GOING BOSTAL
2. Out on the Town (part d)
The tavern went by the rather colourful name The Drenched Pussy, but it was still far too early in the day for there to be more than a scattering of inebriated sailors and stevedores frequenting the place. The murky front windows faced east over the harbour, reluctantly allowing the ruddy light of late afternoon to filter into the taproom's shabby interior.
The lanterns hanging from the ceiling hadn't been lit yet – probably in an effort to save oil – but there was enough light for Darkling and Kana to pick their way across the well-worn floorboards, stepping carefully between prostrate bodies and dented flagons. Cleaning up the trash – whether edible, potable or insensible – was obviously not a high priority in here.
Why is it, Darkling wondered to himself, recalling his conversation with Anna, that only Japanese schoolgirls and characters in Popeye cartoons wear those silly sailor outfits with the big collars and coloured scarves? Apart from the union-mandated neck scarves, which came in a range of hues and designs, the sailors and dockworkers in here were all somewhat shabbily dressed in a hodge-podge of rough tunics, smocks, breeches and – in one case – a kilt... No, wait... Darkling realised, craning his neck sideways at the thick-limbed, kilt-wearing drunkard. He shuddered. Oh, Lambult's knees! That's a woman! Ewwww!
"What's yer poison?" the barkeep crowed at Darkling and Kana as they approached the back of the taproom. She was a hefty wench, black-haired and sporting a multitude of tattoos, most of which were given more than adequate exposure by the ragged black halter she was wearing.
"Um, I don't suppose you have any kaffee?" Darkling asked, barely hoping.
The wench shook her head. "Nup."
"Vodka?"
"Nup."
"Water?"
"Water? We gots plenty of water. Right out the front door and keep walking straight!" The wench crowed raucously in what might have been a laugh.
"Well, what do you have?" Darkling asked, examining the large kegs standing behind the bar dubiously.
"Grog." The wench spat in a tarnished tankard and started rubbing the inside with a greasy rag. Whether she was cleaning the tankard or making sure it met the tavern's mandatory grottiness standard was debatable to Darkling.
"And...?" Darkling prompted.
"And grog," the wench told him.
Darkling just sighed. "Okay. Grog, then. Kana, what do you want?"
"Oh?" Kana just looked at him, startled. "Me?"
"Yes," Darkling said, gesturing to the barkeep. "Tell the... um, nice lady what you'd like."
"Um, er... do you have... Ah..." Kana paused, swallowing, as the wench's piercing dark eyes turned on her. "Th–that is, if you could... D–do you have hot mi—"
"We gots grog!" the wench barked, abruptly, making Kana jump several inches into the air. "Grog for everyone, and it ain't free! Show me the colour of ya coin, ya pasty-faced landcrawlers!"
"Here," Darkling sighed, reaching into his belt pouch and tossing a few pence onto the bench. "That's an earnest. If we end up drinking more than that – which isn't bloody likely," he added, under his breath, "start running a tab. I don't suppose you've got anything to ea—" He paused, looking around the filthy taproom with its unwashed clientele and faded, grimy walls. "Never mind."
"Take 'em with ya," the wench announced, slapping two tankards of some sort of vaguely liquid substance onto the bar in front of Darkling and Kana. "Serving wench's out back, providing some speshul services." She eyed Darkling momentarily, then shrugged. "Don't imagine you'd be her type, though."
"I'm heartbroken," Darkling said, dryly, taking the two tankards and motioning Kana over to a booth in the back corner.
Kana slid into the seat against the rear wall, then blinked in surprise as Darkling sat down next to her. "Oniichan?" she asked, hesitantly.
"Never sit with your back to the door," Darkling said, curtly. "That's one thing you either learn fast or learn the hard way."
"Oh." Kana wriggled momentarily. "I can sit on the other side, if you'd like—"
"This is fine," Darkling said, inwardly sighing as he looked at her. Her long brown hair was shining lustrously in the deep glow of late afternoon. The light also caught in her violet eyes, flecking them with golden highlights and making them even more enticing.
"If... if you say so, oniichan," Kana agreed, meekly.
"It'll be a while yet before the tailor finishes making that silk lining for your collars," Darkling said, lifting his tankard and eyeing the contents somewhat queasily. "And there doesn't seem to be much point poking around for a job down here, not if we're leaving in a couple of days. So let's just relax for a bit and enjoy our drinks, okay?"
"Um... hai, oniichan," Kana said, quietly.
This is stupid! Darkling fumed to himself. I'm sitting here with a girl who's not only sweet and gorgeous, but she's my slave, and I still can't bring myself to... to... I can't even bring myself to think about the things I can't bring myself to do! What would Wolfson do? What would Wolfson do if it were Anna sitting next to him? Well, heck – he wouldn't need to do anything! Anna would see to that herself! Doggedly, he lifted the tankard to his lips and took a determined slurp of the grog.
"Oniichan?" he heard Kana ask, in considerable concern, as he leaned out the side of the booth and contributed loudly to the unhygienic state of the floor. He felt her slender hand resting between his shoulder blades, stroking his back soothingly as he retched. Part of him melted inside at her touch. It almost made the vomiting worthwhile.
Eventually, though, he had to straighten up, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. Deliberately, he reached out and pushed both tankards to the other side of the table. "So... let's just relax for a bit," he said, smoothly.
"Are you all right?" Kana asked, resting her hand lightly on his forearm and looking at him anxiously. He forced a smile as the aftertaste of the grog slowly faded.
"I'm... I'm fine," he said, a little hazily, though his heart was pounding at the touch of her hand and the sight of her small pink lips so close to his. "I... I just..."
Just go on! he decided, abruptly. Be assertive! You won't get anything if you don't act like a man!
"Onii— ohh?" Kana's words were cut off as Darkling impulsively kissed her, leaning forward against her on the smooth wooden bench. Her lips were soft, and the inside of her mouth was moist and warm. Kana's fragrance enveloped him: the smell of her hair; the faint womanly scent of her bare skin; the lingering aroma of soap and scented oils.
Darkling was so caught up in the kiss that part of him – an instinct well-honed with time and experience – was suppressed. Specifically, his libido chose to ignore the fact that, though he was kissing Kana, she wasn't kissing him back. In fact, she was just sitting there, stock still, frozen with shock.
It wasn't until Darkling's hand slipped up awkwardly to cup Kana's right breast that her body finally snapped into motion. She jerked back from him, clumsily, tearing her lips from his. Darkling blinked as the moment shattered and he came back to reality. His hand had tumbled from Kana's leather vest onto the worn surface of the bench when she withdrew; and now, he drew it back uncertainly, not sure what to do with it.
"Ku— Kurai-sama..." Kana whispered, hesitantly. "I... I'm sorry."
"It's all right," Darkling said, softly, feeling the eyes of everyone in the tavern on him – even the unconscious ones. He could just imagine the barkeep's black-eyed gaze boring a hole into his back. I'm not Wolfson, he told himself, glumly. And she's not Anna. No, I'm just Darkling. What else was I expecting?
"Come on," he said, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Reaching up, he locked the leash back onto Kana's collar. "If the tailor's not done yet, we can just wait around until he is. Kana?" He turned around, to find Kana still huddled in the back corner of the booth, staring up at him with her violet eyes wide and trembling. Impatiently, he tugged at the leash, hard. "Kana," he snapped, "listen to what your master tells you."
Slowly, Kana brought her legs down, keeping her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. She inched her way across the bench, then climbed to her feet leadenly. Darkling was already picking his way back across the refuse-strewn floor.
"Hai, Kurai-sama," she mumbled, softly.
Next: Darkness gathers