BITTERSWEET

by Mack the Knife

Vanessa had been a soldier, up until her first battle, where she lost her right eye to a Tilnon arrow and the use of her left leg to a Sorkin cavalry horse, trampling her as she fell.

To say she was bitter over her misfortune was a understatement.

She resented the military and resented the Kingdom for the battles, and she resented herself for being foolish enough to attempt to serve side-by-side with mighty men of war.

She had been a pretty lass, and it broke her heart now to regard herself in a mirror, where a simple cloth eyepatch stared where once she had a mate to her sole remaining beautiful hazel eye. She had loved her eyes, as the rest of her was somewhat plain. She had a rather weak chin, and her cheekbones were not at all prominent, and her nose was too long. The eyes had fixed all that, though, and drew people looking at her to them, minimizing the effect of the other features considerably. Now people did not seek to look into her eyes, and avoided them, even, leaving them to wander over her less-than-ideal features, and concluding that she was quite unattractive.

She rose this morning with the same sense of doom and dread she awoke with each morning. She looked around her meager little room, only three paces to a side, with a cot, a small table, a tiny fireplace, and a chest. This room, alone, cost most of the money she could garner working in the Spitted Pig, a small tavern that served some of the seedier patrons in Port Kless. She resented the job, as much as anything in her sad life. She was constantly assaulted by the groping hands and the lascivious grins of drunken sailors and fishermen. When she complained to Kendan, the barkeep, he told her that considering the circumstances, and that she was half lame and the slowest wench in the bar, she should be happy to have a steady job.

She resented Kendan.

Long work and gritting through much pain had regained her the use of her leg, somewhat, where she could hobble along with it, and stand more-or-less normally. It often pained her greatly, though, at the end of the night, after standing all evening and weaving between the crowded tables of the Pig.

Port Kless had, for a long time, been a seaport of Sorkin, and many troops flowed through the city on their way to the isles.

As she hobbled to the Pig, for another night’s horrific torment, she was mindful that this was her half night, and she would at least be spared the worst drunk patrons of the evening.

She came into the bar and took up her apron and started ferrying drinks to the tables, as she had for the last two years. Meager tips marked the generous patrons, and the occasional groping hand felt her buttock, or stroked a hip, or patted a breast. She dodged these as best she could, but with her uncooperative leg and the lack of peripheral vision on her right side, she was at a distinct disadvantage.

One new patron, who had only come to the Pig for about a month now, was being more obnoxious than normal. His name was Wiggens, and he was the owner of a new fishing trawler in the port. He was fairly well fascinated with his own wealth and influence, and liked to throw money about.

The last few nights, he had become more and more persistent with invitations to Vanessa, saying she should come home with him and it would be much to both of their profits. She wriggled from his traps and managed to keep doing her job while avoiding the predatory motions of this fisherman who baited lures with the skill and finesse of a blind moose.

This night, however, Wiggens had gotten himself a head start on his carousing. His ship had come in, quite literally, and laden with tuna to the point of nearly scuttling herself from the low draft she was pulling as she came into port. He was celebrating, and saw not why everyone else should not do so. She was hustling frantically, trying to keep up with the generous ‘rounds for the house’ he kept buying. Soon the crowd was his, and he decided to make his move.

Reaching one chubby arm out as she went by, he grabbed her thigh, and pulled her to him, from her left side. She was unable to stop the motion without falling to the floor, due to the immobility of her bad leg. He plopped her down on his lap and pawed at her hips and butt as she tried to squirm loose. He was a blubbery fat-ass, but he was also stronger than her, and there appeared to be no one even willing to speak down to him about his actions, much less to take action to free her to continue her labors.

She felt his rubbery lips on her shoulder and the drool he left there smelled of rum and beer, and fish. She forced back a retch as he tried to kiss her face, giving her a full whiff of his breath. The rowdy crowd pretended not to notice her pained expression and worried eye. This man was going to ravish her right here, and no one would gainsay it.

As a tear formed in her eye, and his plump hand started moving up under her dress, nearing her entrance, she felt his cockstem stiffen in his lap, poking her in the rump.

Then she was moving again. Someone had grabbed her arm and pulled her from the fat fisherman. He was a young man, even younger than herself, but he wore the uniform of the army of Sorkin, and had the hashmarks of a corporal on his sleeve. He pulled her free and stood her on her feet, glaring at Wiggens. “Leave this girl to her work, fishmonger, else I’ll consider you an enemy of my unit, who are not being served their rightful due after hard battle.”

The fisherman blubbered incoherently, his face reddening with rage. He was not used to being thwarted and still less so by a youth half his age. He leaped up from his chair, standing to his full height, which, admittedly, was great. The youth, however had faced down entire regiments and men with deadly steel in their hands, and even women who fought with the fury of banshees, and he did not flinch.

On the other hand, the fisherman had his loyal crew to back him, and they all stood up, sliding their chairs and standing almost as one. Eight men now stood in the bar and the sounds of revelry died down, as the crowd took notice of the possibly explosive situation. Vanessa looked at the soldier. “Corporal, I am okay, please,” she said, trying to save the situation from becoming worse. As she spoke, a fat arm brushed her aside, slinging her over a table and onto the floor where she landed in a heap with another patron and her leg twisted painfully, she screamed in agony as pain cored into her and nearly caused her to black out. She looked down, and saw Wiggens land a mighty blow on the corporal’s chest, sending him back a few paces as the impact knocked him off balance. The fat fisherman and his crew laughed as he advanced at the reeling soldier.

“Don’t they teach you lads to fight these days?” said Wiggens, cocking back a meaty fist to strike the young soldier again.

The youth sprang forward and jabbed his extended fingers into Wiggens’ neck, causing the fat man to nearly collapse as he strained for breath. “No,” said the soldier, “they teach us to kill.”

Barely able to breathe, Wiggens leaned on a table, and his crewmen all started to move toward the soldier. Vanessa tried to rise but the drunk old man entwined with her was trying to do the same and they kept working to cross purposes, knocking each other’s uncooperative limbs out from under them.

