Enchanted Ch. 03

John knows he serves Mistress Beytrixxa — a powerful succubus— now. He has a salacious imp named Zynga as a familiar. Beyond that, he has no idea what his new life holds for him... or how he intends to live it.

They stepped into the Broken Mare and found the common room half filled with a crowd looking for a midday meal and a drink. Probably more of the latter, but John was in no position to judge. He could use one himself.

"Go," Zynga urged him, once again looking like a halfling trying to whore herself out to the lowest bidder. "I can see the smoke coming out of your ears your mind is so busy. Get some quiet and think things through. Mind you do some practicing too, you're no use to Mistress if you can't use your magic and end up dead."

He nodded and started to pick a way through the tables when he realized Zynga wasn't coming with him. He turned and asked, "What are you going to do?"

She waved him off and said, "Oh, don't worry about me, I'll find something to keep me busy."

"What if I need you?" he asked.

"I guess you'll have to call for me," she said. "You're supposed to be a smart fellow, I'm sure you'll figure it out."

John stared at her a moment longer and then sighed and turned away. She was the least of his problems. Although an imp running around in a hamlet was a disaster waiting to happen. Better to focus on today's problems than borrow them from tomorrow though.

His room was empty when he got there. The chamber pot was clean and the pallet nicely made. A bowl rested on the table with a pitcher filled with water beside it. On the shelf was a clay cup with two fresh cut wildflowers in it. He smiled. Magda was determined to take care of him.

John pushed thoughts of Magda aside and reached into the pockets of his robe. He drew the pouch out first and emptied it onto the table. As expected it contained coins. A dozen gold and another six silver pieces. Enough to get him through a day... no, wait, his room and board was paid for a week. It wouldn't last long after that though. He'd need more, but how to get them?

He scooped them back into the pouch and tucked it back into his robe. His dagger came next. He studied the leather wrapped grip and the steel pommel. A black pearl was set into the middle of the pommel. The cross guard was steel and small. A thin black script was etched into it in a language he did not recognize. When he flipped it over he saw the same etching.

The blade of the dagger was ordinary enough. It was smooth and well maintained with edges on both sides. A miniature sword, at only six or so inches long. He held it in his hand and nodded at how well balanced it was before sliding it back into the sheath. Now what to do with it? He didn't have a belt and the straps on the sheath weren't long enough to reached around his waist. His thigh, under his robe? That seemed impractical.

John's eyes fell to his arms. The sleeves of the robe fell to his wrists... why not? He lifted his left arm so he could pull his sleeve back and then fumbled with the straps of the sheath to tie it to the back of his upper arm. The dagger fit snugly in the sheath and a leather tie was there to wrap under the hilt to keep it snug. He swung his arm a few times and nodded, it stayed put and fit well.

"That's that... now what?" John asked himself.

He went to the window and threw back the shutters to look out to the streets below. From his window he could see the bustling town at work like any other town, he'd expect. The wind off the seas to the west were fresh and brought the smell of salt, a welcome reprieve from the usual stink of the poorer sections of towns filled with tanners, stables, brothels, and worse.

The thought of a brothel made John raise an eyebrow. He looked about, searching for some sign of a house of ill repute. He shook his head a moment later, unsuccessful and uncertain of why he'd even bother. He'd lain with a woman just this morning, and that didn't even include his communion with his Mistress!

Thoughts of Beytrixxa drew him back from his predicament to the tasks assigned to him. He had to learn how to use this new form of magic. Understanding it meant...well, it was the first step in everything. It would draw him closer to understanding his place in the world and, hopefully, help him find more about who he'd once been and what had happened to him. He'd been revered and respected once... now he was little more than a gigolo, if his new familiar had the right of it.

John sighed and sat in a chair at the table. It groaned and creaked under him but held fast. Satisfied he wouldn't end up on the floor with a broken tailbone he put his hands together and steepled his fingers. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, centering himself and finding the peace that decades of practice had taught him. That much, at least, he could still do.

