Whyborne
I lay rigidly on my back in the bed. To my left, a bony man twitched and muttered in his sleep. To my right, an enormous fellow let out snores that could probably be heard in Canada. The bunk above us sagged alarmingly, and the entire room echoed to a chorus of snores, wheezing, and other, even more indelicate sounds. I doubted most of the men had bathed this week, and those who didn’t reek of sweat were pickled in alcohol.
At least it was warm. That had to count for something. Didn’t it?
The squirmer on my left flung a loose arm over my chest. “Mabel,” he mumbled.
Enough. I could take no more. I didn’t know who Mabel might be, but I certainly had no desire to take on her role. Given his breath, the real Mabel probably wouldn’t have either.
I slid out of the covers and climbed rather awkwardly over the large man on my right. “Sorry, sorry,” I whispered, and hoped he didn’t take my inadvertent groping the wrong way. I rather liked my teeth where they were. Fortunately, he only snorted sleepily and rolled over. Freed at last, I found my sealskin boots, scarf, moose hide mittens, and twill parka amidst the other jumble of clothing.
Where I meant to go, I didn’t know, exactly. Perhaps I could order a drink at the saloon downstairs and pretend to pass out. Would they leave me there unmolested as I’d already paid for a bed? Or perhaps one of the prostitutes would let me sleep in her tent if I offered her ordinary rate. Did they charge by the hour or the customer?
I imagined someone spotting me emerging from a prostitute’s tent and felt faint. Perhaps not.
The crowd at the saloon had thinned considerably. Griffin and Jack sat not far from the stove, playing cards. I started toward them, then caught myself. Griffin surely wanted time to get to know Jack on his own, without my hovering.
I hadn’t imagined it would bother me for Jack not to know of our relationship. And yet I couldn’t help but think how different the situation would have been, had I been Griffin’s wife instead of his husband. All other things aside, Jack would have looked on me as part of his family, someone who had a right to Griffin’s affection and something of a claim on his.
For all the terrible things I could say about Father—and heavens knew I had plenty—he’d made Griffin a part of family gatherings even before Mother went to the sea. True, most of his acceptance stemmed from the fact he viewed me as illogically obstinate on all points, and thus knew he might as well resign himself to my male lover, as I wouldn’t change to please him or anyone else.
And of course Mother adored Griffin from the first. Persephone appeared fond of him, but the ketoi didn’t seem remotely interested whether or not the sex of one’s spouse matched one’s own. In truth, I had far more family—and friends—who understood our relationship than I had any right to expect. How could I complain when Griffin’s family, adoptive or otherwise, didn’t number among them?
Perhaps a walk outside would clear my head. I pulled up my fur-lined hood, tugged on my mittens, and slipped out through the door.
And instantly regretted it. Dear heavens, it was cold. Not nearly as cold as it would be in the interior, but enough to steal my breath and nip at the skin of my cheeks.
Still, turning around and immediately rushing back into the saloon would attract attention and make me look a fool in front of Jack. I didn’t want to embarrass either Griffin or myself, so I huddled as deeply as possible into my parka and started off at a brisk walk. I’d go a short distance, then return to the hotel. Perhaps the relief at being warm again would overcome the awfulness of my surroundings, and I’d drift happily off to sleep without caring if my bedmate called me “Mabel.”
I found myself grateful for the fur lining my parka and for the sealskin boots. Few lights showed—I hadn’t taken into account such a place wouldn’t have any street lamps—and only the stars and fat, full moon illuminated the frozen mud of the roadway.
Not to suggest the town slept peacefully—far from it. Dogs howled in their multitudes, a maddening chorus of barks and yips. The gambling halls and brothels did an excellent business despite the hour. The sound of a badly tuned piano drifted out from one as I ventured past. Burly men in mackinaws went from one tent to the next, swearing and shouting.
Hadn’t I read something earlier in the year about Congress providing funds to the District of Alaska to curb lawlessness? Or was I misremembering things? I certainly hoped a cry for help would bring a policeman of some sort, and yet I began to doubt it.
I really should go back to the hotel. My bed partners might not be pleasant, but at least they weren’t dangerous.
Decided, I turned around and found myself face-to-face with a man.
I couldn’t make out his features—his hood was drawn far forward, throwing them in deep shadow, and he wore a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face. He stood rather closer to me than I would have liked. How had I missed the sound of his footsteps behind me?
“Excuse me,” I said automatically.
“You wish to break open the mountains and release the great worm,” he growled in a low, threatening voice.
The devil. Was the man drunk? I stepped back hastily and held up my hands. “I assure you, I have no intention of breaking anything,” I said.
Apparently he didn’t believe me, because he raised his arm. A long dagger flashed in the moonlight.
I let out a startled shout and scrambled back from him. My foot caught in a rut, and I fell, tailbone impacting painfully with mud frozen into the consistency of concrete. He lunged at me, blade swinging down, and I shouted the secret name of fire.
Fortunately, I rolled to the side even as I did so, because the spell did not a damned bit of good. The blade flashed red with heat, and the smell of scorched leather filled the air, but his heavy mitten prevented a burn as surely as it held back frostbite.
Blast.
I made it to my feet and ran. Boots pounded after me, and I stretched my long legs to their fullest. My assailant was quite a bit shorter, but didn’t seem to have any trouble keeping up with me. The cold air burned my lungs and stripped moisture from my throat.
My steps turned instinctively in the direction of the sea. The waves pounded against the shore, the occasional gleam of white marking where a small floe of ice had been tossed onto the strand. If I could only make it...
He tackled me from behind, and I fell heavily. His body landed atop me, and I snapped my head back hard. My skull impacted with his jaw, and his teeth cracked loudly together. He fell heavily to the side, and I gathered my limbs beneath me.
There. A net, hanging from the nearby dock.
I tore off my mittens so I could grasp the thick cords. Even as I hauled myself up, the net began to shake under another’s weight.
Still. I was close enough.
The maelstrom of Widdershins might not turn beneath me, but I had the blood of the sea in my veins. There came an angry roar, the cold water ripping across the sand. The man below me let out a startled cry as the tide suddenly rushed in, lapping about his waist.
I didn’t wait to see if he washed out to sea. Hauling myself onto the dock, I ran in the direction of the hotel without looking back.
By the time I reached the door, I was half frozen and completely out of breath. The bar had closed for the night, the saloon empty save for Griffin, who still sat at one of the tables. As I entered, he shot to his feet. “I was about to come looking for you,” he said. “Where on earth have you been?”
My teeth chattered. “I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.” God, it sounded stupid even to me.
Griffin’s expression suggested he agreed with my assessment. “You went for a walk? Whyborne, this isn’t Widdershins. St. Michael is no Skagway, as Jack said, but it’s not the sort of place to go wandering about alone!”
“Well...yes. I couldn’t sleep, and you were busy talking to Jack, and it seemed the thing to do.” I didn’t want to admit to the extent of my foolishness, but had no real choice. “Except I was set upon.”
“Set upon?” He started to reach for me, then seemed to recall we weren’t in private surroundings. “Are you hurt?”
“Only my pride.” I sighed. “Less than twenty-four hours in Alaska, and already someone has tried to kill me.”