Day 3 - Evening

Deck six forward, officer country. Here the walls are blue instead of white. And far less ostentatious compared to the fifth. Though there are still copper pipes running along the ceiling, occasionally down the wall, plus the red planked floor.

"This way, Mr Barton."

Jenny's cold tone as she walks ahead might fool others. Her frowning face confuse those unfamiliar with beastkin. But tails don't lie. And hers keeps touching me. Rubbing up and down my legs.

No, we haven't fucked yet. What kind of person do you take me for?

…

Yeah. Okay. Uhuh. I see. Hmm… Really don't have a leg to stand on here, do I. 

True, I flirted with her this morning. And every time we’ve met since. But she’s a cute catgirl. Would be criminal not too.

Other servants and crew keep it on the downlow. But there’s a lot of discrimination against her. In fact, she's the only beastkin I've seen. Here, or in Botsund. 

While this crew is ethnically diverse? It's "human" diversity. Have not seen any elves or dwarves either, now that I think about it. Cyber world's "everyone's a mutant" got me used to ignoring physical variety like pointed ears or hairy feet. Or hairy ears and pointy feet.

She's kept mostly mum but I dragged it out earlier that she's lady in red's "personal" maid. Which protects her from most mistreatment.

As we walk, my attention somewhat overwhelms the poor nekomusume. Her breathing turns rough after I grab and massage that touchy tail.

The corridors are wider here. But still not wide enough for Rocky, who's a step behind us, to see me teasing Miss Jenny. 

Sadly, it's only a few paces before catgirl stops in front of a door and knocks twice. Then opens it, turns and steps back. Pulling her quivering tail from my friendly fingers. Eyes linger on mine as I walk by. Covertly blow the cutey a little kiss.

This room is twice the length of my cabin but still snug. Half of it, a sitting area with chairs, couches and bookshelves. The other half, a dining area with a long table. One seat on both ends and four per side.

All very expensive looking but again a lot less fancy than the guest deck. The furniture here is stained instead of painted or gilded. 

Six are already here. Chatting, sitting and drinking in the lounge. Four wear navy uniforms. One in a red version of it. And one in civvies like me. Two are women. All stand when they see Rocky. Civvie snorts and speaks first.

"Never thought I would see the day Wildman Wyverstone got tamed."

Rocky lifts his hand to stop the younger woman who was about to defend him.

"You know gold can do miraculous things, Barnaby." Finally a real smile. An evil smile. "As long as they offer enough of it."

The guy in red pulls at his collar and complains.

"You may be fine wit wearing tese monkey suits, Wendel." Tugs on the tailcoat. "But I canna wait ta be in loose tans again."

El Capitan shakes his head.

"Let's get this over with." Thumbs back. "Lenuel is staying on the bridge to keep an eye on things." Points my way. "This fly in the ointment is Mr Jon Barton, no middle name."

The older woman speaks.

"Meaning he isn't from any of the central powers." Squints at me. "Unless he's got a scrambler that capable."

Earning a snort from the red coat.

"Daft woman. Cheaper ta buy anudder Discovery tan find a scrambler tat strong."

Another in blues, chewing on the butt of a cigar, agrees.

"Mr Maycock is correct, Mrs Whiting. If there was another party with that much influence?" Lifts his hands. "We would likely be dead already."

That's it.

"Hey, as much as I enjoy being talked about in the third person?" Wave. "How about you tell me who you are so I can make up conspiracy theories too."

Rocky is really good at loudly grinding his teeth. The cigar chewer speaks again.

"Well Mr Wyverstone?" Takes the cigar out of his mouth. "Her ladyship chose him. You should respect her decisions."

Cappy heaves a huge sigh.

"Very well." Walks over to the sidebar and pours himself a glass of something scotch smelling. "None of this crew are sailing for the king." Takes a swig. "Most of us are mercenaries, adventurers or… independents. Contracted by House Heaton to crew this ship and explore a dungeon spawning."

"Dungeon spawning?" What the fuck is that?

Rocky nods.

"Yes, a big one too." Drinks again. "Happened upon by an off course merchant a month ago. The Discovery, built for his daughter's great adventure, was almost ready. So the doting count decided this would be it and began hiring a crew to escort her."

