Vulkas Shieldbreaker took a moment to simply admire the city of Faiyum Falls as his ship nestled into dock. Even with an Aesir's born confidence and love for his homeland, he had to admit that Coptics knew what they were doing when it came to building cities. Monuments might have made them famous, but the same skills it took to erect the pyramids could be seen here. Cranes the size of buildings, with counterweights that were as elaborately decorated as their mundane purpose could allow, lifted entire ship's stores from their decks and set them down in storage yards. Men and women and beasts of burden carted the supplies away – and a bustling crowd surged back and forth throughout the wide streets. From them rose a melange of language – Coptic, Latin, Greek, Celtic – and coins of dozens of different cities were passed back and forth.
But through it all, Vulkas saw no sign of grain.
He elbowed Thu'chan with one broad arm, almost jostling the ship's scribe over the railing. “Told you,” Vulkas said, pride brimming in his voice. “Told you.”
Thu sniffed – the sound turned into an almost musical whistle by his long, narrow, curved beak. His feathers ruffled up and he hunched his shoulders forward. If someone had decided to paint Thu at this moment, the result could have been entitled: A portrait of sour grapes. Thu shook his head, sighed explosively, and then – with the air of someone having their kneecaps drawn from their broken leg – said: “Fine. You were right, Captain.”
Vulkas laughed and slapped his back.
The rumors had been that a great war was brewing between Sobek – the Pesdjeti God of Crocodiles and Ameliorated Evil – and a pair of the Dodekatheon: Aries and Athena. Apollo was officially neutral, but everyone in the mead-halls of distant Thorheilm had agreed he was going to be aiding his fellow gods. But the terrain favored Sobek. Again, everyone had agreed on that. So, while the debates had been running around and around as to who would seek peace first, Vulkas had simply gone to the landowners and purchased as much grain as he could, then set sail.
It had been a harrowing trip around the Platonic Sea. Pirates and lizardfolk raiders alike still plagued the straits not patrolled by the Tuatha mistcraft, and the lizardfolk sometimes had access to queer magic. Two of his crew had died from unnervingly accurate lightning bolts, brought down out of a clear sky by some scrawny lizardthing that had seemed more hunched muscle and robes than proper barbarian raider. It had been one of Vulkas' throwing axes that had split the thing's head – it had taken his ax to the bottom of the ocean before they had a chance to take the robes off and see how it had controlled lightning like the crystalbacks of the jungle.
But through it all, the grain had been kept safe and unnibbled by studious attention from the ship's cats and some simple runic enchantments laid down by a priestess of Sif.
And now, here, they were poised to make a profit – a profit worth all the danger, all the dire risk.
Vulkas nodded. “Find the master of the granaries in this city – tell them they won't need to rely on fish and meat and whatever gods be damned lean pickings they've had to deal with.”
Thu nodded. “I will, sir. What will you be doing?”
Vulkas rubbed his chin and beamed beatifically – but his eyes didn't move from a Coptic woman who was standing on a spar and tying down a ship that was coming in to dock. The woman was bronze skinned and slender, her hair shaved off leaving her utterly bald, her eyes marked by dark khol lining similar to what the Aesir had been forced to adopt since they had been banished to Purgatory. The combination was quite striking, but Vulkas was more admiring the way her bared breasts gleamed with sweat in the morning sunlight, her modesty only protected by a thin cotton skirt around her hips.
“Ah, Coptics,” he sighed, then kissed his bunched fingers.
“Ugh.” Thu didn't try to hide his disgust.
“Come now!” Vulkas looked down at his friend, scribe, and second in command.
“I prefer to not put my attentions in anything as mercurial and untrustworthy as women,” Thu said, primly.
“So, who was it who broke your heart? A pretty lad, aye, not a woman,” Vulkas said, wagging his finger underneath Thu's beak. Thu shot a glare at him as the ship finally finished tying down and Vulkas laughed as he stepped off the gangplank and into the thronging streets of Faiyum Falls. He turned back to his crew – the men and women a motley mixture of races and creeds, all of them looking at him.
“Thu is in charge until I get back,” he said, his voice pitched to carry. “But once the grain is off the ship, you are free to enjoy your coppers. Remember – any who don't get back within the day, you may be left behind.” He grinned. “And none of us want to be trapped here, in such a dreary land, eh?”
His crew laughed and he already saw that several were considering staying. This bothered Vulkas not at all.
