THE HELMSMAN: Director's Cut Edition (38 page)

Fervently, Brim completed the stanza, written more than a thousand years in the past by the ancient composer Giulietta.
'Cycles fly, and ne'er return,/Our joys, Alas! are fleeting. /Only memory's flame will burn/For spells that ne'er return.'“

Avalon seemed to fade completely, the half-heard orchestra now played from at least a galaxy away, and the gentle rush of the fountain wrapped them in a warbling cloak of privacy. Above the dark gables of Lordglen, Avalon's twin moons — both glowing at full disk — flooded the plaza with a golden shadow of magic. They stood silently for a moment before he drew her toward him, eyes closed and arms around his neck. And his whole Universe became two wet, pouted lips.

Brim felt his body trembling as he held her and breathed in the sensuous fragrance of her perfume. He opened his eyes. Hers were open, too; he read in them all he needed to know. “Margot,” he whispered while their lips still touched. “I want…” He swallowed and shook his head. “No,” he said, “I
need
to make love to you. And I need to
now.”

Her eyes continued to look into his, but the heavy lids became heavier still. “Finally,” she breathed with a sleepy smile. “For a moment, I was afraid
I
might have to ask you.” Then her eyes closed and she covered his lips with hers, pressing herself against him for a long time before, arm in arm, they made their way back indoors again.

“I have a whole suite upstairs,” Brim suggested in the privacy of the music-filled room. “We could be alone there in a matter of cycles.”

She laughed quietly as they made their way through the dancers to the great ebony doors. “Nothing would give my dear cousin Onrad more pleasure than to watch me rutting in bed with you,” she said in a low voice. “Which he surely would — from all angles — were we to make our tryst here in Lordglen.” She shook her head. “No, Wilf, I think we shall take our pleasure elsewhere, where no one will
dare
invade our privacy.”

Brim raised an eyebrow. .

“At the Effer'ian Embassy,” Margot said firmly. “I live there now. And believe me, Wilf, no recorders invade the privacy of Princess Effer'wyck, at least not in her own bedroom.”

* * * *

Aboard Margot's chauffeured limousine skimmer, Brim struggled to maintain his decorum. It was evident she was troubled by problems of the same nature, for she shifted position every few clicks and squeezed his hand nervously a number of times. At last, the great vehicle glided to a halt beneath a small, dimly lighted portico. “The servants' entrance, Wilf,” she explained with a wry smile as a huge green-liveried footman with eyes politely averted opened the door of the limousine. “I hope you understand.”

Brim laughed quietly. “I know any man at the ball would gladly kill if he could trade places with me at this servants' door right now,” he said, kissing her hand. He helped her to the pavement, then followed as she led through the portico doorway, along a narrow corridor (also clearly made for servants — Brim knew
that
part of the Empire well!), and into a service lift. Less than a cycle later, he stood inside her softly lighted bedroom. Peripherally, he could sense an entire suite of incredible luxury, but none of it held any importance: Only Margot mattered now. With his pulse thundering in his ears, he half heard the door latch shut, and she was in his arms, her breathing as rapid and urgent as his own. She teased his mouth with her lips and tongue.

And suddenly her arms were no longer around him.

He opened his eyes just in time to watch her reach for something behind her neck. She smiled seductively, gently arched her back, then drew the crossed halves of her bodice from the pointed whiteness of her bare breasts. A moment later, the skirt and sash too lay in a heap around her ankles. She wore only lacy briefs underneath. Heart pounding out of control, Brim stared down at the knobby pink aureoles of her swollen nipples, the half-sensed network of delicate veins in the creamy skin beyond. He felt his arms begin to shake uncontrollably, looked deeply into her heavy eyes.

“Hurry,” she whispered as he fumbled out of his own clothes. “Oh Voot, Wilf, it’s so…
you’re
so…
beautiful
…”

Naked, he pulled her trembling shoulders close to him again, gently kissed her open lips while his thoughts went whirling to all corners of the Universe. Then they stumbled off toward her huge, canopied bed…

* * * *

Long before dawn, Brim sat on the edge of the bed, breathing her pungent scent on his cheeks and stroking the damp golden thatch beneath her stomach. She sighed and shivered as his fingers moved upward over the firm mound of her abdomen, strayed for a moment at her buried navel.