John felt the magic inside him with ease. The power was exciting and new. Different from that he'd touched before. In the past, as a wizard, he'd learned how to summon the mystic forces and bend them to his will with gestures, words, and more. Anyone could be a wizard though, it only took discipline, practice, and endurance. There was some pain too, as the body had to be hardened and taught to handle the powerful energies.

This was different. The magic was like a living thing. It moved on its own but stayed within him. He could touch it and feel it and it welcome him, though he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. It felt good too, feeling the magic and letting it twist and writhe through him. It stayed within the confines of his body unless he pushed it out. Oddly enough, he could only push the magic out through his and his mouth. There was no way to project it from his back or his feet or his...

John struggled to keep from opening his eyes and swearing. He should have known... the magic was centered in his loins. He could, in effect, case a spell with his cock. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it! Yet what good would it do him. He was as he was, there was no changing it until he learned more.

He settled back into his meditative trance and experimented more. Pushing and shaping the magic and testing his knowledge against this new font of power within him until hours passed and he was well and truly exhausted.

John slumped back in his chair and dropped his hands at his sides. His arms ached and his belly was grumbling with need. He felt a deeper hunger inside of him too. The magic... he's used so much of it that it needed refueling.

"So I'm no better than a wand," John mused as he likened himself to an enchanted item. He felt a stirring in his loins and chuckled. "More of a staff... or a spear, I suppose."

There was no one around to laugh at his joke. The magic didn't care, it simply wanted to feed. John sighed and rose to his feet. He grabbed his spear relaxed his shoulders. Easy tasks, first find some food for his belly, then find a woman to bed. He knew what to do and now he know how... or if not he knew he could figure it out. Even the magic inside of him rested easier and accepted that he was in charge.

John made his way down to the bustling common room. The tables were full and it was loud enough a horde of ogres could sack the town and not be heard. Over the smell of ale, sweat, smoke from pipes of various types, he could still pick out the meat cooking in the kitchen. His stomach rumbled louder.

John made his way to the bar and raised a hand at a harried looking barmaid that was trying to squeeze past him. She waved a finger back, bidding him to wait. John started to nod and then thought better of it. Why should he wait? He was John the... well, no, he wasn't that man anymore. Still, he was no common peasant to be dismissed by a serving girl!

He snared her with a simple loop of magic. He cast it with a flick of his wrist and wrapped around her waist. She stared into space for a moment and then blinked her eyes and smiled before turning her attention on him. "I'm sorry, milord, what can I get you?"

"Ale and whatever the cook's special is tonight," he said. "I'm rooming for the week upstairs?"

"Of course, I didn't recognize you at first. That's a fine robe, milord, it won't happen again."

He smiled at her. "Good, good... now as for seating, I hate to take dinner alone in my room."

"I'll find you a place, don't you worry," she promised.

John smiled again and she was off. He turned and studied the room, searching for a suitable companion. He picked and discarded a few, not wanting to deal with their companions or changing his mind after noting their dress or mannerisms.

In the end only a few minutes passed before he felt a tug on his arm. He turned back to see the barmaid beckoning him with a shy smile on her face. John raised an eyebrow and followed her behind the bar and through the door to the kitchen.

"Pa has me take my meals here, milord," she said while gesturing for him to have a seat at a small table complete with a plate filled with a steaming steak amidst some stewed carrots and turnips.

John did a double take and looked her over again. She had a slight figure with a neckline on her blouse higher than most serving maids he'd seen. "Your father owns the Broken Mare?"

"He's the barkeep, milord," she said. "He manages it, but doesn't own it."

"I see," John said and he took a seat. "My regards to the cook and your father, I've been treated well and expected far less. Thanks be to them."

She blushed and curtsied. "I'll pass your words along, milord."

John smiled and watched her leave, taking care to judge the sway of her hips and confirm that she wasn't old enough to warrant any more of his attention.

He glanced over to see the cook and a scullery maid hard at work and nodded their way. He went back to his meal and ate quickly, silencing his stomach and last leaving him sated but empty. He'd all but exhausted his magic and it needed to be recharged. That meant it was time for desert.