Crew came. Crew went. So long as the soul of the ship remained – so long as his hardest hands and best warriors stuck around to carry that soul – he could happily bid farewell to most of the deckhands. With that thought in his head, he turned and started to stride through the docks. Vulkas had been a huscral – a shield bearing warrior – in the arid lands that the Norse had landed when they were banished. There, the Norse peoples had met a similarly banished tribe known as the Zapandi. They had fled a terrible god, Tchernobog, who sought to corrupt all of Purgatory with his shadow. Thor had struck him down and the two tribes had intermarried to an extent that none could say who was Norse and who was Zapandi anymore. The new folk – the Aesir – had learned to tame the arid lands. Water had been found and irrigated, and vast fields of grain now spread across the steppe.
But the ancient Norse had sailed ships of hard wood and iron shod men. The iron might be gone, and the islands of the Norse a distant, foggy memory, but there were still seas to sail.
Still a profit to be made.
And selling the grain was only half of Vulkas' aims. He walked past a stall selling charms blessed by one of the Pesdjeti pantheon and shook his head. He hadn't come so far to buy charms that his gods could have made. He walked past a warehouse that seemed to be filled with jars of tar and pitch. Again, he turned up his nose and came to a side-street that bled into the docks district. He frowned as something stuck out to him as being odd. After a moment, he saw it.
There was a giant walking up the street, heading towards the center of the city.
Vulkas started to follow the giant and took a moment to gauge him. He was definitely not Coptic – too pale by half, with hair as blond as a Aesir nobleman. But he didn't have the same facial hair of most of Vulkas' kin, nor did he bear the scars that one might expect from a huscral. And, again, he was a giant. Vulkas guessed his height to be nearly six feet – though, he did note that the man's muscles were more lean than bulky. He had a youthful face, filled with frustration and was dressed in naught but a kilt, a pair of sandals, and looped baldric that held a sword that must have been more for show than anything else.
Who'd make a sword so long with bronze? Though, Vulkis admitted, he rather liked the name engraved on the scabbard in the Hellenic alphabet: Delenn. It sounded feminine, but unfamiliar. An old girlfriend? Still, no matter how impressive the name, the sword would be useless: It'd have to be three times as thick and five times as heavy as it looked to not simply bend in half – and by the time the giant swung it, he would have been disemboweled.
Maybe, Vulkas thought. He prefers to simply negate fights by being intimidating?
Then the giant opened his mouth and spoke – and Vulkas realized that the giant was walking with someone. In the captain's defense, the giant's companion was easily missed. She was as short as he was tall, her emerald green skin and long ears marked her as a gobliness. She was holding a clay tablet in one hand, gesturing to it as she spoke in quick Coptic: “I don't think anyone's going to be willing to sail no matter how much gold we offer – not with the tales of the pirates, not with the lizardfolk-””
The giant responded, sounding irritated.
Vulkas' brow furrowed.
The giant spoke no tongue he had ever heard. He caught a hint of Latin, slurred and mashed in with other words that sounded like they should make sense but did not. It was a fast tongue, and from the way that the gobliness laughed, one that lent itself to humor.
The two turned around a corner, ducking into an alleyway with the casual confidence of people used to a city.
And then, detaching from shadowed nooks and emerging from behind closed, ratty doors came five hooded forms. They were clad in black linen and had crude wooden masks over their faces. They held bronze knives and clubs and one even had a lead-weighted plumbata that he tossed from palm to palm with nervous tension. They darted into the alleyway and Vulkas felt his blood chill. He had been party to many a battle – and more than a few muggings – but he had never seen an assassination before. His first instinct won out. He sprang forward, drawing his only weapon – a dagger more for cutting fruit and sharpening a stylus than anything else – and shouted: “Ware! Ware!”
The giant might not have spoken Norse, but he heard the noise. He spun around and shoved the gobliness behind him with the same smooth motion. The assassin with the plumbata hefted it and readied to loose it. Vulkas had fought Hellenes in battle and sneered. Those battle-hardened mercenaries had underhanded their murderous darts, making the throwing harder to spot and harder to defend against.
The assassin's lack of skill gave the Aesir captain time enough to hurl his dagger. The blade plunged into the man's palm and he shrieked – but not for long. A moment later, his arm hit the ground and his head followed shortly after.
The giant stood tall and proud, holding his blade in both hands. It had moved with amazing speed and it shone with a silvery light as it caught the sun. Blood stained the edge, dripping to the floor as the giant glared at the four remaining men as if daring them to make another move. Vulkas could do no more than stare in shock, his mind reeling.
That blade!
