Tamar (48 page)

She perched herself on Joseph’s knee and helped herself to his drink. ‘What’s yer name?’ she asked in a sweet voice.

‘Joseph.’

‘Mine’s Emerald. Pleased to meet yer, Mr Joseph,’ she giggled, wriggling about on his lap.

This close, Joseph could smell her. Sweat, alcohol and something more; a heavy, heady musk that made his heart thump and his penis grow rapidly in his trousers. He moved slightly in embarrassment but it was too late; she had felt his erection and was pressing her buttocks against him suggestively. ‘Happy ter see me, are yer?’

Joseph glanced at his friends for an indication of what he was supposed to do next. Drunkenly amused, they raised their mugs to him in a silent, conspiratorial and altogether unhelpful toast. His cock was behaving with a mind of its own and he wasn’t at all sure what to do about it.

Emerald laughed at his obvious discomfort, which made him wince; she was squashing his balls. He placed his hands around her waist and moved her so his thighs took the weight of her ample bottom, rather than his genitals. More comfortable now but still very conscious of his erection, he sat there, wondering what to do.

Just as his silence was becoming embarrassing, she spoke into his ear, clearly under the impression she was whispering. She wasn’t, and Joseph pulled his head back smartly. ‘You’re a pretty one, aren’t yer? Want ter go upstairs?’

Joseph shook his head, reached for his drink and took a very large swig. He was in an unfortunate predicament; if he stood, everyone would see the extent of his physical arousal, but he couldn’t sit here and miss his opportunity with this warm, soft and inviting girl. Emerald’s closeness was pleasantly suffocating, and his senses were reeling. He made a decision. ‘We will go upstairs,’ he said.

Emerald nodded and got unsteadily to her feet, ineffectually attempting to smooth the crush of wrinkles from her skirt, making her breasts wobble. Joseph bit his lip. When Emerald held out her hand, he took it.

They crossed the room and went through a door which opened into a dank-smelling anteroom at the bottom of a steep, narrow staircase. There was very little light and Emerald paused at the base of the stairs to light a candle in a wax-encrusted holder.

She handed it to Joseph. ‘You can carry this, luvvie. Follow me.’

Joseph did. The steps were wooden and very rickety, and initially he concentrated on where he was placing his feet. Then he glanced up, and his focus changed immediately: Emerald had grasped the
back of her skirt and with every slow step she took, she slid it higher up her legs, revealing black high-heeled ankle boots that had seen much better days, red silk stockings caught above her knees with black lace garters, and the backs of a pair of well-muscled, smooth white thighs.

Joseph’s breath caught in his throat and he felt his erection, wilted slightly after the short journey across the tavern, spring rigidly to attention. With an excruciating thrill that jolted him from head to toe he realised Emerald was not wearing underdrawers, and by the time she reached the landing at the top of the stairs, her full and luscious backside was revealed in all its inviting, candle-lit glory.

Joseph grew harder with each step, until he feared even the slight rubbing of his trousers against his engorged penis would be his undoing. They were standing on a narrow landing with five doors. Emerald dropped her skirt and pulled a key from her bodice, then bent to the keyhole of the door directly in front of them. After fumbling and dropping the key twice, she unlocked it and beckoned coyly to Joseph to follow.

Inside, she moved around the dingy little room lighting the gas brackets on the walls. There was a single bed in the centre with its head against one wall, a straight-backed wooden chair and a dressing screen, and a small table in one corner with a bowl and a cracked ewer.

‘Sit down,’ she ordered, indicating the chair. Joseph did so gratefully. His head was spinning and he was starting to feel sick.

Emerald sat on the bed and belched resonantly, patting her chest apologetically. ‘Dearie me,’ she said, and felt under the pillows. Withdrawing a half-full bottle of gin she plucked out the cork with her long fingernails and took several deep swallows before offering it to Joseph, who declined, correctly judging himself too unsteady to get up off his chair unaided.

Emerald put the bottle down and led him to the bed.

‘Sit there,’ she cooed.

She began to slowly disrobe, an inviting smile on her face and her eyes slightly unfocused. Off came her dress, tossed vaguely towards the chair. This was followed by much sinuous and erotic wriggling as she removed her corset, then slid her chemise up over her hips and breasts and drew it over her head. The moment was only slightly spoiled when the undergarment caught inelegantly on her nose and became stuck for a moment, but Joseph barely noticed, mesmerised by her heavy white breasts and the triangle of dark fur above the juncture of her shapely legs, still clad in their stockings and boots. He dared not breathe.