He made his way back to the common room and squeezed through the crowd. There was nothing for him here. He could always ask for Magda, but after all that Zynga had said he was worried she might not be ready for him again. Or maybe she was, but it wouldn't be good for her.

John exited the tavern and looked up and down the street. The sun was low in the northwestern sky. Soon it would dip below the edge of the cliff and then the ocean would swallow it.

He smirked. Only a simpleton would think the sun truly swallowed it. The world was no simple flat plane, after all. He shook his thoughts away and turned to the left. He passed shops and another tavern, as well as houses and a one smithy. None caught his eye so much as the hall that led to the tunnels, and from there down to the docks.

He followed the same path Zynga took him down, save for her final deviation into the storage room. Instead he stayed to the main path and ended up on a great carved out cavern with supports placed evenly to brace the hall. Smaller shops were set up here, from taverns to brothels to stores catering to the needs of sailors. There were several openings along the other side of the hall where he could see the last light of the day lighting up docks, ships, and endless water beyond.

John smiled and headed for the brothels. He kept a wary eye on the people that moved from one place to the next, his hand over the pocket with his coin pouch in it. The children were the worst, he knew. Thieves and scoundrels working for older, proper thugs and ruffians. The last he needed in this new life was to be penniless.

So instead he'd waist his meager gold on a whore?

John snorted at the thought. He wouldn't need to pay her, he could use his magic.

"Watch yourself there, boy!"

John jumped at the harsh greeting. He turned and saw a woman with a long saber at her side eyeing him. A threadbare white shirt was tucked into a corset around her waist. Pants that looked worse for wear covered her from the top of her boots to her waist. She wore a wrap around her head but it couldn't contain the shock of curly red hair that spilled from under the side and back.

The real struggle for him was her shirt though. It was unbuttoned and left the inner swell of her breasts on display. They swayed and jiggled nicely as she lifted her hands to her hips to stare at him.

"You're still there, are you hard of hearing too?" she asked.

John pried his eyes from her cleavage and saw the men gathered behind her. Well, there were two women as well, one with a peg for a leg and the other with a bored look in her eyes. The men were disinterested or scowling.

"My apologies," John offered. "My first time down here, I was unaware standing was frowned upon. I might be a bit hard of hearing though, did you call me, 'boy?'"

She looked him up and down and he returned the favor. She looked experienced in more than just the ways of not being a maiden, he was certain. This woman had the look of a sailor with a crew of miscreants. Any woman that could command such people was bound to be dangerous... and interesting. Their eyes met and he smiled.

"I did," she said to him. "You seem a bit witless. No move out of our way or I'll have one of my boys help you."

John adjusted his grip on his spear. She noted the movement and shifted slightly, cocking her hip out to make her sword an easier draw. He twisted his other hand, now that her attention was away from him, and sent out a feeble rope of magic at her. It tickled her face and burst as though it was a puff of dust.

The woman inhaled sharply and narrowed her eyes.

"Of course," John said and bowed. He stepped out of the way and gestured with a flourish of his hand.

She stood still a moment longer, her eyes searching his. She worried her lip with her teeth and then gave her head a shake. Her crimson mane bounced on her shoulders before she pushed off and led her crew away.

One of them, the woman with the peg leg, passed through her spot next and gasped. She blinked and stumbled, only to be caught by one of the men. He grunted and made a joke that she had ignored. The others laughed but she'd turned her head to look at John.

"Steff, I'm only buying the first round," the red haired woman called. "Leave that fool be."

The woman with the wooden leg waved after her. "I'll meet you after," she said.

"After what?" one of the man called.

"After I teach this boy some respect," she said.

The sailors laughed and catcalled as they walked away toward one of the taverns. John stood still and took her in as she hobbled over to him. She wore torn breeches under the harness that kept the peg affixed to the stump just below her knee. Above her pants she wore a brown tunic open at the sides save for the tattered laces. Her hair was short enough to remind me of a pixie, yet it was so pale it was nearly white. She was young too, but thankfully older than the barkeep's daughter. Well into her twenties, John guessed. Quite young next to him, though he might not look it.