The giant stepped forward. He beat aside a dagger – and a good chunk of a man's arm – then counter-stroked upwards, sending the assassin falling backwards in a spray of blood. The assassins weren't unarmored – they wore woven cloth tunics that were tougher and harder to cut than they seemed – but they still fell as if wearing nothing at all. The giant parried a knife stroke – blocking the attacker's blade in such a way that left three severed fingers on the ground – then punched out with his own sword-hilt. Weighted and sturdy, the curious hand-guard on the blade caught the assassin in the jaw. His head jerked back in a spray of blood and teeth.
The last assassin turned to flee – but by now, the gobliness had emerged from hiding. Her palms slapped together and she spoke a word in a tongue that Vulkas didn't recognize. Her hands spread, and then she made a tossing motion. From the space between her hands came a glowing ball of fibrous tendrils that were as tightly compacted as spider silk. They exploded outwards with a crackle, then wrapped around the fleeing man. He was trussed up in an instant and toppled forward to skid along the ground for a few feet before coming to a stop.
The violence had taken less than five seconds.
The giant wiped his blade down with a cloth he drew from a belt pouch, shaking his head as he said something that sounded like: Mudder fakker.
“Thank you, sir,” the gobliness said, adjusting her shift with one hand as she looked up at Vulkas.
Vulkas blinked a few times.
Then beamed.
“I hear you need to hire a ship?” he said, cheerily.
* * *
It had all started off so simply for Liam Vanderbilt – though, to be absolutely fair, his idea of what was strange or complicated had forever more been shattered by the fact that he had been jammed through a portal by an ancient artifact and dumped into a world of elves and goblins and winged women and magic and ancient gods who strode the world like giants. But even back on Earth, the idea of getting ready for a trip had seemed simple. He had gone on a road trip or two in his life. This trip wouldn’t be that much more complex, right? Just take his iPod down to a city owned by Brigid, the Tuatha goddess of scribes and wisdom, and get the physics, chemistry and history textbooks within turned into hard-copies that could be read without running out of batteries.
But there was an incredibly complex web of invisible supports that had spread through and around Liam's life – supports he hadn't known he had relied on until suddenly they were gone. For instance, the assurance that he would have enough to eat on every step of the journey – vague ideas of purchasing food on the way at every village and town they stopped at – all of it were smashed to pieces by a laughing Megara, his lover.
“Liam, honey,” she had said, her fingers splayed across his still sweating chest after a bout of lovemaking. “You're traveling along the inner Platonic sea – to the lands of the Tuatha. There have been pirates infesting the route ever since the War of the Fey. And even if there weren't, there are still simple truths: You can't eat gold.”
Liam had looked confused. Clucking, his lover had explained: “No farmer will sell their stock to a traveler during lean times – they can't eat it, and they can't get to where they will spend it.”
So, there had gone one support, kicked down casually.
Still, he had figured it wouldn't be hard, gathering supplies for this trip.
After all, he had been on road trips!
A single human being needed three square meals, including nutrients to prevent illnesses like scurvy. Meals tended to go bad, unless they were preserved. Preserved food cost extra. And that didn't even go into the fact that Megara, who would be coming with, required almost a quarter more food than the rest of them thanks to her superhuman metabolism and mystical abilities. A crew would need to be paid. Clothes needed to be purchased – clothes that would suit him for both the colder weather in the inner sea region and would do if he had to deal with any important dignitaries. Add to that the weapons and armor that would doubtlessly be needed, just for the additional headache. Armor and weapons needed cleaning oils to prevent damage from the elements, they needed to be packed and transported - as a heavy bronze cuirass was not something that could just be dragged around in a rolling suitcase. Ammunition for any number of battles had to be procured for those who used ranged weapons.
Then, of course, the ship itself had to be found and chartered.
All of it made the money vanish with alarming speed, and ate up hours, then days, then weeks – weeks that left him increasingly nervous. Nervous about his iPod - even shut down, he knew that it could be damaged or ruined in a dozen different ways. Nervous about Megara and Livianna - his lover and his personal slave, won in open combat a few days after he arrived in Purgatory. That was a whole pile of uncomfortable, awkward and confusing that he had no idea how to handle. But now, looking at the rapidly cooling bodies that were splayed out in the alleyway, he thought: Maybe I was nervous for entirely the wrong reasons.
“I hear you need to hire a ship?”
The voice drew Liam's eyes up from the corpses and to the man who had saved him and Tethis' life. The man looked like everyone's stereotype of a viking warrior with a single glaring exception. He had long flowing blond hair tied into several tight bundles, with a thick beard that had been combed carefully. He was broad shouldered and muscular. But unlike the stereotype, he was dressed in, well, a business suit. The comparison wasn't entirely perfect, and on a second glance, Liam saw that the two sets of clothes had almost nothing to do with one another. But the overall look of his ensemble still screamed 'well to do merchant' not 'bloodthirsty warrior.'