Emerald ran her hands slowly down her body in self-admiration. ‘Pretty, ain’t I?’ she murmured.

Joseph nodded. She was
very
pretty.

She moved closer to the bed and, standing less than a foot away, raised one leg and placed a booted foot on his knee.

Joseph gasped involuntarily. Her vulva was only inches from his face, open, pink and moist. In spite of his intoxicated state, it was altogether too much for him; losing what little control he had managed to maintain thus far he began to convulse as his orgasm gripped him. Doubling over he thrust his hands into his lap as waves of painful pleasure swept through him.

Emerald waited patiently, taking triumphant delight in the knowledge she had the power to make men do this. Or boys, in this case.

As Joseph’s spasms subsided, she stepped back from the bed, reeling slightly. She was suddenly very weary; this boy was her seventh customer, and she was tired, very drunk and getting sore.

Joseph glanced up at her, his luminous green eyes brimming with apology and humiliation. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. He looked miserable.

‘Don’t be, luvvie,’ she replied. ‘Feeling sick, are yer?’

When Joseph nodded she got onto the bed next to him, pulled him down beside her and drew a blanket over both of them. ‘Lie with me, sweetie, have a sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning. I ain’t workin’ no more tonight, I’ve had a right gutsful.’

She rested his head against her breasts and closed her eyes. Within minutes they were both asleep and snoring gently.

John and Noho were by now almost paralytically drunk. When Noho vomited onto the floor between his knees, they both decided they’d probably had enough and staggered outside, holding each other up and singing tuneless snatches of half-remembered songs.

Weaving along Willis Street and down the hill towards Queen’s Wharf, they completely forgot their young charge, lying asleep in the arms of a whore.

Cass was livid. ‘What you mean, left him behind!’ he bellowed at the two sorry-looking seamen standing unsteadily in front of him.

Despite their inebriation, John and Noho were horrified when they realised what they had done. Cass had been on deck, perched on a box splicing ropes by the light of a kerosene lamp, waiting patiently for Joseph’s return. The sight of him sitting there as they wobbled up the gangway had reminded them all too suddenly they were supposed to be looking after the boy.

‘Where is he?’ demanded Cass angrily.

‘Blue Lady,’ Noho mumbled, hanging his head in shame.

‘By hisself?’

There was no response.

‘John,’ said Cass threateningly.

John muttered, ‘No. With a whore.’

Cass swung his massive arm and hit John hard across the side of the head. The other man fell to his knees, then staggered upright again, making no move to hit back.

‘Only a young one,’ he said, as if this would make a difference. ‘We sorry, Cass. We was drinking rum, eh.’

‘Bloody useless bastards!’ spat Cass. ‘I trusted you! Get below. Go on, fuck off!’

John and Noho shuffled towards the cabin door and their bunks, knowing the best thing they could do was remove themselves from his sight until Cass calmed down.

Cass remained on deck, pacing in an agitated circle while he thought about what he should do. The repercussions could be disastrous; Te Kanene would have his balls. He snatched up his splicing knife and hurried down the gangway, his false leg — the footless wooden peg he customarily wore while aboard
Whiri
— thudding hollowly as he went.

He would have to find the boy and bring him back.

Cass knew the way to the Blue Lady like the back of his hand and it took him less than twenty minutes to get there. People in his path stepped smartly aside as they saw his face set in a particularly grim scowl and his huge fists clenched.

At the Blue Lady he barged his way up to the bar.

‘Seen a boy?’ he demanded.

The barman, who knew Cass well, nodded. ‘This tall?’ he asked, holding his hand at shoulder height. ‘Long black hair, green eyes, pale fella?’

Cass nodded.

‘Seen him earlier,’ said the barman. ‘Ask them girls over there,’ he added, pointing towards the table still occupied by several whores.

Cass marched over, the table falling silent as he approached. Looming over the women he found out what he wanted to know and headed through the door at the rear of the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the low lintel.

He clomped up the stairs, briefly contemplated the five closed doors in front of him, and started on the far left. That room was empty but the next was not. Inside, on the bed, were a naked male figure and a semi-clothed woman, their features shadowed in the dim light.

