Chapter 6 #2
“If you want more, then I will show you more.” A noise sounds. It sounds almost like a ship’s bell. He cocks his head and then smiles. “'Tis perfect timing. Go and get your coat, elskling. And then meet me on the patio upstairs. Hurry.”
“Where you turned into a dragon?” I check.
He smiles and cups my cheek. “I am always that. I just change forms occasionally.”
Excitement bubbles like champagne under my skin, and I grin at him. “I’ll be a minute. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Not without you,” he says solemnly. “That is no longer possible.”
The happiness and fervency in his words sound almost like a vow. But then his eyebrow rises slowly, and I remember what I’m supposed to be doing.
“One minute,” I shout and dart out of the room, hearing his laughter behind me.
I’m still tugging on my coat as I climb the staircase. For a few seconds, I hear just my puffing breaths, because the steps are steep. I grip the bannister for support, and then stop when I hear a soft hiss. I glance around but see only the moonlit stone steps.
Odd. It can’t be moonlight. There’s no window in this portion of the stairway.
A sly, serpentine movement catches my eye, and I cry out as the bannister suddenly ripples under my hand. It’s not stone anymore. Instead, I feel a muscular body and scales. I drop my hand immediately and press tightly to the stone wall behind me.
The bannister uncurls and takes the form of a snake, its green eyes glinting and its forked tongue flickering.
“Oh my god,” I breathe as the snake stares at me.
This stand-off is broken when Sigurd appears at the top of the stairs. “Cary, what are you doing?” His keen eyes immediately assess the situation. “Where are your manners, Bertha?”
Bertha? I mouth, having the sense not to voice it out loud.
Bertha shudders all over and arches up as Sigurd reaches us. She sways in the air until Sigurd pets her, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was smiling.
“Good girl,” he says. “Now this is Cary. Come and meet him.” She tosses her head and nudges him playfully, nearly sending him down the stairs. “Bertha, no,” he chides. “He is very nice. I promise.”
She looks rather dubious, and I can’t say I blame her, but Sigurd is insistent. “You know who he is, yes?” I’d swear she rolls her eyes, but she turns to me and slowly lowers her head in a courtly bow.
Sigurd gestures to me, and I get what he’s trying to say and immediately incline my head in a very polite response.
“I am honoured to meet you,” I say solemnly. I feel I really should have a medal for not degenerating into hysterics while talking to a snake-bannister.
She eyes me for a second and then nudges Sigurd again.
He pets her for a few moments and then steps back.
“Sleep, now, friend,” he says softly, and she nods, rubbing her head against him affectionately and then lowering herself back into place with a grateful-sounding hiss.
She gives a sinuous movement, and then the bannister is stone again.
Sigurd claps his hands together. “Ah, 'tis well, Cary. Now she knows you.”
“I wouldn’t be too complacent. That can sometimes go either way.”
He chuckles and leans in, stealing a quick kiss. When he pulls back, he starts up the stairs again. “Now, she will protect you,” he calls down.
“Are you sure?” I mutter, following him.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
I come out onto the patio and I’m immediately glad of my coat.
The wind is strong and so cold it brings tears to my eyes.
Sigurd is standing with his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he stares out over the rocks and the sea.
It’s a fantastic view, but he’s much prettier.
His feet are bare, and I frown as I come closer.
“Your feet will get cold,” I scold.
He turns, his whole face lighting up. It’s immensely flattering to be the object of this regard, and I smile helplessly at him. He raises his arm, and I immediately slide under it, feeling him press a kiss to my temple. “I do not get cold,” he says softly. “’Tis not possible.”
“Ah, dragon,” I say, laughing.
He nods. “It has its advantages.”
“I’ll say.” I snuggle closer to him. “You’re like a fire. I’m never cold around you.”
His smile is startled and pleased. “That is good, Cary, for I would always have you warm and cosy.”
“What were you looking at so intently?” I ask curiously.
He cocks his head. “I was waiting, and the wind has turned just in time.” He pauses, and I hear that ship bell again.
I look around, but the sea is clear, the waves white and bright under the full moon.
“It is nearly time.” He tugs me in front of him and wraps his arms around me.
I’m instantly warm and snug, the wind fresh in my face.
“Look,” he says, pointing. I follow his direction and gasp.
A thick sea mist is rolling in over the beach. It hovers over the sand, leaving the sky clear and the stars shining brightly.
“That’s similar to what I saw on the beach the first time. Is it a ground mist?” I ask.
“Nay,” he says softly. “Watch, Cary.”