And his smile was entirely too disarming and cheery.
“Yes, we do,” Liam said, panting quietly as the adrenaline from the short battle ebbed from him. “One moment, though.”
He stepped over to the man that Tethis had captured with one her magical nets, nodding to her as he did so. “Good work, Tethis.”
Tethis - Liam’s personal scribe, accountant, wizard and close friend (and crush) ever since they had met - shook her head. She had been staring at the viking dude with confusion and uncertainty for the past few moments. She blushed a dark green. “Thanks, Liam.”
“I notice that I can understand your language now,” the viking said, curiously, as Liam kicked the last surviving assassin onto his back. Liam didn't look up from the masked man but he did smile as he angled the sword to tap against the mask's nose.
“It's magic. I'll explain later,” Liam said. “You.”
The assassin didn't speak – but behind the mask, Liam could see his eyes focusing. A sword almost as tall as a goblin had a way of drawing people's attentions.
“Why did you attack us?” Liam asked, frowning ever so slightly. “You better start talking quick or else I get cranky. And if you don't talk after I get cranky, then I get crotchety. Then, after that, we move right on into downright grumpy.” He grinned. “You won't like me when I am grumpy.”
There were some advantages to having your butt dropped into a world where no one had seen a single film or TV show. Cliches, for instance, weren't quite as well known. And sometimes, you could seem to be a lot more erudite than you actually were. Liam wasn't ever going to admit to Sobek that, in fact, he hadn't been the one who had invented the phrase 'all the world's a stage.'
The assassin quivered slightly underneath that sword tip, the tiny jerks of his head bumping the wood against the steel of the sword.
“I'll talk!” he gasped, his Coptic sounding very familiar. Liam used the tip of his sword to bump the mask up and off the man's face. He didn't look familiar – but the accent of his voice marked him as a native of the city.
“Who hired you?” Liam asked. “Tell me. Now.”
The man opened his mouth.
Then his eyes bugged outwards. His hands clenched into claws and he jerked at his restraints, trying to reach upwards, but he couldn't move. His throat bulged and rippled and Liam jerked backwards as Tethis grabbed his wrist and pulled on him hard, speaking words that were drowned out by the hideous sounds of the man's throat collapsing inwards and black bile spurting from his mouth. It foamed upwards – some flecks managing to reach the stone walls of the alleyway – and then sloshed down. When it had finished hissing and frothing and bubbling, there was little left of the man's skin and muscle, leaving nothing but a leering white skull. The walls were discolored from where the goop had struck.
“Jesus,” Liam whispered, his voice more fervent than it had ever been on Earth. He had killed people – and had to become comfortable with the fact that he would need to kill more in this dangerous, brutal world. But he had never seen anything like that.
“What was that?” the viking asked, sounding just as shocked as Liam.
“I don't know,” Tethis whimpered, stepping around Liam. She knelt down and looked closely at the skull, her nose wrinkling as she frowned. “I recognize some of these smells. That's basilisk bile.”
“Basilisks?” Liam asked.
“What, you don't have any on Earth?” Tethis asked, sounding shocked. “They're a menace – breed like rabbits and nothing in Purgatory can kill them but living folk. They essentially created the Desert of Sobek in the southern climbs by eating out everything in the region.”
Liam rubbed his face with his hands. The peoples of Purgatory – with the exception of the goblins and elves and lizardfolk and others who had already dwelt within – had been entirely transplanted from Earth in the Third Century AD. They had been cast off Earth by a separatist sect of the Church using the same ancient, mysterious device that had sent him here. They had been followers of the old gods of Europe and beyond – and the gods themselves. But until now, he had never thought that other things might have been cast out as well.
“Who would get basilisk venom in Fayum?” The viking asked. “That stuff is barred by nearly every god.”
Tethis nodded, slowly.
“Well, if it's that good at killing people, I wouldn't be shocked if every god has some in their own pockets. Just in case.” Liam shook his head. “That was how my world worked.”
“Your world sounds like a deeply unpleasant place sometimes,” Tethis said, quietly.
“Hey, it had showers, the Simpsons, McDonalds, and free internet pornography. It had its upsides,” Liam said.
“Well, ah, my name is Vulkis.” The viking cut into the conversation with the grace and aplomb of a bull smashing into a china shop, adjusting his collar with one finger. “Vulkis Shieldbreaker. Captain, trader, merchant, former huscral, generally good man to have at your side. Doubly so when you are accompanied by such a beautiful woman and attacked by villainous assassins.”
