Page 34 of A Flash of Golden Fire

“Well fucked, and I thank you very much.”

Donatello’s cheeks reddened, but he grinned. “I’d expect no less.”

“Tony,” he said as if to chastise Donatello for speaking the obvious.

“I’m sorry, captain. Only, I’ve known you for so long. And I do have ears, you know.”

“So there’s no confusion, Mr White is twenty-two, and here willingly. You know, I do havesomemorals.”

“Of course, Captain. More than most, I suspect.”

“That may well be. I do try.”

I sat up but made sure the blankets were covering the important bits.

“What shall I do today, Captain?” I asked, my gaze drifting down his body.

He was dressed in a fine pair of black breeches that buttoned in the front, navy style, and a shirt made of some kind of rough-hewn fabric. A work shirt—not one of his fancy white ones with the full sleeves that made him look like an aristocrat. And he wore the boots, of course. I really liked the boots.

“Well, you’d better check on your chickens,” he said.

Oh fuck.

I blinked back sudden emotion.

“We’re under a light sail at the moment, which means we can relax for a spell. The winds are low and we aren’t moving much. There are repairs and general maintenance that need doing. And my cabin requires a good dusting.”

For fuck’s sake!

“Yes, Captain,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“And bring your belongings here.”

I nodded. “Yes, I will. But…what if everyone finds out?”

The captain frowned. “Finds out what?”

I glanced at Donatello, then returned my gaze to Captain Martin. “You know…that I’m…serving you in those ways…”

“It’s difficult to keep things from the men, Rooster. I’m sure they know already.”

“What!”

“Perhaps not all of them, but rumours do circulate.”

He and Donatello went back to looking at the maps and discussing our future route. I assumed he didn’t want me to get out from under the sheets until they were finished and Donatello had left, so I spent some time enjoying the comfort of my predicament.

I sniffed under my arm to see if the bath I’d had the night before had done anything. I did, in fact, smell much better. The scent of Captain Martin’s expensive soap lingered. I recalled what he’d done with it and marvelled again at the man’s perverse ingenuity. I spread my arms out to each side and stared up at the ceiling of wooden boards, puffing air from my mouth to lift a piece of errant hair off my forehead. I hoped they wouldn’t be much longer. I wanted to get dressed and go see about the chickens.

When they’d finally gone, I slipped out of bed and examined the togs on the chair. There was a striped white shirt, a dark blue short jacket, and tan breeches with brass buttons on the side and on the front flap.Not bad, not bad. There was some kind of soft undergarment, but I dismissed it out of hand. Who wanted to bother with another layer? Not me. And stockings. Maybe my boots would be more comfortable with stockings. I’d never had such fine things in my life.

I put everything on, feeling strange and as if I was living another’s life. The breeches fit well and ended about two inches above my ankles, so I didn’t have to roll them. The shirt was a bit large but I tucked the tails into the breeches and rolled up the sleeves, and the garment looked all right.

There was a looking glass in the corner of Captain Martin’s room. I went over and examined my reflection.

In all honesty, I appeared as some deranged asylum escapee, dressing up in fancy clothes that didn’t suit. Perhaps I was so used to seeing myself in rags, I couldn’t fathom the result of a set of fine togs. I made a face and held my arms up, making fists, to complete the effect. Then I sobered and tried to arrange my hair into a less wild arrangement.

Having been properly fucked before my hair had fully dried made that almost impossible, but I smoothed the strands where I could. The situation would have been much worse without the trim Captain Martin had given me, which had been very thoughtful. Thank goodness my beard hairs were slow-growing and I’d been able to snag a razor from another crewmate, one I kept wrapped and hidden. I had been amused to see him searching for the implement and then simply succumbing to the rampant growth of his whiskers. They suited him, anyhow, and he’d thank me if he knew.

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