The fishermen stopped advancing, however, when a dozen soldiers rose from scattered places among the crowd. They had been content to let a soldier fight his own fair man-to-man battle. But they were NOT going to allow a band of ruffians to gang up on one of their own. Some of them were armed, as well. The fishermen collected their boss and withdrew to a private corner of the bar. The corporal looked at Vanessa and helped her to her feet, along with the old man who had been entangled with her.

“I hope you’re okay, miss,” he said, straightening her vest for her.

She nodded and smiled gratefully. “Yes, corporal. I am okay.” The barkeep was moving toward them like a warship, plowing the crowd apart with his round prow and leaving a turbulent wake behind him of people trying to regain their balance.

“You get the hell out of here tonight, Vanessa, and don’t come back until next week!” he yelled. “Maybe then you’ll fucking appreciate your job.”

Her face fell. She could not afford a week without pay, she might talk her landlord into extending credit on her little room and such, but she would not be eating, either, as the only real food she ate was from here, as a perk of the job.

The soldier saw her expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. His face was full of concern and very much upset at himself. “Let me help,” he offered.

She looked up at him with her one hazel eye. “I think, soldier, you’ve ‘helped’ quite enough,” she said, and fled from the tavern as fast as she could limp, which was surprisingly so for a short distance.

She started heading for her little room when she heard footsteps behind her. She had to turn all the way around to see who it was, worried that the fisherman or one of his crewmen was going to get his grope whether she wanted it or not. It was the corporal, however. His face still wracked with worry. “Please,” he said.

She looked at him a long moment, her eye trying, vainly, to show anger. Finally she relented. “Okay, what do you wish to do to help me?” she asked quietly.

“Here,” he said, approaching her, and holding out a small pouch. “That should see you through the week.” He took her hand and lifted it and wrapped her fingers around the little pouch.

He turned and started to walk away and she opened the pouch, then froze. “Corporal,” she said, very quietly. “I cannot accept this.” The pouch had four diamonds in it, rather large ones, they were uncut, but obviously valuable beyond anything she had ever thought of holding in her fingers.

He smiled over his shoulder. “You already did,” he said. She hobbled after him. “Stop,” she said, her voice tinged with pain from her leg. He immediately froze and turned around.

“Don’t hurt yourself, miss,” he said, looking concerned again.

A brittle smile came to her lips. “Then don’t make me run,” she said. “This is more than I make in a year, or five years.” She held the pouch out to him. “I cannot accept that, soldier.”

He smiled widely, but made no move to take the pouch. “If you will not take it as a gift, then I will hire you,” he said. “I have some stuff that needs tending to - sewing and cleaning, and such as that.”

She looked at him with disbelief. “And you would pay me in diamonds for such work.” Her eyes grew suspicious. “Will I be able to stay clothed during this ‘work’ you need done?”

His face brightened. “If you wish to, though I would never complain if you desired to wash in the nude.” He chuckled.

She smiled at that too. “Sorry,” she said. “I just have never had someone do anything this nice for me before.” She eyed the pouch, then stuffed it into the pocket of her apron, which she had forgotten to remove prior to leaving the tavern. “You just hired a maid, then.”

He nodded happily. “Good. I will collect you in the morning,” he said, his voice cheerful, as if he had just arranged a picnic.

She laughed. “Nice try, but you don’t know where I live,” she said, and took his hand. “Come with me.”

He followed her and she looked back to see he was smiling. It crossed her mind that she might well be leading a horny soldier right where he wanted to really go. Then it crossed her mind that he had given her more than enough wealth to justify such expectations. As they wandered the streets and alleys she thought hard about it. He was a good-looking man, and strong, too, and he HAD stood up for her when no one else would. Two years ago, she would have bedded him for sport. She smiled back at him when she looked at his clean-shaven and eager face. If he wanted her, she would give herself to him. The lump in her apron attested to the fact that even in basic units of trade he had paid her very well for even such private services, extremely well.

They came to her small flat, finally, she used a small key to open the padlock on the door. “You wish to come in?” she asked. “I have some wine, if so.”

He nodded. “Since I missed out on the beer and ale at the Spitted Pig, I would not mind,” he said with a broad smile.

She smiled back at him, and entered, he followed her. She uncovered her banked fire and lit a lantern from the coals before putting a few valuable pieces of wood onto the fire. Soon they had good light as the wood caught and she adjusted the lantern’s wick.

She offered him one of the two chairs she had. “Please, sit down, corporal,” she said, as she removed the apron, pulling the bag from it and putting it in a cup on the mantle of the fireplace. He did so, and watched as she went to the chest and pulled out a bottle of wine and got two glasses from the mantle. He noted they were identical to the glasses used at the Pig.

“My name is Evan,” the soldier said, smiling as she handed him an empty cup.

She looked at him. “Vanessa,” she said. “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful back at the bar. I’m just afraid I may not find much work. I’m not pretty, and people rarely look for one-eyed, lame women to employ.”

He looked at her. “You’re lovely,” he said.

Yep, she thought, he'll try to bed me.

“If you had both eyes, I bet men would be unable to break their gaze on you,” he said further.

She shrugged and looked at him, with almost no emotion. “But I don’t,” she said. “And the rest of my features don’t add to the effect.” She poured a large glass of wine for each of them then sat down herself. “I’ll be honest with you. If you wish to spend the night here, I wouldn’t mind at all, Evan.” She hardened her eye a little. “But don’t butter me up with idle flattery.”

He looked hurt, but said, “Okay, but will you take a compliment that is deserved?”