And with that, he leaned down, took Tethis' hand, and kissed her knuckles.
Liam blinked a few times. “I never thought I would meet a French viking.”
“Huh?” Vulkis looked at him.
Tethis – whose cheeks had turned bright green – jerked her hand from Vulkis' grip, stammering: “D-Don't listen to anything he says; most of the time, it is gibberish.”
“Ah, the joys of another world,” Liam said, shaking his head. “Come on, Vulkis. Let's discuss this somewhere...” He looked around the alleyway, then kicked at the assassin's corpse. “...safer.”
***
The door to the rather nice house that Sobek had given Liam opened and Tethis – with the ease of long practice – tugged Vulkis to the side before Liam bowled him over. Liam hit the ground with a grunt as roughly a hundred and sixty pounds of muscular, curvaceous valkyrie landed on him. Megara the Messenger – Meg to her friends – had managed to wrap her legs and hook her ankles in the small of Liam's back before he hit the ground. Her hands were on his shoulders, and when they hit the ground, her most prominent aspect – her long, flowing, bright white wings – were wrapped around them both, creating a cocoon of privacy that did nothing to conceal the sound of enthusiastic kissing.
“They always like this?” Vulkis asked, glancing down at the short gobliness who had saved him from being brained.
Tethis nodded. She studiously didn't look jealous, which only drew more attention to the fact.
Looking beyond the pair, Vulkis saw that the owner of the rooms was the kind of man he could respect. The only table visible was covered with sprawling maps, most of them of the highest quality that money could buy, that had been annotated with dozens of additional markings. There were a trio of large backpacks that looked half filled with belongings, several bedrolls stacked beside them, three cases of javelins that looked freshly polished. And, of course, a fine elven slave who stood in the corner of the room – her collar tight enough to show ownership, but not so tight that it looked cruel.
Locking eyes with the elf, though, made Vulkis rather wish he hadn't.
She looked at him in the same way that some of his crew did – a look that meant she was not evaluating how handsome he was, nor how rich he was, nor what kind of man he was, but rather judging how quickly and easily she could murder him if need be.
Meg drew back from her lover and stood with a single smooth motion, helping Liam to his feet as he coughed.
“You will, one day, be ready for that,” she said, her voice dry.
“In my defense,” Liam said, brushing his hands along the back of his kilt, rolling his shoulders and wincing slightly, “Why would I ever want too?”
The four of them stepped into the chamber properly and the door shut behind them. The elf was immediately beside them, holding a jug of earthen clay, painted and decorated with images of Sobek in his guise as a full crocodile. She smiled sweetly at Liam, pressing up against him as she purred: “Do you want something to drink, master?”
Liam looked deeply uncomfortable and stammered something incoherent – but the girl was already rubbing herself against his chest.
Vulkis watched the display. “You, ah, found quite a slave there.”
“Y-Yes, quite a slave,” Liam said, his hands held in the air, as if he was terrified of touching her. “This is, Liv, um, Liv, handle w-whatever he needs. Drink, whatever.”
Liv turned away from her master and looked at Vulkis. Gone was the silky seductive sex-kitten that she had been projecting mere moments before. Instead, she eyed him with that disquieting look he had seen at the door again. “So,” she said. “Water?”
Vulkis nodded.
Liv got him a cup of water, then walked into an adjoining room and was gone.
“I still say, you should just call the bluff, end this run around and fuck her,” Meg said, shaking her head as she set her rump down on the edge of the table, disturbing several maps, her wings folding tightly behind her back. “She’s just trying to throw you off balance - why not throw her off balance? And into bed?” She waggled her eyebrows up and down. “It’d be fun.”
“No,” Liam said, his voice set. “Also, I thought you didn’t like her.”
Meg snorted. “It’s not that complicated. She tried to murder us-”
Liam nodded. “Hence the not liking her.”
“Yeah, but - and here is the part that you seem to miss - she’s enslaved. She’s wearing a slave collar. She literally can’t hurt us. If she tries, that collar stops her.” She shook her head. “So, I can focus on what can affect us. That. Ass.” She sketched a slender figure in the air with her hands. “And what’s the fun in having a slave if you can’t, you know?”
Liam pinched the bridge of his nose and with the air of a man who had been over this before and would most likely go over it again, said: “Because it’s rape, Meg.”