He thought of his hands. They were soft — Helmsmen didn't dare grow calluses. But nine or ten years earlier, they wouldn't have pleasured her so. Then, those same hands were hard as any other Carescrian miner's. He forced himself to dwell on them for a moment; it never hurt to remember one's origins, especially in the middle of such unbelievable luxury and intense pleasure.

“Wilf,” she whispered at length, guiding his face down to her own. “What am I going to do about Rogan?”

Brim shrugged and bit his lip. “I suppose I should feel a little guilty about him,” he said tonelessly. “I know you two are in love.”

She shook her head.
“'We seldom are as that we seem,'
“ she recited pensively;
“'Truth has its little masquerades./Appearance doth protect the dream.'
“

He moved closer to her on the bed and sat quietly while she sorted her thoughts.

“What the Empire can't know — what
you
don’t know,” she continued after a considerable lapse of time, “is that I
never
have loved him.” She looked at him and smiled in resignation. “Oh, he comes here with me. I'm not fool enough to hope you'd believe he doesn't. Not after what you've seen of me tonight. But aside from that, we're little more than close friends, locked into a rather dismal little courtship based on nothing more interesting than political necessity.” She smiled ironically at him. “Our child will eventually rule both the whole Effer Cluster and the five industrial centers of the Torond.” She laughed. “Shrewd old Greyffin IV saw
that
quickly enough; soon as my father produced a female. He set the whole thing up on the day of my birth. When Rogan had passed fifteen natal anniversaries.”

“Does LaKarn love
you?”
Wilf asked when she finished, suddenly afraid of her answer.

She smiled and shook her head, staring up at the ceiling. “Sometimes when we are here, he says he does — for a few cycles. But aside from those moments, he appears to be much more interested in his career at the Admiralty.”

Brim laughed quietly. “I seem to remember recently bleating earnest protestations of love myself,” he said. “Probably at about the same emotional juncture as he.”

“Did you
mean
them?” she asked, suddenly sitting up to face him.

He met her gaze evenly. “I meant every word I said, Margot,” he pronounced carefully. “Then and now.”

She drew his face to hers, kissed him lightly on the lips. “I believe you, Wilf,” she said. “As I believed you then.”

“And LaKarn?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she said. “Honestly.”

Brim snorted. “In any case,” he pronounced in mock seriousness, “I now have an everlasting quarrel with my Emperor.”

“You needn't,” she said with unexpected concern. “I told you Rogan is usually a great deal more concerned about his career than anything I have to offer.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Sometimes, it gets pretty lonely.”

Brim shook his head helplessly. “I'm sorry,” he said. Surprisingly, he found he actually meant it.

“Don't be sorry,” she said. “It's helped bring
us
together, I suppose.”

“Us?”

“Well,” she said, her eyes sparkling with impish humor, “you've probably guessed I have little desire to exist as a blushing virgin.”

Brim grinned. “After tonight, it would be difficult for you to claim anything like that,” he said. “Blushing or otherwise.”

She laughed. “We did take care of any lingering doubts, didn't we? But it still proves my point.”

“Which is?”

“Well, just about the time you returned from your first mission, he hadn't been by for a couple of months. And…” She shrugged, clearly a little embarrassed by her own words. “You're cute, Wilf. Sexy. Besides that, I was, well, you know…
in the mood.
”

“I think I have the picture,” Brim said, feeling himself blush, too, in spite of the present circumstances.

“Anyway,” Margot went on quickly, “I didn't think I'd have much problem getting you between the sheets. Girls with legs like
these
never do. Except …”

“Except?”

“Except you quickly got to mean far too much. I've suspected I love you since we were in the Mermaid Tavern. I'd have gladly shared
anywhere
with you that night. A broom closet would have been fine. And that's awful.”

“I don't understand.”

“You're going to
have
to understand,” she said, suddenly serious again. “Because I can't shirk my duty as a princess, Wilf. This thing with Rogan is a lot bigger than anything I am now or ever will be. It won't just go away by itself. In fact,” she said seriously, “it may
never
go away.”