She thought a moment. “If I feel it is, I will accept it,” she finally replied. She found herself liking this gentlemanly soldier more and more. He was charming, and seemed to be genuinely sweet. She finally gave him a good looking over, to see what she might be in for. He was broad-shouldered, which was quite obvious. And, he was muscular, judging from the large biceps and thighs his short tunic revealed, both of those things spoke well in his favor. She then regarded his face, it was oval, and quite expressive, with a wide mouth and full lips. He had a somewhat short, broad nose, though, but very nice green eyes. He wore his hair as was the current fashion in these parts, being cropped close, with the bristles standing atop his head and shaved to the sides. It was an attractive look, in general, but was not quite what his head seemed to demand. All-in-all a good looking lad, and, as she had thought earlier, she would have happily taken him to her tent back in her service days.

She smirked to herself, realizing she HAD taken him back to her ‘tent,’ had she not? He sipped the cheap wine and did not seem to mind it. “You’re a veteran?” he asked.

She nodded. “Not a very illustrious one, I have to say,” she replied. “I was wounded in my very first battle with Tilnon troops.”

He nodded. “A lot of new soldiers end their days in their first fight,” he murmured.

Her face grew sour. “Sometimes, death can be a blessing, when living is not worth the effort,” she said.

He looked shocked. “The dead may disagree with you,” he whispered. “And I do, as well.”

She gave him a hard look, draining her glass. “Sorry, but when you’re left with one eye and unable to dance, or even run, or catch your balance when some twit leaves his foot in your path,” she said, her old callousness returning, “then perhaps you can lecture me.”

He nodded. “Fair enough,” he said and reached for his boot. She watched with interest. So he will be staying, then, she thought, starting to mentally prepare herself for a bit of bed-play, something she had not practiced in nearly two years.

He pulled the boot from his foot and held it out to her. His foot was made of wood. He twisted it and turned it until it unscrewed from his leg, halfway down from his knee. He laid the foot and ankle upon the table. “Now, can I lecture you?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

She picked up the foot. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said, then looked back at him. “You move very well for having a foot missing.”

He laughed. “I don’t, I have a removable foot,” he said. “And unless you use it as kindling, it’s quite accounted for.”

She giggled at that, and handed him back his wooden foot. “It’s very well made,” she said.

He nodded. “My father made it for me, he’s an excellent carpenter, and an artist,” Evan replied.

Vanessa softened her eye again. “Okay, I will remove the chip from my shoulder,” she said, she was really enjoying this lad’s company now. She thought a moment, and realized she was done preparing for a night of bed-play now, without any effort at all.

The soldier finished his wine and put his foot back on, then his boot. Her face suddenly grew somewhat alarmed. He caught that expression and said, “Is something wrong?” as he finished pulling the knee-high boot up his calf.

She shook her head. “I guess not,” she said.

He grinned again. “I would like to stay, but have not been invited,” he said.

She looked at him oddly. “I just did a few minutes ago,” she said, her voice rising in a tone that she recognized as dismay.

“No,” he said, his smile broadening still more. “You said you would allow it, that’s not the same thing.”

She thought a moment. “Oh,” she said, finally.

He reached for the door handle. “I will come to collect you in the morning, then,” he said, and opened the door. He stopped moving, however when she started to whisper.

“I wish for you to stay,” she said, very quietly.

He turned about. “Do you?” he asked. “Or do you just think you ‘should’ because I gave you a few bits of stone?”

She looked at him, and her one eye was nearing the point of shedding tears. “Please, stay with me tonight,” she said, her tone very soft and vulnerable. “Don’t make me ask again.”

He shut the door and walked back to her. “Okay,” he said, sitting opposite her again. “I will stay.” He touched her hand. “But you will have to do something for me.”

She nodded. “I will do it,” she said, almost unable to meet his gaze. She wondered briefly what depravity she may have just agreed to, then decided that for the comfort of this lad’s gentle company, she would probably stoop to nearly any, if he wished it of her.

He chuckled. “It is not so bad as I think you imagine,” he said, seeing the look of dread she seemed to adopt just after agreeing to his terms.

She looked up hopefully. “I do not bed ugly women,” he said. “You have to admit you’re sexy, if nothing else.”

She looked at him a moment. “You want me to say I’m sexy?” she asked. “I’m sexy,” she repeated, fulfilling what she thought was his wish.

“No,” he said, touching her arm. “I want you to act sexy.” He let his fingertips run up her arm to her neck. “I already think you look sexy, so I just want you to act as you appear.”

She shrugged. “I’ll try,” she said. She felt his fingertips on her cheek and leaned toward it, pushing his fingertips into the soft skin of her face.

“That’s a start,” he said. His other hand came up and let her hair down from the tight bun she had been wearing, pulling the pins from it and letting her long, dark brown hair loose of its bindings. It was straight, and cut unevenly by her own hand. But as he tousled it loose of the large bun, it found a pattern all its own, almost like feathers covering her skull in a thin downy coat. The tresses hung long in the back and fanned out almost like a cloak, to cover her slender shoulders. The ragged edge of the cut hairs continued the featherlike pattern.

She liked the touch of his hands on her hair, and on the shoulders and head beneath it. She let herself moan a little at the touch of his hand, trying her level best to act ‘sexy’.

He grinned. “You’re a quick study,” he said, touching her cheek beneath her missing eye gently. It was kind of interesting for her. The right side of her world almost never existed, but here was a gentle, pleasant touch coming from there, out of nowhere. She pressed toward that contact, too, eagerly letting his fingers feel her flesh, and her flesh feel his fingers.

Her own hand ventured outward, and slipped up his arm, and over the knots of muscle she found on first his forearm, then on his upper arm, even larger, then again under his tunic on his broad shoulder. He was not just fit as most soldiers, he was a massive man, with powerful muscles and smooth skin. The combination made her ache between her thighs for contact, and another moan escaped her lips as she thought about that eventuality.

Touching her shoulder, almost bare, save for the straps of her blouse, he felt her moan with his fingertips. That one had not been forced, but came completely unbidden. She put her hand over his, and realized he had really large hands, she had not even registered how tall and broad this man was until this moment. Her fingers looked as children’s next to his.

