Loris and Morg - Cover

Loris and Morg

Copyright© 2012 by Old Man with a Pen

Chapter 8: Windshift - Trading

"Here, young fella, you going to be alright?"

"Yes Sir. He's been a problem on the island for many days. There's been no woman safe alone ... nor boys, either. When he struck at me I had already started falling."

"He'll not bother you again." Boatman slipped the lad his promised metal. "While you're going to get your drum and sisters, stop by the harbormaster and ask him to come here. I need to report a death."

"Who died?"

"That giant. He missed his footing and fell between the wharf and the boat."

"I'll be more than happy to fetch the master ... accident, hey?"

"Aye ... the boat moved and he missed. Might have been my fault, I had a faulty hitch and I went to retie it." He winked at the boy.

The harbormaster showed up pretty late. The girls, two sets of twins and a loner, aged 18 to 16, were dancing a second time. Teenage titties gyrating in circles and hips swaying to the beat.

"Permission to board?"

"Aye, get yourself a cool one from the basket and hop on." Boatman explained, "I'll be with you in a minute ... the boy said the girls are thirsty." He and the youngster played on until the boy made that 'I'm stopping here.' beat familiar to all native dancers. The girls piled on board, grabbing a cool drink on the way. Boatman kept an eye on his goods and an eye on the girls goods.

"The boy said something about a death?" asked the harbormaster. "Accidental?"

"It could be construed as deliberate. The boat wasn't secure and I retied the bow line as he was stepping on board." He coughed and spit over the side. "Ship first and all that, ya know. Not that he was crew. I sail alone. No permission asked or given to board."

"Trying to board illegally was he?"

"Must have been, he struck the boy I'd hired to watch the boat while I was in your presence."

"Hired him, you say? That makes him temporary crew. I'd noticed a bruise when he came and told me of the fatality ... hit pretty hard, I'd say. That's assault. Trying to board after the assault? That's piracy. Any idea who it was?"

"Giant of a man, noticed him sitting on that bollard at the end of the wharf ... did I say something amiss?"

With the word 'giant' the harbormaster gave a start. "Boy ... come here ... now. Boatman claims he hired you to stand watch. What did he promise?"

"A metal."

"Has he paid?"

"Aye, master."

"Show me."

The boy fetched out a metal disk and asked, "you'll be giving it back, sir?"

"Aye."

"Real metal, heavy too." He handed it back and turned to Boatman. "What did you promise the girls?"

"Half a mo. STOP THIEF! STOP!" He flung a foot long heavy metal rod at a fleeing figure, zigging and zagging away. The thief zagged right into the rod.

Instead of a side of the head slap with the long part of the rod, the tumbling rod hit end first and sunk halfway into the runners skull. Dead in an instant.

Boatman was there almost before the rod.

Looking down at the still vibrating body, he mumbled, "Ah, well, laddie. You could have stopped. I imagine this is quicker than hanging. No lines. No waiting."

With the comment the crowd laughed ... a nervous laugh but laughter just the same.

He retrieved the rod, wiping it on the deceased's back.

"Anyone know this thief? Has he a mother, a father? No? Sister? Yes? Someone can fetch her?"

He gave the body a swift kick..."You've cursed me, young thief. I have a girl to raise. Damn your thieving hide to waterless lands."

He turned to go back to the harbormaster. He was right there. The pair walked back to the boat.

"That was amazing."

"An unlucky throw."

"Unlucky?"

"Aye, I meant to knock him out not kill him. Now I'll have to raise his little sister." He cursed, as only a sailor of many ports can curse. "If you islanders had had to hang him, you could take care of her."

"Older sister. Lucky I'd say, you haven't seen her."

"Older? How much older?"

"See for yourself, that's her, walking to the wharf."

A dream or a nightmare. High full round breasts, unaffected by gravity. Pink erasers tracing figure eights, she sashayed as she walked. Walked? nay, Glided.

Every man adjusted his pants or loincloth as she stalked by.

While every other woman, girl, female on the surface of this planet was tanned, dark haired and eyed, and short, she was tall, light white everywhere ... except for red eyes. The people shied away.

Beauty she may be but she had the markings of a seawitch. All she needed was green hair.

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