John tilted his head. How young did he look? Zynga had guessed twenty four. He'd yet to see himself though. He'd have to find a looking glass soon. That or a still puddle of water.

"You really are touched, aren't you?" she asked.

John pulled himself out of his thoughts and grinned. No! That wouldn't do, she'd just think he was well and truly mad. He wiped his face clean and said, "Sorry, I'm just taken aback by your savage beauty."

"Savage beauty, is it?" she asked.

He allowed a faint blush to creep onto his cheeks. "So rugged and strong, yet fair as a flower opening for the sun."

She laughed, her voice harsh. "You're full of yourself, to be sure."

"I suppose I am," he said. "I meant no disrespect."

She looked him over. "You've been saying nice things and you fear you're disrespecting me?"

"Well, you don't seem pleased with my praise. The truth is I'm scrambling to keep from being struck speechless by you."

"Now it's struck speechless? I think that's far from likely."

He grinned and motioned with his fingers again. It was harder this time and a shadow cross his face as he forced the magic out. "Depends on whether you want me to talk or not?" he asked while the faint mystical motes visible only to him made her face and neck sparkle as they splashed against her. They glittered and faded but she tilted her head up and let out a faint moan.

"I'm John, by the way."

"Steff," she said. "Tell me John, I've been on a ship for two weeks..." She trailed off as her eyes drank him in.

"You've been on a ship for two weeks," he supplied.

She shook her head. "What? Oh, you have got a sail full of wind, don't you. Tell me, John, do you know how to please a woman? Not one of them fine ladies neither, but a proper woman that likes to feel what a man has to offer?"

John grinned. "That I can. Tell me, would you like it here, in the open, or do you have someplace else in mind?"

"I'm fresh off me boat," she said. "Fresh off and aching for something to scratch an itch none of them boys on the boat can handle. I tell you what though, and don't be lying to me now, you'd better be better than me leg or this won't go well for you at all."

John looked at her peg. "How, er, might that work out?"

She grinned. "I take these straps and put me peg around me hips. Then I'll be the one doing the fucking!"

"Oh! Well then."

"Come on now, take me somewhere and show me what you've got. Then we'll see how you measure up."

John squared his shoulders and checked her peg again. "I think you'll be pleased."

She laughed and walked forward with surprising spryness. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him, hard. She pulled away, drawing his lip between her teeth before letting it go. "I'll be pleased no matter what happens. I'll make sure of that."

John opened his mouth to reply when her hand landed solidly on his crotch. She squeezed and raised an eyebrow. "You do have a place, don't you John?"

John clamped his mouth shut and nodded. He could feel the magic in her, faint though it was, twisting her natural need to let off some steam so it lined up with his hunger. "I know a place," he said and glanced down. "You'll need to let me walk though."

She smiled and released him. John smiled and turned away. He led her across the hall and back toward the stairs. His cock was waking up after her grope. He hoped he could make it to the store room before his robe betrayed him.

She mounted the stairs easily. He tried to pace himself so she could keep up but he soon found she managed just fine. Then again, if she was a sailor she was used to uneven ground and a bucking deck. Odds were good she could probably outrun him.

He led her to the storage room and tested the handle. It was locked fast. "Damn... earlier today this was open and abandoned."

"Watch yourself, John," she said as she pushed him aside.

John grunted and watched her produce a sliver of metal and worked it into the lock. A few twists and he heard a click. She lifted the latch and pushed it open. "Did it look like this?" she asked with a wink. "You'll not be escaping me that easily."

"Good," John said as he stepped into the room. "I've got my pride on the line."

She laughed and lifted her leg to brandish her peg. "You're mad, John. There's no man that can best this."

John glanced around the room. There were no torches and he hadn't yet learned to turn the magic into light. That meant leaving the door open. Oh well, the hall was long enough there was little chance of anyone disturbing them.

He smiled and turned to see Steff tugging her tunic over her head and dropping it on top of a crate. She looked at him and raised one eyebrow before reaching for the tie on her breeches.

"Straight at it then," John noted.

"Don't worry, I washed up on me ship. Fresh as a rose, I bet."