The Pirate Fairy (9 page)

Denny wasn’t as disgusted as he should have been. He wouldn’t have minded a bit of bone marrow. He didn’t mind the food and, being the children of neglectful parents, he and Polly were fed better in the spike than they had been at home. They got bread and porridge for breakfast. Though porridge was a staple British breakfast item, it had never been something Denny and Polly had eaten before, and it became his lifelong obsession. Polly preferred dinner, and he liked it too, especially when they got the rare treats of cheese, butter and potatoes with their bread and pickled meats.

Their father, however, was never the same after their time in the workhouse and soon vanished once they were released. What had once been their home, a basement flat in East London, was now overrun by numerous displaced families. Denny, at the ripe old age of eleven, wound up on the streets finding ways to make money to pay for Polly’s keep in the apartment. She worked occasionally as a chimney sweep with Denny some days, hiding her long locks under a cap so she could pass for a boy. Denny tried to look out for her, but was soon working in a cotton factory where he spent long days waterproofing the fiber with rubber gum, which was then used to produce Mackintosh coats.

Polly was too young by law to work in factories because she was not yet nine. She had learned to steal and managed to snatch a loaf of bread or a potato here and there, but Denny’s long hours in the factory kept him away from her. By the time he went to the apartment to find her one Christmas Eve, he learned that the people he’d been giving money to, to care for her, had sold her off as a junior housemaid. He tried so hard to find her but learned right after New Year that she had been arrested for stealing a loaf of bread.

Now eleven, she was legally old enough to work, but it took Denny almost a whole other year to discover that she had been taken in by a British officer and his wife. Denny traveled to their home in Somerset, only to learn that they’d set sail for Botany Bay in Sydney, Australia. The officer had just been appointed in a position of authority at the penal colony. Denny became frantic. His mother had been banished there for stealing an onion. He’d learned of her circumstances and feared Polly winding up the same way. He decided there and then at the age of thirteen that he would become a seaman and make his way to Australia to rescue his sister, if not his mother.

It would take another four years for Denny to make good on his promise to himself.

“Wake up,” a gravelly voice snapped him out of his reverie as somebody viciously shook him, making Denny’s tender wing throb with pain.

“What is it?” Denny almost fell off the bed. “What’s wrong?” He looked up to see Frogmorten, the bumblebee man, standing over Denny, a large pewter mug in his hand.

“Barthelmass said to bring this to you. He said you needed it.”

“Is that nectar?”

Frogmorten nodded. When Denny reached for it, he snatched it back. “How am I to be paid for this elixir of life?”

Denny worked hard not to act on the kind of violent thoughts that had gotten him into so much trouble in the past.

“If you let me have the nectar now, I can show you how I intend to repay you.”

“I—” Frogmorten blinked as Denny held his gaze. They exchanged the kind of silent contract only men can sign between them. He gulped. “Okay.” He let Denny take the goblet.

Denny drank every drop, ecstatic at the taste of the nectar. Oh, it was the most delicious thing that had ever touched his tongue.
Wait a minute
. The perpetual ache from his wings went away. His muddled thoughts vanished. Nothing hurt. He felt fantastic.

“Can you get me more?” he asked, excited that he could move his wings with total ease. Denny was learning how to stretch his wings, literally, without hitting the wall.
I can’t wait to see if I can fly.

“I’ll get you more. You pay me first.”

Denny didn’t hesitate. He sat on the bed and undid Frogmorten’s cotton pants. The bumblebee man’s cock was half hard and very generously proportioned. His entire body from the neck down was human and he was quite sexy underneath his clothing. The sight of that huge shaft made Denny drool. He was surprised at the sweetness of the gigantic cock in his grip. Did all of the men here come so well endowed? Now that Denny thought of it, bees consumed only nectar and pollen. He longed to drink a long, cool glass of nectar. It was his new drug of choice. This was what he thought about as he brought Frogmorten carnal pleasure. Denny enjoyed giving a man the ultimate satisfaction with his mouth. Frogmorten’s ropey juices flowed quickly down Denny’s throat. He moaned, and his cock wouldn’t go down.