Meg frowned, her wings closing behind her back. But, to Vulkis’ surprise, she didn’t argue. Vulkis himself had never owned a slave; the Aesir frowned on the whole practice, unlike the Hellenes and the Coptics, though, there were the Thrallkind factions within the Thanemoot, who wanted to bring the old practice back. Vulkis, focusing on Meg, had to reevaluate his opinion of her. By his first reckoning, he had thought that the valkyrie would have been all brawn and sex.
Instead, she was looking thoughtful.
Tethis looked at Vulkis and saw his expression. Leaning over, she whispered in his ear. “Livana was captured by Liam during a battle – she is the daughter of Ares. Basically, an alliance of the Dodekatheon were fighting Sobek, but Apollo and Athena wanted peace. Ares, being Ares, wanted war. Megara was sent to bring the message of peace - and Liv was sent to kill her. You can see why Liam might have disagreed with that, huh?”
Vulkis nodded. Years of dealing with merchants, pirates, slavers, raiders and worse kept his face close to neutral. Inside, part of him wailed: What have I gotten myself into?
Another part was noticing the size of the apartment, the quality of the clothes, the clear wealth on display, and was rubbing their palms together in glee.
“After the battle, Liv was made a slave – but, well, Liam didn't want her to simply be sold. She was unhappy. At first. Then she found out his odd hangups about slavery and started... well...” She shrugged. “This is her twisting the knife.”
Vulkis laughed, quietly. “Why not let her free, then?”
“I tried!” Liam said, angrily. Meg snorted quietly and he turned to her. “I know you think this is silly – but in my world, my country fought a war over this issue, and we're still trying to break up illegal trading of people. I told myself a long time ago, that if I ever fell backwards in time to the Civil War, I would fight for the North – the faction that was opposed to slavery – and I'll be damned if I'll ever take advantage of a woman, just because she tried to kill me and prolong a pointless war between two city-states and that's final!”
He panted, softly, having gotten most of that out in a single breath.
Meg shook her head and stood up from the table. “Liam, love,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders, her tone gentle. “I don't know what it is like in your world, but here? Slavery can happen to anyone – and anyone can get out of it if they work hard and aren't given to a completely hideous master. So, that means it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”
Liam scowled. “That sounds like the same kind of horse-shit people fed to workers who were barely making ends meet in a nine to five job.” He stopped as he saw Meg look completely baffled. He smiled at her. “Imagine jobs that are hard, degrading, and don’t even make enough money to survive on. Just because some people manage to turn it into a living doesn’t mean everyone can - and it doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve some help sometimes and now I’m ranting about social issues a few centuries too advanced.” He laughed, brushing his hands through his hair. “Sorry, Meg, this kind of stuff brings out the social justice warrior in me.”
Meg smiled. “I like that. Social justice warrior! Hah!” She flexed one arm, clearly imagining herself as one.
Liam made a face. “I won’t kill your rosy view of the term.” He smiled. “But you see what I mean? Just because some people can work their way out of slavery doesn’t mean everyone can and it doesn’t mean that it makes it okay. Some people can survive getting stabbed, we still try and stop it.”
Meg frowned, her arm slowly dropping. She quietly nodded. “Fine, fine, I’m convinced.” She sighed. “But if Liv wants to fuck you, I’ll push for it.”
“But she-”
“Yes, yes, she tried to kill us. But, again, she’s hot and she’s safe,” Meg said, shaking her head. “I’ve lain people who have tried to kill me before.”
“Not sure if I never want to hear anymore, or to hear every single detail right now,” Liam muttered. Tethis coughed, her cheeks tinged a pale green with a fading blush.
“And when we come to the Tuatha?” she asked, quietly. “What you feel about slavery does not matter if we're supposed to ask for their help and they cannot respect a nobleman who has no servants and no slaves.”
Liam rubbed his face. “We'll deal with that when we get there.”
Liv came back into the room, her lips pursed. “Master, do you need anything?” She put as much sauce as she could into that single, simple sentence she could – purring the word 'master' like a pleased cat, while cocking her hips to the side. Despite being a slender elf – unlike the far more curvaceous Meg – she managed to make the gesture an invitation to a wild night. Liam put his hands over his face again.
“No, uh, fine,” he said.
Vulkis shook his head. “Kid,” he said, setting his cup down as Liv left the room, “She's doing this on purpose. You need to make it seem as if it doesn't bother you at all.”
Meg chuckled. “Okay, honey? I saw that glance she gave you-”
“What glance? I didn’t see a glance,” Liam muttered, voice mulish.
“She gave you a total glance.” Meg rubbed her hands together, her eyes glittering. Vulkis had never seen a woman so eager to get her lover in bed with another woman. He wasn’t sure if Liam was the luckiest man in Purgatory or most doomed. Taking pity on him, he stepped forward and coughed quietly.