She felt her breath growing short, and could hear it now, as she was sure he could as well, judging by the small smile playing on his lips as he kissed her hand that had left his shoulder and was seeking his smoothly-shaven cheek.

That kiss sent a jolt up her arm that bounced around her body, then shot down her spine to its root, and she gasped. She felt her moisture soaking her loincloth and gulped down another small moan, that was almost a squeak. His lips were soft and moist, but not wet, and not jellylike, just right was what came to her mind. Her hand finally reached his smooth cheek, and she felt no stubble on it, even the little sort that men had after a few hours. “You shaved before you went to the tavern,” she accused.

He nodded. “Yes,” he confessed. “I knew I would be seeing you,” he said, very quietly.

She blinked a few times. “You sought me out?” she asked, her voice incredulous.

A rather embarrassed smile formed on his face, and a redness crept into his complexion, which was normally a bit ruddy. “Well, to be truthful, yes,” he said.

“Why?” was her only response, as she stroked his neck and cheek.

“I saw you first a few days ago, as I drank there, in the back of the bar, I guess one of your fellow barmaids had that area to tend,” he said. “But I watched you the whole night, and I wanted you then.”

She smiled. “Why would you want a ex-soldier who is nearly cripple, and has only one eye?”

“Because you were sexy,” he said, with no hesitation or deception in his voice.

She thought a moment. “You have a desire for women who are maimed?” she asked. “I have heard vaguely of such, though I cannot fathom it.”

Laughing, Evan shook his head. “No,” he answered. “It’s not like that. It’s more of a desire for women who have had to earn their way and fight for themselves. I am not some freak, who desires a woman with one eye.” His eyes locked onto her patch. “For I would rather there be two beautiful orbs to gaze upon, rather than just the one.” Then he turned his attention to her good eye.

A tear slid down her cheek as she smiled at him. “You are a smooth-tongued devil, you know that?” she asked. “And that scares me mightily.”

He kissed her hand again, gripping it in his own. “It should not,” he said. Another of the bolts of searing energy rebounded through her and this time she did moan, and it did sound like a squeak.

“You’re going to make me fall in love with you,” she said, and her face was marked with much worry now, to have used that word so quickly was surely a bad sign. “What of me then, when you leave to war?”

He shrugged. “Then you await my return,” he said. “For return I will, so long as you will accept me back.”

She gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You promise much, for one who has just met me,” she said. Now her voice was strained, and worried sounding. “I am caught without defense to your words and actions, soldier. Please be merciful to a crippled veteran,” she pleaded with him. And stood up, breaking the enticing contact that he was offering her. “I cannot allow myself to be struck down like this,” she said, tears freely flowing down her face. “It is too much, and too quick.”

Evan walked to the door and stood beside it. “I will go then, and return when my company next has leave to come to town,” he said. She watched, helpless as he left the little room and closed the door quietly behind him.

* * * * * * *

Four days later, as she sat and watched the fire burn in her fireplace, she got a knock upon her room’s door. It was a soldier, and he bore a letter. It was traditional for soldiers coming from the front to bear mail to the towns they would be visiting, and to spend a couple of hours helping their comrades in arms send word to home, and likewise bear return letters back. He handed the letter to Vanessa and then waited, giving the woman a questioning look. Finally, she said. “I do not have a letter to send back, soldier, but I will if you can return before you leave.”

The young private smiled. “I leave back out in three days,” he said. “I will try to stop by before I leave to collect the return letter, ma’am,” he said, and gave her a quick nod and walked back over to the two other young men and one young woman wearing the typical hardcloth tunics and dress of the Sorkin armies. A bout of nostalgia crossed her face as she watched them laugh and walk toward the town’s merchant quarter.

Vanessa looked down at the rumpled letter in her hands, it was still sealed with the wax seal that Evan had placed upon it. On the front was written in military shorthand, how to deliver the letter, with her street and a description of the position on that street and where on its block. Along with her name, laboriously written on the letter: “Sexy Vanessa.”

She grinned slightly at the rather generous name that was printed there, and then cracked the wax seal with her thumbnail. Inside was a brief missive, but quite nice to read, nonetheless:

Dear Vanessa,

I have only just arrived at the camp. We will be forming up for a push into the Kasran Hills tomorrow. I hope this letter finds you well, and I wanted to tell you I am thinking of you every day. I hope you will not still be upset with me when I return.

She stopped reading to wipe tears from her eye. Some few even leaked from behind her eyepatch. The wound that had taken her eye had not damaged anything around it, only the orb of vision itself. She wondered why she had rejected the lad’s affection, just because he was being a bit quick in the granting of his loyalties.

I would ask you to visit a man named Patilos, on the Blacktallow Street. He is a glass blower, and he is expecting you. I have contracted him to do something for you if you will allow him.

I look forward to seeing you soon, Sexy Vanessa.

Evan Marikson

Private 5^th Squad, 2^nd Company, Jendan Light Foot

Vanessa carefuly folded the letter and put it on the little shelf over the fireplace. Later that day she went to a scribe and commissioned a letter from him. Vanessa had never learned to write. She told Evan she was not upset with him at all, but at herself, and that she looked forward to his return as well. She would go see Patilos in the morning and see what that business is about. She added that she thought about him every day as well. Then lastly had the scribe write: Be careful, corporal, I wish to see you again.

The scribe helpfully sealed the letter and wrote the corporal’s name and ‘address’ upon the outside. She paid her three copper coins and thanked him.

The scribe watched her leave, shaking his wizened old head, then smiled, remembering youthful love when he was a lad.

* * * * * * *

Glancing up the street, Vanessa walked down to the shop of Patilos. She entered and saw a portly man with a scarred face and lovely blue eyes. He apparently had been struck across the bridge of his nose with a horizontal blow from a sword or something akin to it.

“Welcome, Vanessa,” he said, nearly leaping from behind the counter toward her. “Evan has told me you were coming in.”

She smiled nervously. “Do I know you?” she asked.