“You want it again?” Denny asked.

Before Frogmorten could respond, Denny dipped his head and began the whole process of sucking and licking the huge cock again. Frogmorten had made no sound during the first time around, except for the occasional, delirious sigh. This time, he groaned…the sound so unusual yet so erotic to the seasoned pirate that Denny was soon on his knees, moving his hand to Frogmorten’s balls and squeezing them. Frogmorten twitched at this unexpected contact, but did not otherwise resist. In fact, he seemed to thrust even harder into Denny’s open mouth.

Frogmorten came hard and reached out one massive hand to hold Denny’s head to him. When at last Frogmorten stopped coming, Denny knelt back on his haunches.

“I think you enjoy paying your debts,” Frogmorten murmured.

“Very much.” Denny looked him right in the eye. He was aware of a rush of heat to his own cock and wished he could jerk off quickly, but Frogmorten had other things on his mind.

“I will bring you more nectar. And you will give me more…joy.” He left the cell, taking the empty goblet with him. When Frogmorten returned later, he was about to receive payment for the second goblet when Ebba and Barthelmass arrived.

“They’ve stepped up your trial.” Ebba looked upset.

Barthelmass was carrying another basin of water and set it on the table. “The prince has a keen interest in this case and he only leaves the castle at night. He won’t come to court in the morning.”

Ebba grimaced at Denny. “And I am sorry to tell you that my brother is one of the crown’s witnesses against you.”

Denny shrugged. His wing felt wonderful.

“It’s twitching!” Ebba gasped. “You got it to work!”

“I did. With Barthelmass’ help.”

“Good, good.” Ebba pointed to the goblet. “Drink that nectar. Each cup lasts about two hours. We may have time to get you another cup before your trial starts.”

Barthelmass stepped forward and said, “I’ll shave him while you coach him.”

“Okay.”

“But first, Denny’s going to wash his teeth. His breath smells like he ate a dead person.”

Denny said nothing. He swallowed his nectar then grabbed the toothbrush and the canister of dental powder Barthelmass handed him and brushed. After using the bowl of water that Barthelmass had brought to swig and gargle, he spat the contents into his empty nectar cup. His mouth felt a lot better afterward and he tried to remember the last time he’d practiced good oral hygiene.

“The more flower nectar you drink, the better your teeth will get. When you manifest your full powers you’ll never need to brush them again,” Ebba said. She stood at Denny’s side as Barthelmass lathered up Denny’s head and face. He shaved Denny with a double-edged razor. That was a delight he had previously only ever experienced on the rare times he had visited a barber. His skin stung until Barthelmass dabbed his hands with some kind of tonic from a brown bottle and pressed his palms to Denny’s cheeks. The tonic smelled unusual but felt very good.

“What is that?” Denny took a deep sniff.

“Witch hazel. Very good for the skin.” Barthelmass turned Denny’s chair around and leaned him back, washing his hair and scalp with the cold water and a bar of white soap. He tilted Denny’s head up again and dried his head with a rough cloth.

Ebba kept grilling Denny, who could hardly concentrate on what she was saying.

“Don’t forget to mention your mother leaving you. Oh, and your dad deserting you. There are four women on the jury and they will feel sympathy for you.”

“Okay.”

“And mention your sister. Don’t forget to talk about the workhouse and your years working as a child slave in the factory. Keep your stories of thieving to a minimum. Oh. I will talk about your freeing the slaves. By the time I’m done with you, the women on the jury will be weeping to save you.”

“And the best I can look forward to is life in prison?”

“Maybe not that long. You might get time off for good behavior. But I can almost guarantee I won’t let you be executed.”

“Thanks.” Denny was worried now. She could
almost
guarantee it?

