Dreams (9 page)

Ambergris knew Doña Cortez. Their paths had crossed before. Once, long ago, Amber had been María Elizabeta's prisoner, and she had learned that Doña Cortez had a fondness for the barbed whip and the white-hot prod. Amber bore souvenirs of that encounter, scars that crisscrossed her back and memories of indignities less visible but far more painful.

Amber had survived that encounter, escaped from a dungeon in the dead of night, leaving the corpses of a dozen warders and pike-bearers in her wake, vowing to wreak revenge on her tormentor.

The time for that revenge had arrived.

Amber bared her teeth in a fierce vulpine grin.

Princesa Alejandra's
crew put up a better fight than Amber had expected, but
Tyche's
crew were freebooters to the heart while
Alejandra Olga's
company were mere merchant sailors, some of them volunteers looking for a way to support themselves and their families in Iberia, others the scum of the docks and grog-houses of Santiago de Compostela and La Coruña, Cartagena and Alicante.

Some battled with belaying pins, others with curved swords or needle-pointed dirks. The fabled steel of Toledo lived up to its reputation, but a weapon is no better than the woman wielding it, as Amber well knew.

Blood ran across
Princesa Alejandra's
decks and into her scuppers. Cries of pain and the moans of departing souls filled the air.
Princesa Alejandra's
officers were armed with flintlock pistols. The sound of their discharges and the stink of their powder smote Ambergris's senses.

The battle seemed all but over when a second wave of defenders rushed from below deck,
Princesa Alejandra's
cannoneers scrambling up ladders to come to the aid of their comrades. These were tougher characters than the ordinary seawomen
Tyche's
boarding party had faced until now. The battle raged back and forth across
Princesa Alejandra's
decks, decks now slippery with the spilled guts and splashing gore of boarders and defenders alike.

But the final outcome was foreordained.

Within the hour Captain Ambergris has put a prize crew aboard
Princesa Alejandra.
The bodies of the dead and the seriously wounded were flung overboard. Hungry sharks caught the scent of blood, circled and feasted on fresh meat. Most of
Princesa Alejandra's
sailors were happy to sail on under command of prize officers from
Tyche.
Those few who refused to cooperate were given a boat, a supply of hardtack and a cask of water and set adrift.

Only Doña María Elizabeta Francesca Esperanza Cortez y Gonsalvo remained unaccounted for.

It wasn't hard for Captain Ambergris to decide where to look for her arch foe. She found her way to Doña Cortez's cabin. She paused outside. She stood before a mirror that Doña Cortez had caused to be mounted on the bulkhead. Her tricorn hat had been lost in the battle, carried away by the ball from a defender's flintlock. Her blue-black hair curled and swayed around her face. She wore a loose satin blouse and skintight trousers that disappeared into floppy-topped boots. Her face was flushed with excitement and exertion, her tongue flicked out to taste the perspiration that made her face shine.

She tried the door to Doña Cortez's cabin and found it unlocked. She stepped inside and confronted Doña Cortez.

Ambergris laughed at the sight before her.

The noblewoman had donned full court dress, a floor-length gown of crimson silk and kid gloves that reached above her elbows. Her face was powdered a deathly white with spots of rouge on both cheeks and smears of blue above her eyes, a beauty mark fixed to one cheek. Most absurd of all, she wore a tall wig.

"A fair fight, Captain Ambergris," she hissed.

"As you wish, my lady."

"As you see, I am unarmed." The noblewoman held her hands to her sides.

"Very well." Amber carefully laid her cutlass and flintlock in a corner.

When she turned back she was startled to see that Doña Cortez had doffed her gloves and gown. She stood stark naked, defiant, clad only in boots and silvery wig.

"As you wish, my lady," Ambergris said again. She swept herself out of her clothing.

They closed, grappling for advantage. The cabin was cramped and their motion was limited. Amber managed to grasp her opponent by the elbow, spun and twisted.

Doña María moved with her action, slipped from Amber's grasp and delivered a backhand slap to the side of her head.

Amber's ears rang with the blow. She lowered her head and launched a head-butt at her enemy.