*ahem*

The captain rolls his eyes at cigar man clearing his throat before continuing. 

"I said most of us. Except for the engineers and servants. Who are retainers of House Heaton." Takes a seat. "Well, I am not your papa. Introduce yourselves."

The older woman is wearing a blue uniform similar to Rocky's but less fancy. It's still very flattering to her big tits and hips. As is her smile.

"Welcome aboard, I am Surgeon Caroline Dorcas Whiting. Adventurer, doctor, and ship's medical officer." Her eyes roll down me. "Come by the infirmary later so I can, hehe, give you a check up."

Yeah, she winked at me. The younger slimmer woman in blues groans before speaking.

"Watch out for her, good sir." Caroline giggles back. "She has a well earned reputation as a maneater." Hand on her chest and bows a little. "Chief Navigator Dorothy Portia Kettle. Merchant. And hoping we get along."

The guy in red rolls his eyes.

"Fine, let's git on wit tis dog and pony show." Thumbs at himself. "Joshua Norval Maycock. Merc and pretend marine lieutenant for te duration. Cross me? I'll gun ya down."

An overweight man in blues speaks next. I already know this fat turd. He's the one I bought those ill-fitting goggles from. Gives me a salesman smile.

"Good to see you again, Mr Barton. As you already know, Ernest Dan Necket." Bows fancily as several scoff. "Purser, quartermaster, merchant, procurer extraordinaire. Able to find anything. For the right price."

The one in civvies shakes his head.

"You have more crap in you than a queroan bull, Dan." Faces me. "Barnaby Mordecai Glass. And I refused to play this pretend navy game. Adventurer, senior dungeoneer, and can hardly wait to get on solid ground again."

Joshua snorts.

"A dungeoneer who be fraid a heights. Ya picked an odd profession, mate."

Barnaby shrugs back at him. The last one, cigar chewer, spits into a spittoon and grunts.

"With Mr Westley on the bridge that just leaves me. Sir Jonathan George Scarborough. Master Engineer and Knight of the Order of Cromwell. Retainer of House Heaton and," eyes the others. "Will always keep her ladyship’s interests in mind."

Rocky laughs.

"Of course, Sir Scarborough. We would expect nothing less." Rolls his wrist. "Lenuel is the last member of this little cabal. And an adventurer too." Looks at the younger woman. "How is our course, Dorothy?"

See her blush slightly as she checks a pocket watch.

"We are on track for arrival tomorrow afternoon, captain." Glances at the cigar chewer. "Unless Lady Heaton sends us on another detour."

The knight doesn't bother to reply. Cappy shrugs.

"I sincerely wish I could tell you, Miss Navigator." She blushes again. "The ladyship’s plans are her own." Looks at a clock on the wall. "Well, nearly six, let us move to the table."

We all shift and array ourselves around the white tablecloth. Several servants begin bringing in dining ware. And direct me to the last side chair on the far end from Rocky. Raising a few eyebrows.

The chair across from me is also empty. Caroline seated to my right.

A knock on the door causes the servants to step back and stand at attention. The cabal stands too, so I do the same.

Miss Jenny walks in and steps aside before announcing. 

"Presenting the Honorable Lady Samantha Selah Heaton and Esteemed Lord Jonas Anthony Heaton." Then says a sort of, uh, prayer? "Iron, steam and king."

"""Iron, steam and king.""" The seven auto reply.

Jesper’s never heard that one before but I shouldn't be surprised. Even his homeland was considered a border kingdom, at best.

Lady walks in. Wearing red again but a dress this time. Embroidered silk so pale it is almost pink. The dress's waistline is oddly high. Closer to her tits than hips. Bustline low enough to show cleavage. Attached sleeves short and puffy. Shoulders exposed. Though she has a long shawl going over both shoulders to cover them. Hair pinned up again but with enough free to cover her nape.

The geezer following her is dressed like the merc and me. He doesn't have those huge leather gloves and apron on this time.

Jenny holds out the seat on the end for Sam, who I finally know the first name of. So she’s sitting near me to the left. With Caroline on my right side. Senior citizen takes the chair across from me. Grinning like he won the lottery.

Without another word spoken, everyone sits and servants set bowls in front of us. Spooning thick soup into them. See several bow their heads in quiet probably prayer but others don’t. Including Samantha and her uncle.