“So,” He said. “The ship. Payments?”
Liam nodded, stepping away from his lover. He rummaged around in the supplies that had been stockpiled in the room, bringing out a purse that bulged with gold coins.
“I cannot hope to have a ship and crew willing to get through this part of the Dreaming Sea for anything less than two hundred gold coins,” Vulkis said.
“Just to check, that’s just a different name for the Platonic Sea, right?” Liam asked. At Vulkis’ nod, he smiled. “Sounds reasonable.”
Vulkis blinked a few times and looked so shocked that he ruined his good fortune as Liam narrowed his eyes.
“You just charged double what you needed, didn't you?” Liam asked, his smile fading.
“Are you still-”
“No!” Liam snapped. “Fuck, I hate haggling. Just set the price you want and I'll pay it – no one gets screwed.”
“B-But,” Vulkis stammered. He loved haggling. The cut and thrust, the fighting, the trickery, the careful half-truths. A good haggle could pass the time better than a good book, and once he was done, he could have the glowing satisfaction of having met someone who was his match while also enjoying the delights of being paid.
Liam shook his head. “A hundred and twenty?”
“Fine, I suppose,” Vulkis said. Even to himself, he sounded sulky.
* * *
The crowd of day laborers that waited before the cranes and the loading docks beside the river were a motley mixture. Most were Coptics, yes, but more than a few had hints of other bloods in them – with different skin tones and hair colors. That wasn't even getting into the elves and the goblins and the other, stranger creatures that sometimes found work there.
Tethis – all three feet nothing of her – stood on one of the crates near the edge of the docks, a clay tablet tucked under one armpit, a stylus in her other hand. She opened her mouth and called out: “Uh, hello?”
Megara – who was sitting on the ground beside her with her hand clapped over a small cup of dice – looked up at the gobliness. She arched an eyebrow.
Tethis, seeing the look, coughed and then said, slightly louder: “Hello!”
Meg tossed the dice on the ground. Nothing good. She sighed, then stood up – her head almost the same height as Tethis' at the moment – and cupped her hands around her mouth. With a voice used to shouting across battlefields, accentuated by lungs strong enough to keep her aloft at the highest reaches of the sky, she bellowed: “Oi!”
Silence descended on the crowd as day labourers looked at Tethis – who had turned as red as it was possible for a green skinned girl to be. She rallied, quickly. “W-We're looking to hire a crew willing to handle cargo for a ship bound to leave tomorrow. We'll pay a half coin for a day's hard work.”
Several people started stepping forward. More looked uncertain. Meg glared at them. More people stepped forward. Tethis smiled, nodding slightly.
“That'll do! Now, give me your names,” she said, holding up her stylus. “And be ready to sign.”
A long, lanky figure who looked like his ancestors had shared a bedroll with a lizardman raised his hand, the scales on his palm glinting in the sunlight. Tethis pointed at him with a stylus, nodding.
“Can we use an X?” the man asked.
Watching the men work, Liam shook his head. “You know, on Earth-”
“What?” Meg asked, leaning against the side of Vulkis' ship. “On Earth, everything was loaded by machines that were built by other machines, piloted by machines that themselves were smarter than even the most smartest man in your halls of learning?” She snorted. “Let me guess, you spat lightning into hunks of glass and brought statues to life like that asshole Pygmalion?”
“Well, uh, no, I was just going to say this would have mostly be done by Mexicans where I came from,” Liam said, shaking his head. “But I count, like, five distinct species here.”
“Oh,” Meg said, blinking. “Sorry.” She smiled, wryly. “But you do sometimes go on about Earth a little.”
Liam grinned at her. “You're just jealous of our magic sex robots and third wave feminism.”
“I admit, if I never had to deal with another Hellene who assumed that I was soft and delicate like a flower because I was a woman – or that my womb caused me to go insane or any number of ridiculous things,” she said, her voice dark, “I would be very happy.”
Liam chuckled. “Not all Hellenes. Now there's a hashtag I'd love to see.”
Vulkis stuck his head over the railing of the ship and looked down at the two of them. “Hail, oh giant!” he said, sounding cheery. “Your cabin is ready, if you wish to see it. Though, we did have to knock down a wall for you to fit.”
“Oh, ha ha ha,” Liam said, dryly. “You know, once you've dropped us off in-” he stopped. “Okay, so, we've called this place the city for so long, I've completely forgotten what it is called.”
“Olimurias,” Meg said.
“Right.” Liam shook his head. “Still, once you've dropped us off at Olimurias, you can sell the story of the twelve foot man who farted lightning and threw entire stars at people.”