Doña María dodged, partially avoiding the attack. Amber's shoulder collided with Doña María's midriff and sent her staggering backward to fetch up against a bulkhead. With one hand she reached upward and grasped a Turkish scimitar that was mounted on the wall. With her other hand she reached beneath her wig, sending it tumbling to the floor.

Amber clutched Doña María's wrist, smashing it against the wall, sending the Turkish scimitar clattering and bouncing across the cabin. At the same moment she felt a red-hot agony lance across her ribcage. Crimson spurted as Doña María screamed in triumph, a blood-dripping dagger in her hand.

"Traitor!" Amber gasped. "The dirk was concealed in your wig."

Doña María stood laughing in triumph.

Amber felt her very consciousness failing as blood flowed from her wound. She gathered her remaining strength and launched herself once more at her opponent. To her surprise, Doña María threw open her arms.

The two women collided, tumbling to the floor. Amber felt Doña María's dagger plunge into her flesh again and again. She found herself beneath her opponent but now marshaled her final reserves. She arched her back, literally throwing Doña María off her body. The noblewoman tumbled, flailing, landing with her throat against the Turkish cutlass.

A hair's breadth higher and the cutlass would have sliced thin flesh and glanced off her jawbone. A hair's breadth lower and it would have bounded from her collarbone. But neither was to be the case.

Doña María uttered a single gurgling gasp of pain and rage and mortality and collapsed, dead, on the floor of her cabin.

Amber, her naked body covered with a mixture of sweat and blood and, yes, tears, knelt beside her dead foe's body, softly stroking her locks. A drop of sweat fell from Ambergris' weary face and ran down Doña María's cheek. A drop of sweat, or perhaps a teardrop.

Diamond Lil and Pair o' Guts dragged Amber Annie through the hatch and laid her on her bunk in
Niña's
cabin. Pair o' Guts bathed her tenderly, then she and Lil dressed Amber in tee shirt and shorts. Amber lay quiet, breathing softly and steadily.

Amber watched over her as Lil lifted
Niña
from the surface of Sakti and cruised slowly toward the horizon.

Astarte lay back against satin cushions, the curved mouthpiece of the water pipe lying lightly upon her breast. She thought she must have dozed, but the gentle sound of wind chimes had wakened her, or perhaps it was the soft suggestion of moisture from a tinkling fountain. She let droplets of moisture settle on her tongue. The water held the merest suggestion of honey and the hint of spices.

She drew once on the water pipe, letting its fumes penetrate her being. She smoothed her thin silken garment over her graceful body, letting it whisper over her generous aureolae and the darkness of her crotch.

It was time, she knew, to receive reports from her ministers, and an ambassador was expected to offer her credentials and ceremonial gifts, always a nuisance but a duty which she performed as her mothers had for generations, ever since they had imposed their benevolent rule on the land.

Servants appeared and removed the water pipe. She could always return to it, when she chose. They bathed her in rose water and dressed her in formal silks. When she was ready she summoned her vizier and ordered the reports of the day to be made. A military triumph over a rebellious tribe in the East, an offer of friendship and an eternal treaty from the growing power of the North. She was concerned with the Northerners; for all their allegedly peaceful intentions they were known to come from warlike stock. Astarte did not trust them.

She conferred with counselors and ministers for hours, but at last the day's business was completed, save for the formal reception of the new ambassador from—where was it? Ah, yes, Hai Hui Hsi.

The ambassador was preceded by child musicians blowing strange, reedy melodies on long, strangely curved horns, and others clashing tiny pairs of cymbals. Gift bearers brought carven chests. Each was no larger than an infant's skull, and for all that Astarte could tell, they were indeed carved from small human skulls.

The ambassador herself was a picture of miniature perfection. If all the people of Hai Hui Hsi were as small and as beautiful as the ambassador, they must be an almost toylike race. The ambassador wore a silken coif but around its edges Astarte could see wisps of flame-red hair. The ambassador's eyes glowed like emeralds by lamplight.