The tings and scrapes of spoons is all the sound there is for a while. So different from the on the go chow of cyberland. Or the buffet way I ate in medieval world. Short conversations begin. Geezer asking engineer about engine performance. Sam and Dorothy over the course. Rocky to merc on gun maintenance.

Eh?

Something rubs against my right leg. Gently slipping off the shoe. And two feet gang up on me. Feet that are pointed the same way mine are. Which means they belong to, Caroline? A glance shows she is pointedly not looking my way. Talking to the quartermaster. Acting like she’s ignoring me.

But her toes are telling a very different story.

As is her left hand. Which begins, occasionally, drifting beneath the tablecloth to give me a squeeze. Then retreat like nothing happened. This cougar’s on the prowl.

Notice her eyes bulge a little during the first grab.

That’s right, babe, daddy’s packing.

Bowls, finished or not, are suddenly collected. Replaced with plated food that looks like beef. Earning a, “luv eatin wit blue bloods,” remark from civvie Joshua. Served with mashed potatoes and gravy. Plus a dark wine poured into tall glasses.

Tastes good. But a little too well done for my tastes.¹https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amKyA2PrSu4

Lady in red’s been observing the ship's surgeon for a while. Finally making a comment out of the blue.

"I envy you, Mrs Whiting."

Surprised, and probably not wanting to get in trouble. Caroline’s feet and hand withdraw before she cautiously replies. 

"Envy me, your ladyship?"

Sam sighs.

"Because you are free."

The ship’s medical officer is confused.

"Free?"

Noblewoman nods.

"Yes, free." The ship owner looks aggrieved. "Women of the gentry may be educated. Yet we may not speak their minds." Then determined. "May learn to lead. Yet may not command." And finally forlorn. "May fall in love. Yet may not choose who with."

Caroline doesn't know what to say.

"Your ladyship, you… I…"

But Sam's rant keeps rolling, attracting everyone else’s attention.

"A noble lady may even be a ship's owner. Yet not a ship's captain." Motions to Caroline and Dorothy. "While common women can be educated and use it!" Is she really that clueless? "Can become adventurers. Can work in the factories. Can-"

"Can starve. Can be homeless. Can freeze to death on the street while selling matchsticks."

All conversation stops. Nobody moves. Except, of course, for the mouthy merc whispering "bloody ell."

Yeah, I just had to open my big mouth. Don't even know if girls sell matchsticks here. But it's a Victorian era short story I remember reading a very long time ago. And wanted to stay happy go lucky. Relaxed. Fun. Be the Burt.

But the lord above keeps testing me.

Sammy seems to not believe what she heard. Stares at me, mute, stunned, before finally stuttering.

"Ex… excuse me?"

You know what? Fuck it. School is now in session. Channeling my inner sage I gaze deeply into her eyes.

"Do not confuse possibility with opportunity. One could happen. One can happen." Motion to the surgeon. "For every Caroline, who becomes a doctor. How many fail? How many die?" Motion to the lady in red. "For every Samantha, who is born a lady. How many fail? How many die?"

She still looks shocked. Her mouth is even hanging open a little. Seriously, has no one called her on her bullshit before?

“There’s a saying where I come from. You won't really understand someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes.” Catch Caroline off guard by grabbing her hand. “Praising where she is now, but ignoring her trials? How hard she worked and fought to reach that now?” Turn to face the medical officer. “Does a disservice to both her,” turn back to Sam, “and you.”

…

"Hahaha!" Senior citizen bursts the bubble of silence by busting a gut. "Oh niece of mine, he is perfect! This will drive brother insane. And that Cogburn nitwit."

Geezer's laughter shakes Lady Heaton out of her delirium. She blinks a few times.

"Yes, I see." Turns to him. "I agree with you, uncle." Then faces Caroline. "I apologize, Mrs Whiting. No offense was intended."

The stunned surgeon only manages to nod. Her left hand squeezes mine back before disappearing under the tablecloth. And grips something else. Even more vigorously than before.

Senior citizen loosens the tense atmosphere by starting a chat with Caroline about new medicines. After a few minutes the relaxed mood has returned.