Cass grasped the man roughly on the shoulder, realising it wasn’t Joseph even before he saw the face. The woman squealed in alarm as the man exclaimed angrily, ‘Fuck off! I were ’ere first!’

Cass snorted in disgust. ‘Seen a boy?’ he asked.

‘No, yer dirty pervert, sling yer ’ook,’ the man retorted, rolling back onto the woman.

The room next door was also occupied. Cass pushed the door open and walked across to the bed. In it, enveloped in the arms of a very well-developed young girl, was Joseph. They were both asleep.

He reached down and yanked off the blanket. Joseph didn’t stir but Emerald opened her eyes groggily and mumbled, ‘Who the fuck are you?’ her voice not at all sweet.

‘I’m here for the boy. What you done to him?’

‘Nothing, he’s asleep,’ Emerald protested.

‘Get up,’ Cass growled.

Ignoring her nakedness he took hold of her arm, pulled her roughly off the bed and propelled her towards the chair, vaguely intrigued to see she was still wearing boots and stockings. As she sat down heavily he retrieved her chemise from the floor and threw it at her. ‘Put it on,’ he ordered.

When she had covered herself he stood in front of her, his huge bulk forcing her to crane her neck upwards to see his face. ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

‘What do yer think happened?’

‘Don’t be smart, girlie. Answer me.’

She shrugged. ‘We didn’t do nothing. It were over before he started. He’s a boy,’ she added, as if this explained everything.

Cass searched his vocabulary for the correct English words and failed. Making a circle with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he poked his right forefinger through it repeatedly. ‘None of this?’ he asked.

‘Nah,’ said Emerald, shaking her head. ‘Not even close.’

‘What about this?’ Cass asked, pointing to his own backside.

Emerald was deeply affronted. ‘What do yer think I am? I got standards!’

It was Cass’s turn to shrug. Opening his mouth and waggling his tongue in a suggestive manner, he raised his eyebrows enquiringly.

‘None of that either,’ Emerald replied. ‘That’s only for me special customers.’ She swept her hair back off her face and adjusted the straps of her chemise. ‘Who cares anyway? He’s only a ship’s boy. Very pretty, and well developed for a young ’un, but still a kid.’

‘Who cares is not your business,’ said Cass dismissively, moving back to the bed. He bent over and shook Joseph; the boy was still sound asleep. Cass slapped him none too lightly across a cheek and barked in his ear, ‘Get up, boy!’

Joseph stirred and rolled onto his back, moaning, his eyes half open. ‘I feel sick,’ he said groggily to no one in particular.

Cass dragged him roughly to his feet. ‘You been very dumb, boy,’ he muttered as he pushed Joseph around the bed and towards the door.

‘Hey!’ said Emerald. ‘What about me money? I ain’t been paid!’

Cass rummaged in a pocket and withdrew a crumpled one pound note, tossing it in Emerald’s general direction as he and Joseph went through the door.

‘A pound!’ she exclaimed indignantly. ‘I’m worth more than a bloody
pound
!’

‘Then get in that tavern and work for it. You done nothing for this boy,’ replied Cass, shutting the door in her face.

He managed to get Joseph, still only semi-conscious, down the
stairs and outside through the back door. In the alleyway behind the tavern, he had to stop and wait while Joseph vomited noisily. After that the boy couldn’t seem to find his feet, and Cass wondered how much those two drunken fools had let him drink.

Seeing no other alternative, he picked Joseph up, slung him over his shoulder and made his way back through the dark Wellington streets.

In the morning Joseph awoke with a pounding headache, a mouth that tasted utterly foul, and no memory of how he got back to the
Whiri
. As he lay gazing at the ceiling of his sleeping compartment, wondering whether he was going to be sick, the door opened and Cass stuck his head in.

‘Food on the table, boy,’ he said gruffly, and withdrew.

Joseph snatched his blanket over his mouth and nose as the smell of fried meat wafted in. He shut his eyes again: he could remember going to the tavern, drinking beer and rum, and talking to a girl in a green dress, but beyond that his mind was disturbingly blank. He sat up gingerly, wincing as his head hammered, and looked around for his trousers; they were draped over the end of his bunk, and they stank. Joseph tossed them into a corner and got out a clean pair. What on earth had he done last night?