She spoke with a soft accent, offering greetings and affection from her ruler to the grand Astarte, craving to represent her land in eternal peace and amity. When Astarte permitted, she ordered the gift bearers to open the carven skulls, one by one. These were four in number.

The first contained a rose of breathtaking beauty and intoxicating fragrance.

The second contained a purple gem, by far the largest and most vibrant of its sort that Astarte had ever seen.

The third contained a spice; at the ambassador's urging Astarte placed a single grain upon her tongue and was wafted to heights of indescribable pleasure.

The fourth contained a tiny serpent, crimson in color, no longer than Astarte's middle finger. As she held the carven skull in her hand the serpent reared and stared into her face. Its eyes were like brilliant emeralds. It opened its mouth, revealing astonishing fangs that glittered in the lamplight and a forked tongue that darted out and back, out and back. "I will serve you faithfully and forever, Astarte," it hissed.

Astarte nodded to the ambassador. "We are well pleased. Our servants will bring you to your apartments. Or if you wish you may remain with us during the evening's entertainment."

The ambassador chose to remain.

The entertainment consisted of a ritual opera performed exactly as it had been performed for ten thousand years. It told the story of three ancient goddesses who had descended to the Earth to spread the seeds of life.

First the Goddess of the Air had created birds of beauty and of prey, shimmering dragonflies and colorful moths, and everything that flew, even the lovely, velvety bats whose presence was taken as the most joyous of all omens of the air.

Then the Goddess of the Sea had created the fishes and the whales, the sea lions and sea cows, aquatic tortoises and toads, crabs and prawns and the clever, elusive octopuses whose presence was taken as the most joyous of all omens of the water.

And last the Goddess of the Earth created snakes and bears, fearsome tigers and mighty rhinoceroses, thoughtful apes and fleet horses and every creature that walks on the land including the splendid wolves who would bless humans with their friendship if it was returned but who would destroy humans and replace them as the rulers of the Earth if humans provoked them overmuch.

And after their work was completed, the goddesses decided to return to Heaven, but together they created Woman in their own image, and left her the stewardship of the world.

When the opera was over Astarte invited the ambassador to stay the night with her in her private chambers. The ambassador, perhaps for political reasons, perhaps because she found the prospect appealing, agreed.

Together they smoked a water pipe for a while, exchanging small talk, petting each other mildly, at last kissing softly on the lips. Astarte asked the ambassador if she would like to tour Astarte's hareem and select a companion for the coming hours. Receiving the ambassador's consent, Astarte took her by the hand and led her through a series of luxuriously appointed chambers. Fountains lifted scented water into the air and musicians played softly. Beautiful women displayed themselves tastefully. Each was more lovely than the next, but somehow the magical moment of joyous harmony did not arrive.

But at last they entered a chamber where the scent of musk and petals was subtly altered. Astarte clapped her hands. "This is the one!" Turning to the ambassador she asked, "What do you think?"

The ambassador looked at the candidate. She lifted her hand to touch golden hair. "Such springy curls! Oh, yes!" She touched the cheek, the chest. "Such fine skin. And the color, golden. And the eyes, eyes of burnished copper, as large and knowing as those of an owl."

She stepped back. "But more a girl than a woman, Astarte. Sweet nipples, to be sure, like the buds of tea roses. I could nibble and tease them for hours. But the chest is flat, the hips are straight. And—and what is that?" She pointed. "What is that thing?"

"Neither a girl nor a woman," Astarte replied. "This is a being different, rare and precious. And as for that thing, well, it is actually a part."

The ambassador stared. "Does it do anything?"

"Ah." Astarte reached long, skillful fingers and it sprang to life.

The ambassador burst into laughter. Her shoulders shook, her breasts bounced, tears of mirth ran from her eyes. When at last she could speak she asked, "How amusing! How cunning! But is it good for anything?"

Astarte said, "You will see."

They returned to Astarte's chamber, the three of them.

In the morning the third of them returned to the hareem bearing gifts. The ambassador bowed to Astarte. "This night has been most truly amazing. My liege will never believe my report. But I hope I may spend a long time at your court, Astarte."

Astarte said, "It will be my pleasure."