Patilos shook his head. “We have never met, but Evan has spoken of you and described you so eloquently, that I feel you are an old acquaintance,” he said. He then looked at her. “He did not speak untruth, either,” he said, winking.

Vanessa blushed slightly and covered her mouth as she smiled. “Oh my,” she said. “I feel almost like a girl of fourteen summers.” She looked around the shop, to have something to look at. Various glass objects decorated the small store, displayed tastefully on small wooden shelves along the walls. “I don’t know why Evan asked me to come here, Patilos, I must confess.”

He nodded. “He said it would be a surprise, and so it will be,” he said as he walked up to her. “Please come and sit on the stool over there by the window.”

She was very curious but walked over to the stool and sat primly on its padded little top. He walked before her and pulled out a small box. The box was divided into dozens of little compartments, each only about an inch to a side and maybe half that deep. When she looked, there were various green-brown materials, powders, flakes, even vials of green-brown liquid. The man looked at her, staring intently at her eye. “Hmm,” he hummed. “A difficult, but very beautiful color,” he murmured to himself.

She smiled. “What?” she asked.

“I must get this right, we will speak shortly on it,” he said curtly.

Vanessa held her tongue and watched the man mix the various chemicals and powders and stuff in a small mortar. Then he used a pestle to grind the mixture into a fine paste. This paste he held up to her eye and looked closely at it. “Almost,” he said, then added a couple more chemicals. Again, he held the paste on a small knife up near her eye. “Yes,” he said. “Perfection.”

He set down the mixture and scribbled some notes on a piece of parchment. “Now, you were asking?” he said to Vanessa quietly.

She regarded Patilos. “What was that all about?” she asked.

“I am going to make you an eye,” he said, as if it were something she should already know.

She barked a laugh. “What?” she asked. “No. I’ve seen the attempts at fake eyes, and they do not interest me,” she said, still chuckling.

Patilos bowed up and looked rather irritated. His face even reddened a little. “I will forgive your slight to my profession, girl, if you can tell me,” he paused, “which of my eyes is fake?” He then locked gazes with her.

She looked at his eyes, and could honestly not tell. He purposefully kept them steady to prevent her seeing the clues up close of one not moving properly. “Come on, young woman,” he said. “Choose one.”

Finally she picked one at random. “The left one,” she said.

He chuckled. “You are correct,” he said, then finally started moving again. “But you really didn’t know did you?” He looked at her cunningly.

She shook her head. “No, sir,” she said. “I didn't.”

Laughing loudly now, he said. “Then will you not let me make you one?”

She nodded slowly. “I suppose, but I haven’t the money your fine craftsmanship must demand.” She glanced around again at the shop as she said this.

He flipped his hand negligently toward her. “It has been taken care of, miss,” he said.

“Please, come with me to the back,” he said, suddenly very professional. “We will do the main part you need to be here for.” He took her wrist and forearm and led her past the curtain into a workshop. He told her to lay upon the long bench there and handed her a pillow. She laid down and watched him putter about the crowded little workshop. “The first thing you must know about a good false eye is that it must fit properly,” he was saying as he started a small fire under a pot. “And for that we must have a perfect mold of your wounded area.”

“Please remove your eyepatch, miss,” he said. “You will in a few short days never need it again.”

She lifted it off her head, embarrassed to show her wound. No one since the recovery center after her battle had seen her eye without the patch. He looked at the hole. “This will likely hurt, miss, a little, but please bear with me.” He probed into her socket with his finger, reaching to the back and she felt a sharp pain as he touched raw flesh back there, and nearly exposed nerves. “Very good, your eyelids and tear ducts have not atrophied yet,” he said, smiling. “It must have been within five years.”

She nodded. “Two,” she said.

He bumbled about the little workroom, then finally said. “Now, this part will hurt, do not let that dissuade you, it will pass quickly.” She braced herself and he held the steaming pot over her eye socket, he then poured. Searing pain tore through her head as the liquid in the pot entered the open hole, and her eyelids tried to pry themselves shut to protect her, but he held them open with two fingers. “One more moment, Vanessa,” he said as she groaned and tried to scream through her teeth.

A brief moment later, it was over, the pain subsided to a small dull ache and she could feel the material cooling rapidly in the orbit of her former eye. “What is it?” she asked.

“A special formula of rubber, designed by myself to make molds of the inside of your socket,” he said. “It melts at a lower temperature than normal rubber and is much more flexible as well.

She nodded. A few minutes later, he tapped the rubber plug holding her eyelids on her ruined eye open. “Ok, this also will hurt but not much compared to the pouring.” He pulled and she felt a sharp stab of pain as the mold broke loose of her eye socket and popped out the hole between her eyelids.

He examined the odd-shaped lump of rubber in his hand and looked into her socket then back.

“Very good,” he said. “Return tomorrow so that I may make the size of the iris,” he said, and handed her eyepatch back.

* * * * * * *

Over the next three days he almost monopolized her time, having her in the shop for three or four hours a day as he looked and compared. He finally called her back into the workroom. He held up his handiwork. “Observe, beautiful Vanessa,” he said. “Your new eye.” He showed it to her.

It was like looking into a mirror at close range. The eye was her own, as if reflected in a shiny surface. She swore that she saw the iris flex with the changing light outside. “By the gods,” she said quietly. “You are a artist without peer, Patilos.”

The fat man laughed. “Well, I try harder, anyway,” he said. “And I thank the gods daily for my meager abilities.”

He bade her remove the unnecessary eyepatch and to sit on the stool again. She sat down and he hovered over her. “It will hurt a little putting it in and taking it out, which you should do twice a week to clean it well,” he said. “As well as the socket.” He was very matter-of-fact about these conditions, as he was also the wearer of one such appliance as this. There was a quick little pain as the odd-shaped glass was pushed past her eyelids and popped into place. But once that passed, there was almost no feeling at all from the socket, except the unaccustomed feeling of smoothness and roundness beneath her eyelids and a coolness inside her head.