The mist glows eerily as it surges back and forth over the sand. “It’s like the tide,” I breathe.
He kisses my head. “My Cary is very clever. It is a true sea mist in every sense of the word. A mist for the dead to sail upon.”
The bell sounds again, and I glance around. “Where is the ship, Sigurd?”
“There,” he says, pointing, and my mouth drops open.
A ship has appeared near the rocks on the far side of the beach. It’s an old galleon, the sort that appears in the pictures in children’s storybooks. It rides the sea mist, its sails tattered and black, and I hear the sound of men shouting from it and the distant snatches of a song.
“What is that?” I whisper.
“’Tis the ship of the dead,” he says. “The Porthcurno Phantom Ship. It drives into Porthcurno against the wind and sails on moonlit nights down the coastline.”
“Oh my god, my father used to tell tales of that.”
His mouth quirks. “Did he indeed?”
“Yes, but it’s real?”
“But of course. Old tales are always correct, but you humans have learnt to ignore the warnings contained in them. You shut your eyes when you hear the ship’s bell and huddle under the bedclothes, telling yourself that it is just the sound of the wind.
” He hugs me close. “And mayhap you are right to do so, for all humans who hear the bell and see the ship are compelled to join the crew.”
“Oh my god, I don’t want to be a pirate,” I breathe. “I mean, I did consider it when I saw Johnny Depp as Captain Sparrow, but I went off the idea when I realised that they didn’t wash their clothes. It was a lost dream when I got seasick on a Calais booze cruise.”
He chuckles. “You are safe with me, Cary. None shall take you from me.” He pulls me a little closer as if to emphasise the fact.
The ship is close now, and I watch in fascination as the mist wreathes around us, tattered tendrils drifting on the breeze. When it touches my feet, it’s ice cold, and the scent of salt is strong.
The ship slows as it nears us, bobbing on the swells of the misty waves. The ragged sails billow in the wind, and the huge skull and bones flag snaps out. Men scurry on the deck and a fiddle plays, the sound of singing ringing out. The song is so infectious that my feet start to tap.
A man stands at the helm. He wears a great coat and a tricorn hat. As the ship passes, he turns to us, and I gasp when I see only a bone-white skull under his hat. He touches the rim in a respectful salute to Sigurd, and Sigurd inclines his head gravely.
The ship slows slightly, and Sigurd calls, “Safe travels and may the wind be always at your back.”
“Thankee, dragon,” the captain calls. “May the fire in your belly stay ever warm.”
He nods at me, and his eyes gleam like black jewels in his skull. The ship seems to gather itself before surging forward. It disappears around the corner of the rocks, and I hear a last snatch of men laughing and the lonely fiddle, and then the night falls silent again.
I turn in Sigurd’s arms. “That was amazing,” I breathe, and his smile is wide and very white in the moonlight. A gust of wind catches us, blowing my hair back and making me stagger until Sigurd catches me.
“The wind is strong tonight,” he says, staring into the sky with the same yearning expression I saw on his face this morning. He hesitates and then looks down at me. “Let us fly.”
I gulp. “Pardon? Do you mean actually fly?”
He nods.
“But I can’t do that,” I say. “I didn’t come equipped with my own set of wings.”
He throws his head back, laughing, his hair cascading over his shoulders. “But I can help you fly with my set of wings,” he says.
“You want me to ride you?” I check. “In a non-sexual sense, of course.”
“Well, in both senses, always.” His voice is full of that warm humour and excitement that seems such an integral part of his character. “But not at the same time,” he finishes gravely. “It might set my balance out.”
I smack him, laughing, and he takes my hand. “What do you say, Cary? You can ride on my back.”
“Really?” Excitement fills me, but I hesitate. “But what if I fall off?”
He cups my shoulders, and his face is suddenly grave. “You could never fall from me, Cary. I would never let that happen, but it is impossible anyway.”
“Why?”
He smiles. “So you wish to do this?”
He does this a lot—if he doesn’t want to answer a question, he diverts the conversation. It’s very charming, but I don’t get my answers. I mentally shrug. I’m not entitled to all his answers, much as I would like to look inside him and know him fully.
“I would love to.”
His excitement and joy are heady, and he smiles widely. “Then stand to one side where I positioned you earlier, Cary.” He takes off his watch and hands it to me. “Keep that safe while I change forms.”
I look down at the watch. It looks very old with a gold face that echoes the colour of Sigurd’s eyes. “This is a Rolex.”
“Eh?”
I brandish the watch at him. “Is this an original Rolex?”