Barthelmass clipped at Denny’s hair with an expert touch. Denny was drowsy from the sensation of having another man touch him again. And anyone touching his head brought a sense of physical comfort. If he could spend the rest of his life in this cell experiencing moments like this he could die happy.

When he was done, Barthelmass stood back and said, “I think I’ve missed my true calling. You’re very dashing now, Pirate Denny.” He hoisted the mirror from the wall and put it into Denny’s hands.

Denny was thrilled with the way he looked. His hair was cut close to his scalp and wasn’t so unkempt-looking anymore. He had remnants of a three-day growth on his chin and upper lip but no longer looked like a pitiful old man straight out of a Charles Dickens story.

He bantered back and forth with Ebba, whose intense questioning gave Denny an unpleasant taste of what he should expect in the courtroom.

“Is there anything I should know about you? Some big secret that could get you the death sentence and me looking like a buffoon?” Ebba asked, as Denny dressed in the smart-looking clothes she and Barthelmass had brought him.

His entire ensemble was black. Black pants and shirt and soft, moccasin-type shoes in black. They were the most comfortable things Denny had ever worn. If one was to receive a death sentence, at least the locals wanted you to go out with ease. He thought of other pirates he knew who’d faced horrible trials with stocks and gallows. If he were to die this day at least he didn’t wobble in his broken heel. He missed his boots, though. They made him feel sexy and stylish. The moccasins just made him want to curl up and sleep.

“I have many secrets. But there’s one I guess I should tell you. My name isn’t really Denny.”

She frowned. “What is it then?”

Denny hesitated. It was true that Denny had secrets. Plenty of them. The worst was that his first name was really Dunstan Derrick. “My name is Dunstan,” he said.

Ebba and Barthelmass exchanged uncomprehending looks.

“With the British habit of condensing every single name in the book, I became Dunny. And dunnies are toilets. I could not live with their ridicule had they known my real name. Therefore, I could
not
keep sharing a name with a bloody lavatory. So I became Denny.” Aye, he had secrets. And he had plans. If he could wheedle himself a prison conviction he could cope with that. It would give him hope that he would see his prince again. Not that he could mention
that
in court. But also, while he waited, he wouldn’t mind indulging in his wild fantasies of being handed around by a bunch of horny men to use. He
craved
men. Not that he could mention that in court either.

One way or another, he would escape and find his freedom again. He could change his name. Reinvent himself. He’d done it before and he could do it again.

“We’ll mention it under the guise of your coming clean and being honest,” Ebba said.

“I
am
coming clean and being honest.”

“No other secrets?”

“I have some, but nothing I wish to declare,” Denny said.

The cell door rattled and the green-winged man entered. “Ah,” he said. “You look much better. How’s our wing project progressing?”

“We’ve got it sorted.” Denny showed the green-winged man that he could make his wings open up and flap, and he even rose a little from the ground.

“Have you mastered flying yet?”

“I’ve been locked in this cell. Not much room to fly.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Right.” He scribbled something in his book, and Denny had a hunch it wasn’t flattering.

“Are we ready?” the green-winged man asked.

“We are.” Ebba sounded a lot more confident than Denny felt.

Being executed had never been on his to-do list. Ever. He knew one day he would die but he’d become excited when he’d learned that being a fairy had given him immortal powers. He had to explore them and enjoy them, didn’t he?

They all left the cell and walked down the corridor. Denny realized everyone in his little party was wearing black and white clothing. He soon became distracted by a heavenly scent on the air. A spicy stew of some sort.
I hope they give me a last supper if I’m condemned to die. And maybe one last shag
. Food and sex. His favorite things in the world. Denny and the others passed from the jail to a bridge that hovered over a moat. He thought he saw a dead man’s body floating beneath him but didn’t look too hard. The bridge was flimsy and made of rope and wood. He grasped the rope handles, remembering his hard work picking oakum. He’d been a marked man since day one.