“Universe,” Brim said, gritting his teeth.

“And how
you
fit into the scheme of things is something I'm going to have to work out,” she said presently. “By myself. I find I can't think very intelligently when you're around like this.”

Brim grimaced, guessing what was coming next. “I hope you're not going to ask me to…”

“Yes, I am, Wilf,” she interrupted firmly. “Until I come up with some acceptable answers, you've got to stay out of my life. Probably, it'll be harder on me than it is on you. But the politics of this little triangle in which I seem to find myself centered affects too many people —
worlds.”

“What if you find I
don't
fit?” Brim asked. “Do I have any rights? After all, this thing is pretty important to me, too.”

Margot smiled sadly. “First, I've got to satisfy my obligations as a princess.
Then
we can start working out some sort of relationship between ourselves — if, indeed, one can really exist. “

Brim closed his eyes and shook his head sadly. “All right, Margot,” he said, running his fingers through her golden curls. “After today, I'll wait until you work things out — take as long as you wish, I suppose. I may not like it much, but I'll do it.
'I wish what you desire—/Our wishes reconciling./Your whims I still admire,/And wish to keep you smiling.’”

She kissed him softly on the lips; he felt the stirring in his loins.

“But today is
only
today,” he reminded her, “and I know I'm going to need you again before I go.”

Margot glanced momentarily into his lap — and grinned happily. “Wanton,” she chided in mock reproach. Then she kissed his nose playfully and lay back on the rumpled satin bedclothes, smiling happily. “You've already had so much of me you couldn't finish the last time — but, oh how I want you to try at
least
once more.”

* * * *

Considerably later, with early morning sunlight filtering in at the sides of the heavy draperies, Brim quietly left the warmth of Margot's bed and dressed himself in his badly wrinkled formal uniform, most of which still littered the floor where it had dropped. He looked down at her as she slept, face framed in yellow ringlets, then gently pulled a sheet over her shoulder. Brushing her cheeks with his lips, he gathered the meem-colored gown from where it lay, placed it neatly over a chair, then silently exited the room, closing the door gently behind him. He stood for a moment in the early morning silence of the ornate hallway, reflecting that he might well have already spent the most beautiful, exciting night he would ever experience. He wondered when, or indeed if, he would ever sample the same pleasures again, then shrugged. One paid a high price, he observed, when trading the relative simplicity of Carescrian hopelessness for the complex life in which he now found himself embroiled. At one time, he would never have so much as dreamed of a
first
night with such a woman, much less worry about others that might follow! He shook his head bleakly. Were it possible to undo everything since his entrance to the Academy, he would change nothing. Margot was clearly worth any effort. But the emotional price of hope was high, indeed.

He was met at the bottom of the lift by the same liveried chauffeur who delivered them to the servants' entrance the night before, this time, the man was dressed in a light gray uniform instead of the distinctive green habit peculiar to the House of Effer. He was tall and powerful looking, with a huge, square chin and piercing gray eyes. “Good morrow, Lieutenant,” he said in a rich bass voice.

“Good morrow, Freeman,” Brim replied, returning the man's rural Effer'ian greeting in kind.

The chauffeur beamed. “What are your wishes this morning, Lieutenant?” he asked. “I am at your service.”

“I'll gladly settle for a ride to the Lordglen House,” Brim replied.

“No more than that, Lieutenant? Perhaps we could tidy up your uniform while you breakfast?”

“A ride will be more than sufficient,” Brim said.

“You shall have it, then,” the man replied with an approving nod. “I’ll fetch the skimmer.”

Within a metacycle, another limousine — this one quite unmarked — deposited Brim under the glowing portico of the Lordglen House, and before midday he found himself again at the Quentian Portal of Avalon's Grand Imperial Terminal. As luck would have it, he arrived too late for the Proteus shuttle, by no more than five cycles. The next was scheduled three metacycles hence. He spent more than two of them on an uncomfortable bench regaining some of his lost sleep, then started on his way through the terminal toward the shuttle's departure gate.