*stroke* *rub*

Damn. Steak and a handjob? Oh yeah. Only way to make this better would be Carol "dropping her fork" and going under the tablecloth to get it. She does have some great lips-

*touch*

Wha?

A third foot joins the game. This one molesting the left leg. Samantha? Glance over to see her staring right back at me. Lips turned up in a little smile.

A sly smile. Like she knows a secret.

By the time the servants collect the plates? There isn’t a single one with any steak left on it. Think my eyes are playing tricks on me when the next, smaller, plates show up. But nope. It's chocolate. Honest to god chocolate cake with a buttery chocolate frosting.

*chew* *shudder*

So… good…

Tastebuds battle it out with my dick. Honestly not sure if I'll orgasm or foodgasm first. Somehow I make it through the course without making a mess under or over the table.

More meaningless small talk. And no one asks me nothing. Likely wary of another lecture. Finally these plates are also cleared. Glasses taken this time too. Next, little bowls are set out. Each filled with various cheeses and nuts. A light wine is served in new glasses.

After a few bites of cheese. Some nuts. And half a glass of dry wine. I lean back in my chair. Releasing a sigh of contentment. My belly is full. Cock is tingling. Feet massaged. And looking forward to pounding the thicc doctor’s pussy into mush as soon as I get her alone.

All's right with the world.

More mindless chatter until the lady in red dabs at her mouth with a handkerchief and relaxedly says.

"Tell me about your homeworld, Jon."

*pin drop*

Well, not quite, but close. You can still feel the giant steam engine through the floor. Hear the background thrum of the props. But everyone except catgirl, lady, and geezer are staring at me wide eyed. In shock. But what really hurts? Caroline’s hand and feet flee. Leaving me with a lonely hardon.

*sadface*

Though Samantha’s team of toes picks up the pace. So it's not a total loss.

El Capitan recovers first and growls.

"Lady Heaton, please leave the room at once."

"No."

"Lady Hea-"

"How did you figure it out?"

My question interrupts Rocky acting captainy. But I'm not looking at the lady in red. Nope, I'm scowling at senior citizen. His shit eating grin makes it obvious he's feeling very clever right now.

"Three ways." He answers and holds up one finger. "My laboratory has the most sensitive augers in the continent. And two days ago they detected a very strong spike of mana from the Botsund area." Two fingers. "You have an ocean of mana in you. Maybe even more. Few even test for it anymore because spellcasting is considered a dead end field." Three fingers. "Your class. Took hours to find in the archives. Technomancer is one of the dead professions. An arcane class. The gods never award it anymore. Only an outworlder could force the gods to resurrect a dead class."

Huh, well fuck me. And, I guess, fuck this.

The hostile looks I'm getting from about everyone makes it clear this won't end well. Push my senses into the storage rings to pull out a revolver and firenades.

Eh?

I can't look into my storage rings. Nor pull anything out. This might get ugly. Really ugly.

Geezer starts yapping again and waving a hand.

"Do not bother with spatial magic. There is a scrambler hidden in this room. They interfere with spellcraft."

Guess it's time to improvise.

Place my hands on the table. Grabbing silverware. Which begin to transform in real-time as my nanos go turbo. Getting longer and sharper. Changing from a knife and fork to full size daggers.

Thank god I can still reach my personal storage. Upgrading it moves to the top of my to do list.

Most look horrified by what they are witnessing. Including Carol. Which, I’ll admit, hurts a little. Except the old guy who is now even more ecstatic.

"Transmutation… Actual alteration of external objects… Fascinating…" Giggles. "The cardinal would blow a gasket if he saw this!" Sees a couple getting ready to pounce. "Whoever touches him will experience the full wrath of House Heaton."

Rocky freezes and looks at the old man, incredulous. 

"You cannot be serious, Lord Heaton." Points at me. "The last otherworlder brought decades of plague, war, famine and death. That took a crusade years to end. How-"

Twain's twin intercepts his exposition.

"And that was two centuries ago." Stands, sets his palms on the table and stares down El Capitan. "While the otherworlder before her taught us the principles on which all modern science is based!"

Not to be outdone, Cappy stands and fires back. 

"And the one before him brought that scourge." Rocky points behind Sam. Right where… Miss Jenny is standing?

Umm… Have I been flirting with a five hundred year old catgirl?

…

*shrug*

I’d still tap that.