She giggled nervously. “I almost expected to see through it,” she said, smiling.

Patilos said. “Alas, beautiful maiden, I cannot do that artwork,” he said, bowing low. When he came up he had a hand mirror in his fist. “Gaze upon the perfection that the gods’ hands have wrought upon you with a little help from me,” he said proudly. He held the mirror up to her and she looked at herself. It was like the last two years rolled away from her in an instant. She was eighteen again and full of spirit and energy, and in her own way, beauty.

Her EYES widened in amazement at what she saw, and then she began to cry, and tears flowed freely down both her cheeks. As the tears flowed, she ran her eyes through smiles and squints and even tried a wink or two out. “Patilos, if I did not think I already loved another, I’d give you more than money for this gift,” she said, smiling broadly.

The fat man patted her shoulder. “You have, young lady, you already have,” he said. “Go, now and enjoy your renewed loveliness.” She stood up and kissed the man and waved as she walked out of his small shop. No one looked at her askance anymore and she even noticed a few men turning their heads to watch her pass as she started walking back to the Spitted Pig. The week had passed and she needed to go back to work, even though she had barely marked the diamond-produced wealth that Evan had given her.

When she entered the tavern, Lucille, one of the other barmaids actually dropped a set of six big beer steins in shock at seeing Vanessa with both eyes, and more oddly still, smiling broadly as she walked in. She quickly made a sign of the Protector over her heart before turning to Kendan and nudging his arm. The bartender turned and his own eyes went wide. “Holy crap,” he said. “What sorcery is this, Vanessa?” he asked, walking from behind the counter and peering closely at her new eye.

She gazed at him pointedly, and said. “It is not sorcery, Kendan, but magic to be certain, the magic of an artist.” She smiled broadly. She did not remember fully why she had disliked Kendan so much, he was not an awful sort, though he was a bit crude. “Do I still have a job?” she asked him.

He nodded slowly, still amazed at her new looks with the restoration of her eye. “Of course you do, Vanessa,” he said distantly, like his mind was elsewhere.

That evening went by like a blur. Men congratulating her on her new eye, and how lovely she looked, and even several offers of company for the later evening. She gently brushed them off, and even Wiggens treated her differently, with some small measure of respect. She did not notice it at first, but she was also acting differently. She laughed now, when a joke was made that was actually funny, and she responded to most men’s groping palms with quick jibes and a flirtatious smile rather than glares and insults that called the men’s very manhood into question. By the end of the night, she had made almost twice what she normally would have and Kendan congratulated her on her wondrous new techniques in barmaiding. She grinned and went home for the night.

As she approached her door, she saw a letter tacked to the jamb. She pulled the nail and looked at it. It was from Evan, again. She smiled and it took three tries to get the key into the little padlock that secured her tiny room, so agitated as she was over this new letter. She finally got the lock open and went in, turning to shut it and not even turning back around to open it, she cracked the wax as she leaned her head on the door frame and smiled broadly.

She started to read, ready to take her time doing so, as it was a slow process for her, anyway. “Dearest Vanessa,” a voice behind her said as she read those very words on the paper. She gasped and turned to see Evan sitting on one of the chairs, smiling at her. She covered her mouth and his eyes took her in. “By the gods, Patilos does do fine work,” he said.

She moved like a striking cat and embraced him, almost causing the flimsy chair he was in to buckle with the shock of her impact. He chuckled as she squeezed him with all her might and tears rolled down her cheeks as she kissed his neck. “I’m so sorry I rejected you please forgive me I want to be with you I want you with me stay with me please.” The words poured out of her mouth, without pause, she feared stilling the flood would cause her heart to burst.

He held her head gently and then kissed her lips. She returned the kiss, but gentleness was all but forgotten as she pressed her lips to his and greedily sucked them, then his tongue when it was offered to her. She had not had a man’s touch since she left the wards of the recovery center, and she had even then only been with a orderly who liked to play around with patients, and did not take it at all seriously.

He held her to him, and stood up. He lifted her from the floor with his hands around her slim waist. She remembered again how big this man was, towering over her when he stood by over a foot, and probably thrice her mass. She let herself be picked up, though, and reveled in the pleasure he seemed to gain from her acceptance of him.

Wearing the softest of smiles, he laid her upon her cot and sat beside her. He moved one hand up her side from her narrow waist and to her shoulder. She was unsure what to do with her hands, fearing to do something wrong. They lay idle upon her stomach, twitching feebly. He took one and brought it to his cheek and nuzzled it. When he moved his hand away, her hand remained of its own accord and she continued touching and feeling his face, his handsome face.

“I’m rather surprised you came back after the way I treated you,” she said, tears still falling from her eyes.

Evan grinned. “I said I was. I keep my word,” he replied. In a instant, she was on him again, sitting up and clutching herself to his broad chest. Her kisses on his neck were warm and she was generous with them, working toward his ear. He sighed in contentment as her slender fingers groped their tentative way down his tunic to the lower hem.

When her hand moved over his pants and found where he was hardening quickly, she groaned. “Take me tonight, and make me your own,” said Vanessa.

He kissed her hair, then moved that thick brown mane aside and kissed her neck directly. She felt fire in that kiss, as well, and her little moans of half-frightened pleasure were a singular joy for the soldier to hear.

Her hand squeezed his now hard rod and she smiled at the pleasure she would soon take from it. It had been a very long time, and she was almost as fearful of the throbbing weight in her hand as a virgin. She wondered a moment, as she began untying his pants, if it would hurt like her first had. As his tongue slid over the cup of her ear, she decided that she did not care if it did.

After what seemed to her a terribly long time, he started unfastening the buttons down the back of her blouse. She leaned into him, allowing him to peer over her back at the row of little wooden buttons. He soon had it undone and she felt him open the back. She leaned back again, and laid down, holding her arms forward so that the blouse simply came away from her. She was not well-endowed with breasts, she knew.

