo Piccino,"she crooned, as if reading my thoughts. "The thought is appealing, in some regards. But no, my mischief here should come to an end. And you acquitted yourself magnificently, my handsome little dragon." This with another gentle pump-stroke of my flaccid length. "I think you and your brother might agree the boat is more trouble than it's worth... I don't think you'll mind if I deal with it in my own way. But..." she stood up, and it was easier to see my essence dripping down the inside of her thigh.
"...but for now... Leo... I'm afraid it's man overboard for you."
And just like that, the clouds she had been holding back as if the four walls of a room to leave the little green boat rocking gently upon an otherwise hostile sea began to roll in. I looked up as the rain began to lash down harder and harder, panting, wheezing, but she was gone. She had been there a moment, and now there was no sign of the eel sorceress. I scrambled to rise but the weather was too fast. Winds grabbed the sail, lashing it to and fro, the boom swinging across the deck like the Sword of Damocles, rigging tearing loose. I screamed as the waves hit, pitching the craft this way and that, and then, naked and exhausted, a wave took me in the chest and hauled me over the edge into the grey foam.
They found me, apparently, the next day upon the Trentaffen beach, in my travelling clothes (thoroughly ruined) but devoid of my glasses. I knew that nobody would believe my story and so I kept mum about it as they poured hot brandy down my throat and wrapped me up in blankets in the inn dining hall - claiming that I barely remembered anything. The three sailors had made their excuses and left late last night, seeming to have woken from some form of stupor, and Pedro's illness had cleared seemingly overnight. He was still shaky-legged and the colour was gone from his cheeks but he was able to sit by me as the harbourmaster asked what had happened to the boat.
"I don't know," I said again, honestly enough, and that seemed to be enough for the old duffer, who gave me a long look, muttered something about city folk thinking they knew how to sail, and left me in the company of my half-brother who met my eyes, and dropped the subject entirely.
We spent a more modest few days in Trentaffen, for the money that had been paid for the inn was good, but a whole month felt like overkill. The farmers' daughters turned out to be amazingly dull company once the rogering those sailors gave them had worn off and we sent for carts to take them back to their homes while we indulged in the fine mussels and cider they make at the end of England.
The wreckage of the Champagne Lady didn't turn up until a year later. We received a telegram in London from the innkeeper who said it had washed up, and out of curiosity I came down to see it. Prilla stayed at home, saying the boat had never brought him joy when it was worthy of the name, and he doubted it would as driftwood, unless he could set fire to it.
Perhaps there had been something in the summons that sounded unusual, because it certainly had the town in murmurs when I arrived. It seemed that the green boat had washed ashore in much the same place I had been found after my jaunt into the storm the year before, smashed to pieces, but most strangely of all with both names visible, the Champagne Lady on the port side, the Sun Seeker II on the starboard. The only person who seemed to have the faintest idea was that seagull urchin who'd shown me the way down to the quay, who insisted it was sea witches, that I was under their spell and they should burn the whole thing. He'd tried, at that, with a bucket of pitch and a lit taper.
It was as well he hadn't, because as I peered into the shattered remains of the boat, I saw something glossy, white, black and gold in its' depths and for a moment my heart lurched, wondering if it was my Circe, not as powerful as she claimed it was. But as I reached in and touched, it wasn't the soft, pliable, wobbly backside of the eel I knew... it was an egg. Patterned like my old companion, but undeniably, distinctively a dragon egg. I held it in my hands, feeling my heart thump at a million miles an hour.
"What's all that then?" the harbourmaster asked, peering at it while puffing over the side of his pipe. "Your brother's sins come home to roost then, like all those other hands?" he asked. Still with my egg in my hands, I turned to him.
"What do you mean?" I asked. He looked at me strangely, one eye larger than the other, and then grinned.
"Arr. I forgot you wasn't up with all the local gossip. Sorry about that, Professor. See, them three ladies that your crew uh... attended to, back that year ago? All of them had healthy baby boys, an' blow me if not three months later, they all vanished the same night?" he asked, laughing. "Spirits of the sea, they said. Most like as not they knew what a sin they'd done, an' found some passing nuns to hand them off on," he laughed, looking at the egg. "Run now, you might just catch 'em."
I wasn't paying attention to him. Three children from the bewitched sailors, and I'd finished in her five times. Four to keep, four daughters plus three sons for seven children... seven children for seven seas... and that left an eighth. I looked up, out to the sea, and I swear for a moment I saw a flash of a long, finned tail, patterned in black, white and gold, vanish beneath the waves.
"What do you want us to do with it, if anythin', Professor?" the harbourmaster was asking, kicking at the driftwood with a booted foot. The green paint was still in remarkably good condition.
"Is there a good ship-builder along the coast that can use these in the construction?" I asked thoughtfully. The harbourmaster glanced to the innkeeper, and to the trap driver who'd come down to peer at the wreckage himself.
"Arr. It's not good enough for the hull, but he could craft it into the prow, or bits o' the decking," the old coot said with a long thoughtful smile. "Or even just furniture. Map table, or the bed," he suggested. That brought a smile to my face, and I nodded, looking back to the egg. She wasn't even born yet and I was spoiling her rotten with her own, custom-built boat. But given her maternal heritage, who knew what would happen if I wasn't going to cater to my little Circe's every whim?
"Call it the Sun Seeker III," I told them, tucking my unhatched daughter under my arm and heading for the Crow's Nest for a strong Cornish cider. I had just become a father, all. I'd earned it.