Myrko grinned, looking ready to catch a fly any moment. ‘Sbliwowitch, yess, if that’s what you want to call it. Rrreal upland stuff, best this side of the Karrpatny. Hoi, here’s Katjka!’ I blinked. Out of the aromatic gloom a girl appeared – quite a girl. In that gaudy costume she went with the decor of the place; she might have stepped down off one of the wine labels, a picturebook peasant girl from somewhere on the upper Danube. Perhaps not a girl; a second glance put her in her late twenties. And perhaps not a peasant either; the embroidery on the flared red skirt and black stomacher was just too gilt and gaudy, the cut of the white blouse over her full breasts just a little too low, too strained. Her blonde hair looked natural, but the face beneath it was lean and foxy, not quite pretty, and the deep hard grooves either side of her mouth betrayed the kind of experience peasants don’t usually come by. Apart from that astonishing cleavage her eyes were the best of her, wide and grey and anxious.
‘What is it?’ she demanded urgently, her voice startlingly deep, her accent less noticeable than Myrko’s. ‘Who’s hurt, Jyp? Oh –’ Before anyone could answer she had swooped on me, clucking like a mother-hen and cursing the others for not calling her sooner. She had my anorak off my shoulders so swiftly and gently I hardly felt a twinge, and the buttons of my shirt seemed to fly apart as her nimble fingers flew down my chest; she slid that off too, leaving me shrivelling with embarrassment. But if anyone was staring I couldn’t see them, and there was no change in the buzz of voices; anyway, it didn’t seem to worry this Katjka girl. She pulled my head down to rest between her breasts without the least inhibition, and when Myrko came puffing up with the hot water she’d sent him for she began to clean and search my throbbing scalp with incredibly delicate fingers, and smooth on something pungent and seaweedy from a jar. ‘Relax …’ she crooned, but on that particular pillow it was both difficult and only too easy; in the end I just accepted the situation, and sagged.
It seemed to please her, but I wasn’t quite so sure; nice creature though she was, from my vantage I couldn’t help but notice one thing about her. It wasn’t that unpleasant, not the kind of rank stink you associate with squash-court changing rooms, but all the same it was there, and pretty strong. No worse than our ancestors, our great-grandparents even must have been, or folk in countries where baths were still a luxury. I remembered an Eastern Bloc coal export official complaining that girls back home never bathed enough because of constant fuel shortages; he should’ve talked. But in our enlightened land of Lifebuoy and hot water on tap there wasn’t any excuse; it wasn’t necessary, that was why it put me off. Or wasn’t it? I glanced up at the lights again. Maybe they weren’t just decoration, atmosphere; maybe this place genuinely didn’t have electricity or even gas. In which case she might well have the same problem. But what sort of place didn’t have one or the other, these days? Even Highland crofts could get bottled gas. And how could any kind of eating-house survive the hygiene inspectors without them?
With slivovitz and other things I was still a bit lightheaded, thoughts like that buzzing aimlessly around, getting nowhere. But gradually I found my head was clearing, and, wonder of wonders, that it was hardly throbbing any more. Katjka seemed to sense this, because she pushed me gently upright and with careful fingers set to work on my punctured arm. I glanced at it once, then away; it looked worse than I’d guessed, a fearful mess of clotted blood. Besides, I preferred looking at her; beautiful or not, she was a nice-looking creature. And now she was clasping my arm to that bosom of hers, and leaving my hand dangling loose in her lap; quite a distraction. Beside us I heard Jyp and Myrko talking, but what they were saying only filtered through to me gradually.
‘So say to me, pylot, how’s this all happen, then? How’d a fly lad like you let a few mangy Volfs get you down, anyhow?’
‘Just careless, I guess. Decoyed me to the door and jumped me. Kind of subtle, by their lights.’
‘Daj. Let’s hope they not learrning brains. But why so much trouble? What’s in that warrehouse, anyhow?’
‘Just the usual.’ Jyp sounded puzzled. ‘A few old loads that’ve lain there months now, and the stuff out of the Iskander, docked this morning from out West. Nothing unusual in that. Black lotus for Patchie’s, a couple of gross merhorse skins that Mendoza’s shipped up from Te Arahoa on spec and died on the market. A load of flamewood planks for the trade, indigo, peppers and coffee from Huy Brazeal, auk down – twenty bales of it! – and a few tons of dried Conqueror Root and Night-eye for the shops on Damballah Alley. Not the sort of stuff a man can pilfer to any profit; it’d take more’n three to carry off any worthwhile pickings. There was a load of black-devil rum, fifty hogsheads, but Sutler Dick picked that up not four hours after it come in.’
‘Maybe nobody tells the Volfs,’ puffed Myrko.
‘Maybe …’ echoed Jyp, but he didn’t sound convinced. I was just about to ask him what all those daft-sounding commodities were meant to be when Katjka distracted me – with a vengeance. I jerked rigid with agony, and all but kicked over the table. It felt exactly as if, having cleaned the wound off gently, she’d suddenly pulled it sharply open, sunk her teeth in it and sucked hard. I looked down and saw that that was exactly what she had done. What’s more, she was still doing it. I sank back trembling, unable to speak, and saw Jyp grinning at me.
‘Could be dirt in the wound, remember? Filthy things, Wolf blades, you never know. That’s how Katjka’s folk deal with it, and I can vouch for it working, b’lieve me. Mind you, they’re all vampires in her corner of the world, anyhow!’
Katjka looked up, and spat my blood accurately onto his trousers, which looked like glossy leather; he wiped it off with a snort.
‘The company you keep, you shouldn’t be so high and mighty, pylot! Not too painful now, no, my Stefan?’
I managed a grin of sorts, as she picked up the slivovitz bottle and began to wash the wound with the blazing spirit. ‘Can’t think of anyone I’d rather be eaten by,’ I managed, and she giggled.
‘Especially marinado? Okay! Then I put a little more salve on this, so, and bandage it up, and in a day or so you are right as rain – all right, daj?’
I breathed out hard, and managed half a smile. Jyp handed me the bottle, but I shook my head. ‘Thanks, but I’ve had enough. Got to drive home.’
‘With that arm? Think you’ll be all right? Better you doss down here for the night. Try Myrko’s robber steak, with french fries and a demi of old Vara Orsino – put hair on your chest and lead in your pencil, that! And for your afters a tumble with Katjka – set you up a wonder, she will! And you give him the very best, you hear, lass, the real sailor’s holiday! My treat, right? It’s Wolf-meat I’d be if it wasn’t for my old mate Steve –’
I blinked a bit and stole a glance at Katjka. Jyp’s casually commercial attitude didn’t seem to bother her, if anything it flattered her. ‘Well …’ I said, and she turned those large grey eyes on me. I had a suspicion they’d stripped many a seaman of his inhibitions, if nothing worse. But I reached for my shirt.