To judge from Evan’s reaction, she had the most appealing chest in the history of the Heartland. He gasped and reached for them with the unadulterated joy of a child with a new toy. The look of unconscious happiness on his face caused her to giggle and her heart swelled even more from the boyishness of the man’s face. Men are fools, she thought, sweet, but fools.

Her back arched as his fingers kneaded the soft flesh of her breasts, and her nipples hardened like little rocks as they were stroked and pinched. She watched him as he lowered his head and licked and sucked one breast, then the other. Each contact sent a spark of sensual joy through her and she moaned with each sensation.

She had abandoned the untying of his pants, but now took up that mission once again, determined to get this performance on stage soon, before the actors bolted.

As the knot finally released, she stopped again, paralyzed by the feeling of a warm, soft hand on her knee, moving upward with delicious slowness. His hands were large and strong as he squeezed her thigh in a way that might have hurt, but certainly did not. She thought for a moment, then parted her legs for him, though her hurt leg could only be moved aside, not lifted and moved aside as her other did. He seemed little concerned with the current asymmetry, and his warm palm kept moving upward with inevitability that bordered on certainty.

She screamed in climax as soon as his fingers brushed her clitoris. This startled him a bit, but Evan took it as a good sign, and rightly so. Even Vanessa was rather taken aback at her sudden orgasm and shyly hid her smile from him with her hand.

“I cannot believe I just did that,” she said, meekly, “I’ve never climaxed so – easily before.”

His fingers had left her privates for concern for her, but soon moved back and she moaned deep in her chest at the contact. “Oh by the gods,” she said, “I’d forgotten how wondrous it was to be touched.”

Evan grinned. “I'll try to make sure you stay reminded,” he promised.

“I'll hold you to that,” said Vanessa, with deadly seriousness in her lovely eyes.

As her jittery nerves calmed from the initial shock of her unexpected orgasm, she once again set forth to liberate his manhood from its confinement in his pants.

Once again, she was thwarted when she opened her eyes to see him lowering his head to her knee. He then began a kiss that lasted until his mouth was covering her entrance and his tongue was exploring inside her.

She startled herself again by grabbing his head in both hands, curling her fingers into sharpened talons and forcing him to keep his position under threat of pain. Of their own accord, her hips started moving rhythmically against his mouth and tongue, pushing up into his open mouth and driving the tongue deeper into her or more firmly against her clitoris by turns.

Her breath had become ragged and short, and her motions sudden and firm. In a few moments, she had abandoned all illusion of self-control in the matter, and was eagerly grinding her pelvis into his willing mouth. She climaxed again, digging in with her fingernails and putting her good leg’s foot against his neck and pulling him more tightly against her.

When that orgasm subsided, she pushed him away from her slit. “Stop, stop!” she exclaimed. “Damn it, you’re distracting me too much.”

He looked puzzled for a moment until her hands went to his pants, and finally, pulled the cords that would open the seam at the front. She sat up as her delicate hand slipped into the open seam and she felt the hot, soft flesh of his cock now. It was still hard as a bone , but the skin was softer than satin.

She pulled it from his pants and looked down at it. Did they always seem so large? She wondered. No, she decided, Evan was a specimen who meant to impress in every way. Now that she had come to grips with his manhood, she intended to get very comfortable with it in short order.

“Lay down, soldier,” she said, pushing on Evan’s chest. She scooted herself downward and was now tugging at the top of his pants, he obligingly lifted his butt off the bed and they came down to his knees. Smiling like a feline with a new toy to pursue she moved back up his legs until her face was hovering mere inches from his throbbing cockstem. She drank in the vision of the thick pole and its tracery of surface veins. Her fingers moved up and fondled his scrotum, playing with its loose skin and the eggs within. Her other hand wrapped about the solid rod of flesh and pulled down the foreskin, letting it come to rest behind the head.

“You don’t have to. . . . ” Evan started to say, but his voice seemed to disappear as her lips enwrapped the pulsing head of his manhood, then began to work their slow way down the shaft. She could only take the half of him this way, but it was definitely the good half.

Vanessa, for her part had only mouthed men a few times, and found it reasonably pleasurable, though it was definitely only a preamble to his cockstem getting more fully wetted elsewhere.

Evan’s moans of pleasure, however, excited her beyond her normal boundaries, and as they grew louder, she grew more aroused herself, moving her head faster and with more abandon than before. When he erupted in her mouth, she expected it, and welcomed it. Perhaps, now, he would last the longer when he took her fully. She had never swallowed a man’s seed before, had never tasted it even, and took a moment to decide what she thought of it.

She sat up with an odd look on her face and Evan smiled. “I apologize, darling,” he said. “I was overcome, I’ll warn you in the future.”

He pulled her toward him for a kiss, and she attempted, feebly, to resist. Before she could do anything his tongue was probing her mouth, and being on top, the semen slid from her mouth to his. Her eyes were wide with concern, hoping that he would not be upset. He seemed not to care one whit, she noted, and their kiss continued. Her tongue dipped into his mouth and found the seed still pooled there, and she sampled it for a while.

He swallowed and smiled up at her as she pulled back. “I’ve never had a girl feed my spend to me before,” said Evan. “It was very different.”

“For the both of us, I didn’t intend that to happen,” said Vanessa. “Though, if you liked it, I’m sure we could do it again.”

He pulled her down for another long kiss, and then said, “I would like that.”

She was lying now atop him and they kissed and cuddled for a long moment. When she felt his manhood returning to wakefulness beneath her, she smiled, eager to continue their love play. Sliding down once again, she kissed and fondled him back to full erection, and then said, “I cannot be on top, I fear, my leg won’t bend that way.”

He chuckled and sat up. “I’m sure we’ll find some way, and the finding will be fun.”

She laid upon her back again, and he laid atop her, her unyielding leg forcing him a bit off center. However, due to his rather more than adequate length, things still lined up well enough. Vanessa whispered up to him, “Take me slowly, big man, I’ve been without a long while.”