Vulkis looked at Liam quizzically. “What, by Odin's massive library, is a star?”
“Uh,” Liam said, then looked at the sky. For the first time in weeks, the sheer otherness of Purgatory crashed down on him. The fact that the area directly above Faiyum Falls was ocean made it easier for him to think that it was merely a strangely reflective blue sky. He shivered and tried to not think of all those people walking above him, upside down, planted to the ceiling by the forces that created this world. He wasn't sure if it was centripetal pressure or magic, to be honest. He shook his head and smiled at Vulkis. “I'll tell you when you're older.”
Vulkis made a face.
The cabin itself was – despite Vulkis' words – rather nice. The ceiling was low for Liam, but he was relatively used to that. A hammock, rather than a bed, was laced from the walls and there was a small storage chest where he could keep his things. Megara, of course, walked inside and claimed it as her own by tugging her shift up and over her head. She spread her arms, her fingers touching the walls, her wings brushing the ceiling. She humphed softly.
“You'll have to fold me in- eek!” she squeaked as Liam slapped his hand roughly on her rump.
“You won't complain,” Liam said, sagely.
The door opened. Liam moved to block Meg's butt from the world but before he could, Liv stepped into the room. She was wearing her slave collar and a shift of her own, and her arms were loaded down with several bits of luggage. She looked past them at Meg, then grinned wickedly at Liam. Liam recognized that expression on her face and already started to groan.
“Oh master,” Liv said, her voice breathy. “Surely, you need someone to serve as a masseuse for your lovely companion.”
Meg rubbed her chin. “You know, getting a rub down sounds kind of nice...”
Liam looked at her, his eyes filled with betrayal. Meg looked back at him and scoffed.
“Liam, we agreed, it’s fine if she wants to do it, and she volunteered! we did pack skin lotion – might as well apply some.” She rubbed her palms together and beamed at Liv. “You learn quick, right?”
“I know the basics,” Liv said, her voice somehow managing to sound both demure and innocent and loaded with sensual, seductive pleasure. She glanced at Liam, her hand caressing Meg's back as she murmured quietly. “And it will be such a pleasure to be ordered to rub you down. To slather you with lotion and, maybe, give you the pleasure of Sappho.” She bit her lip. “Of course, I'd need to be... ordered... to do such a thing.”
Meg chuckled. “Well, fuck me. Yeah, I can-”
“Dude!” Liam exclaimed. “What did you just say!?””
Meg looked at Liv, then looked at Liam, then looked at Liv again, then scowled. “Ah, fuck it and damn you and your social justice!” She shook her fist at Liam, but she slightly looked guilty. Liam covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. Meg grumbled and punched his shoulder very gently. “You also need to tell me what dude means one of these days.”
Liv sighed, loudly, then shook her head. “Well, my master has made it clear. I suppose I will go and sleep in the hold.” She hung her head forward. “Alone.”
Liam put his hand over his face. “Stop it, Liv. I know you're just fucking with me. You're the daughter of the god of war, stop with this fucking woe is me moe-ass slave thing.”
Liv chuckled. “But it makes you squirm so much,” she said, her voice a quiet purr. “Call me if you need me, master.” Her hand reached forward and caressed his belly , causing Liam to squirm – and yet, her touch was so expert, so confident, and thrummed with a kind of energy that made him gasp softly. His cock hardened despite himself – and then she was gone. Liam bit his lip as hard as he could, trying to think of grandmas playing baseball.
Meg shook her head. “Just fuck her,” she said. “That was totally an invitation, you saw it!”
“No!”
“Fine, let me fuck her,” Meg said, grinning.
“Dude!” Liam said, hardly believing his own ears. If he had gone back to himself just a year before and told himself that the prospect of watching a hot elf babe go down on a gorgeous valkyrie would have made him feel profoundly uncomfortable and squicked out, then the him from a year ago would have...
Actually, he was pretty sure the him of back then had been completely besotted with a girl named Trisha Melbourne, who had been completely disinterested in him. So, old Liam would have likely muttered something about the friendzone. Liam wanted to go back and smack himself.
Meg stepped up behind him. “So, how do you want to spend your first night on the river?”
Liam smiled, slowly, leaning backwards into her warm embrace. His eyes closed and he turned, catching her lips with his. Meg started to take his clothes off. It took longer than her single piece shift.
But not by much.
* * *
As the ship slipped out of Faiyum Falls, a single bird took flight from the city. Black wings spreading, it soared outwards, catching a thermal, and sweeping over the river.
Following.