It was scorching in the marketplace. Bright sun reflected off white
stone and gritty yellow brick, glaring over everything. Pellew approached, his eyes
crinkled against the intense gleam. It was blistering out - it would be much cooler on the
Indy, where the sea breezes would lightly caress the deck, but it was worth the heat for
this rare chance to shop. It was not a big port, but at this point, anything would offer
novelty.
Captain Pellew marched uphill, feeling the strain in his legs and the
faint hint of the ocean's roll still in his stride. He was eager to see the wares on
offer, though he wasn't really planning on spending any money. It was the freedom of the
day that lured him; a time away from his beloved mistress, whom he had left in the capable
hands of Mr. Bracegirdle. So here he was, footloose, almost fancy-free, and willing to let
everything rest a span so he could while away some time in frivolous pursuits.
He could smell the market now: hot cooking meaty smells, doughy bread
scents, pungent and sharp spices, a few scattered animals, and rank humanity. That was one
constant, no matter the port, no matter the wares - the stench of men gathered together.
He was of a mind to be amused, though, and so he was tolerant in thinking on the evils of
congregated humans.
Pellew let his eyes slowly roam the small alleyway lined with awnings
and booths. There were people crouched beside objects displayed on the street, wealthier
sellers standing behind racks hung out store windows, and a few tables set up with people
standing and pitching their goods. He inhaled a deep breath in anticipation, and set
to work.
As in everything, Pellew was methodical. He worked his way up one side
of the street, planning on working his way back down the other side before heading down
the hill back to the pier. He examined jewellery and trinkets, tools - both new and
repaired, a few weapons - small daggers and the like. He tasted spices and fruit, glanced
over animals and meat. Perhaps Cook would care to come and purchase a few things to tide
the ship over....
So far, the Captain had spotted nothing out of the ordinary. And then,
he reached the last stall at the very end of the market. It was a fabric vendor. Pellew
had a keen eye for colour and pattern, and was gaining a reputation as a man of
distinguished taste and refinement in the decor of his cabin. Here was a store that simply
must be entered.
At first, Pellew was disappointed. Inside the small store (for indeed,
this was a wealthier merchant who had only opened the door of his building to join in the
day's market) were cloths of a common sort - rough fabrics of plain, sturdy weave and long
wearing colours, designed to be worn or used for everyday things. Nothing to look down on.
It was not as if Pellew himself had not had to use such cloth before, nor that he might
not have to do so again. But he had so hoped for some gem in this little store. He
continued his search in a cursory manner, not able to bring himself to leave. A movement
caught out of the corner of his eye brought his head quickly around. There was a curious
little man, browned, wizened, stooped over double by age and infirmity. He was gesturing
for Pellew to enter a small back room. If the man had looked other than he did, the
Captain would have suspected a ruse, some trickery to get him aside to be robbed or
attacked, but the old vendor was alone, and could offer the vital Pellew no harm. The
Captain walked through the doorway....
Only to gasp in delight. In this small alcove off the main room was a
treasure trove of fabrics. Silks, satins, damasks, cottons, cobweb thin and sensuously
thick. Every colour under the sun seemed to be represented here. Pellew's eyes were
dazzled after the earth tones in the other room. His fingers reached out, hovering just
over cloth, but not touching. Until he saw that one piece, the one he knew he could not,
should not buy, but the one he simply had to have.
The second he saw it, he knew he would be leaving with it. It simply
had to be his. When he looked at it, he could see creamy skin lying on it, tousled brown
curls resting on it; he could feel it moving over and under him as he moved upon it,
stroking as he caressed, barely brushing skin blushed with passion. Never before had
Pellew had such a visceral reaction to stimuli: this fabric had him panting, his heart
racing, his muscles tight with tension and his dignity about to be disturbed.
As quickly as he could, Pellew bought that fabric. He knew he paid more
than he should, but he could not stand to stay and bicker more. He had to have it safely
in his possession and back in his cabin before its spell had broken.
He was still so entangled in the vision cast by the fabric that he did
not see the man approaching the store as he left. The two men collided, arms clutching,
faces close as bodies brushed up against each other. Pellew looked into those eyes, and
thought it at first still part of his hazy fantasy. "Sir? Captain Pellew, are you all
right?"
Pellew cleared his throat, shrugged his shoulders, and gently lifted
the young Lieutenant away from him. "Yes, thank you. And what are you doing away from
the ship, Mr. Hornblower? Um?"
"The wind has shifted, sir, and Mr. Bracegirdle sent me to notify
you."
"Ah, yes. Very good. Ahem."
Hornblower bent over to pick up the parcel that the Captain had dropped
when they crashed into each other. "Is this yours, sir? It's very light!"
"Yes, Mr. Hornblower. It is the stuff dreams are made of...."
THE END