His face marked with intense joy, he rubbed the head of his prick against her wetness, then, once it was well coated with her juices, he pushed the tip in.

Vanessa gasped at the almost forgotten sensation of being opened wide. She had toyed with herself, but her fingers were paltry replacement for a man’s swollen digit. Her hands went up and gathered her hair behind her head and she sighed. “Do it, take me,” she groaned as she put her hands against the headboard of her cot, ready to absorb the shock when he thrust into her.

He did not disappoint. After opening her to his full length slowly, he began to pick up speed, and was soon ramming himself into her with a lot of power and not a little skill. She soon realized that this buck was going to ride her well and thoroughly. He was in fine condition, and barely broke a sweat after long moments of hard thrusting.

She clutched herself to him as she climaxed again, calling out his name and praising him to the point of near divinity. Through that he slowed not one bit, and she thanked the gods all the more for that. Finally, she felt a drop of sweat fall from his hair onto her cheek, and his motions gained a urgency that betrayed his current condition.

“I’m going to. . . . ” he started to say, but she once again interrupted him with a long kiss as he climaxed into her. She could even feel the initial gout of spend as he exploded into her. It warmed her inside as his organ twitched repeatedly and she moaned at the knowledge that they had taken full pleasure of one another now.

She rubbed her hands over his muscular back and stroked his round rump. “My man,” she crooned. “My man.”

He lifted himself from her and looked down at her now beautiful and gleaming face. “If you would have me be, then I am,” he said.

She let her fingers explore his chest, now slick with perspiration. “I accept you, please accept me,” she said.

Evan lowered his mouth to her ear and kissed it, and then whispered “I love you” into the cup.

The smile that she wore as he laid atop her, still panting and embracing her, would have startled anyone who knew her. “I’m glad, I’d hate to be in love by myself,” she said, finally, when her lips would cooperate and stop grinning.

* * * * * * *

Epilogue

Her face hurt for three days. Her smile was almost unremovable, even the cruder patrons of the Pig could only make it smaller. It did, however, occasionally vanish when Evan was around. For it was very hard to smile while kissing, though she did attempt it, many times.

Evan, for his part, was possibly one of the most well-loved men in the city for the next days. Vanessa seemed insatiable, as if making up for her years of self-enforced isolation despite the toll it took upon their bodies.

On the third day, Evan had to leave to head back to the front. She feared for him now, as never before, and she knew, just knew that he would not be coming back this time.

He sat at the little table and thought a long moment. Then said, “I need two of those diamonds back.”

Vanessa was shocked at the bluntness of the words, though not upset, they were still and always had been more than she knew, in honesty, what to do with. She fetched them and handed the pouch to him.

She was not concerned, but she was curious. “What do you need them for?” she asked.

He looked at two of them, and put them in his pocket. “A surprise,” he said cryptically.

He rose, then, and left the room. She wondered again at that. He was to march out on the morning, and she had thought he would be eager to spend time with her until then. She had even swapped nights of work with one of the other barmaids so that she could be alone with Evan this night.

He was gone a long while, and night settled in. She fell asleep at the table waiting for his return. As the sun peeked into the room through the slats in the door, she lifted her head, still muzzy from the poor sleep she got in the uncomfortable position. A moment later, she was crying. He had not returned to her, and now he would be marching soon back to the front.

She got up and went out the door, barely remembering to lock it behind her. Moving down the street with tear-blurred vision, she walked slowly to the central plaza, where the units would form up for the march.

When she got there, she saw the several hundred soldiers milling about, awaiting the arrival of the officer who would begin them on their way. Many young men turned their eyes toward her, and quite a large number of complementary words were said. This pleased some small part of her mind, but did not even take the edge off the upset inside her heart.

Vanessa peered into the milling crowd and around shoulders and even moved into the multitude. She became panicked as the morning moved ahead and she still did not see Evan. One large man was startled when she grabbed his shoulder and turned him about to see if it was her man.

Then she saw him. Walking beside the officer that was leading them to the front. The units were now forming up, seeing them as well. Evan moved to his unit, and she tried to work her way toward him. The officer called out an order and the units shuffled into geometrically perfect formations, and the men and women of them snapped to a stance of readiness.

As she reached Evan’s company, she saw him standing in the last file, staring ahead. She moved as quickly as her leg would allow her toward him. The tears stung her eyes as he seemed to not see her. Is he so ashamed of me?

A loud trumpet blew and the first units shifted into motion. Evan’s remained stationary for now. The tromp of booted feet was loud as the men stepped off in formations.

“Evan?” asked Vanessa as she drew up to him. “What happened?”

He turned to her. “Plans change, Vanessa,” he said. His eyes were rather blank, and he wore an expression of mild pleasure. Had he found another woman last night? That must be it, she thought.

It was his unit’s turn to march off. They all stepped away. She turned and looked at the ground. Her tears falling freely now. Then a hand touched her shoulder.

She turned to see who it was. It was Evan. He wore now a smile so broad it threatened to topple the upper half of his head off. She turned and clung to him. “Don’t leave me,” she whimpered into his chest.

“I’m not, Vanessa,” said Evan. “I should have not played your emotions, I’m sorry.”

She sniffed and looked up at him. “What?” she asked.

He smiled, and held up a piece of ornately calligraphied parchment. She took it and it was but one moment before she recognized it, a discharge.

“What? How?” she asked, looking at the document again. “You cannot buy off your enlistment anymore.” She thought about the diamonds he had taken.

He grinned. “I didn’t have to,” he said. “The diamonds were to pay the fine.”

“Fine?” asked Vanessa.

He hung his head down. “I am guilty of the charge of lying to an officer,” he said, though his shameface was rather lacking in quality. “I never told them about my leg. Losing a limb is cause for automatic discharge. You’re stuck with me now.”

She pressed herself to him again. “Good,” she said, “and if you ever do something like that again, and make me cry, I’ll cut off more than your leg.”

THE END

Copyright � Mack The Knife 2005

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