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something different, fishnet, hung at seemingly random intervals from the
ceiling. At the far end, the ugly cast-iron bed seemed to have been polished,
actually polished, and on it someone had placed a lovely set of scarlet
bedclothes, complete with frilled throw pillows. An oriental rug that nearly
filled the whole room left only a bit of the hardwood floor visible, and this
glistened, as if someone had actually had the time to wax. Something else
caught the light that Duncan noticed was streaming so brilliantly through the
cleaned windows: there were mementos on the wall, an anchor here, a quadrant
there.
And in the midst of this unexpected sight, sitting in a burgundy-draped
rocking chair next to a polished cherry lamp table was the lovely Gabriela,
reading a book. The captain's daughter wore a dark nightshirt and a pair of
almost homely slippers, and she only casually looked up as Duncan entered the
room.
My God, my God, what have I done. "What in Hell came through here?"
Gabriela smiled and laid her book aside, and Duncan noted that the bookmark,
too, was burgundy. "You've been gone since yesterday afternoon. You should
know your Mrs.
Brandeis wants to speak to you rather badly."
"She intercepted me at the door," said Duncan. "You really are the most
intriguing creature." He shook his head in disbelief. Even for the Gay
Nineties, this girl was forward.
Or was that the word? The word was more likely forthright.
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Forthcoming. Bold as hell. Whatever. "I'll ask it again, because it's worth
it, what happened'
"To your fabulous wreck of a room?" Gabriela stood and padded over to him, and
Duncan could smell the rosewater on her neck as she put her arms around his
waist. "I
thought I'd put some of my mad money to good use. If I'm to have a room, it
might as well be a splendid one. Like the sea motif?"
"Splendid," agreed Duncan. Visions of decorating the whole house were dancing
in his head. And then it struck him: she was really here. This was a bold
statement she had just swathed in burgundy. And here she stood, her olive
fleshcovered by the slightest downy shirt, smelling of rosewater, and he
accepted the statement without hesitation.
Then he blinked from his reverie and said, "I have information."
"I thought you might."
Duncan nodded and went to the table, and picked up Gabriela's book. He laid
it in her chair-nice chair, toand unrolled the set of large papers he had
under his arm.
"Here she is," said Duncan, indicating the plans. "The Gratiano."
Gabriela put her hand on his shoulder and looked the paper over. Her trained
eye scoured the plans for a second before she shook her head a bit and let out
a slow whistle.
"Are you sure she's the right one?"
"Pretty sure," Duncan said, as he ran a hand along the plans, "and Khordas is
getting brave."
"Aye to that," she said.
"The Gratiano is seven hundred feet long. Her displacement is eighteen
thousand tons.
Top speed, twelve knots."
"How much cargo?" Gabriela was looking at the plan of the hull.
"Hull is divided into ten watertight compartments, patterned after the Great
Britain subdivision method. She can carry, and will be carrying, six thousand
tons of cargo."
"Passengers?"
"About two hundred in first class cabins," Duncan paused for a moment, "but
counting steerage, there could be anywhere up to," he breathed out, "six
hundred. Plus a crew of about a hundred."
"Seven hundred people?"
Duncan nodded. "She's an older ship. Now the boats are getting smaller
again, but the
Gratiano is a holdover from the days of the giant steamers."
Gabriela nodded again, and Duncan reminded himself that he didn't have to give
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Gabriela Savedra a lecture on ships. She knew them as well as he did, if not
better. She said, "And why is she attractive to Khordas?"
"Good question," said Duncan. "It's not for her bulk. But among that six
thousand tons of cargo should be a good lot of the kind of baubles he likes.
He can carry an expensive amount in a gunny sack."
"There's something I don't understand, Duncan," said the Argentine. "Isn't
there something overblown in all of this?"
"How so?"
Gabriela picked up her book and sat down. She crossed her legs and clasped
her hands about her knees."Couldn't he just rob a bank? Or a mine? That ship
has an iron hull, what's the point of going to all the trouble ... And this
ship is huge, this isn't like blowing up another Andrew." Duncan was smiling,
and she stopped. "What?"
"Khordas is an Immortal. After a few thousand years you develop a penchant
for drama. But I think that ships represent something."
"Something that robbing a bank would not?"
Duncan nodded his affirmation. Now he sat on the bed and pushed his hair away
from his eyes, and began to massage his temples. He knew he looked terrible
after being up all night, and he felt a slight headache coming on. Pains and
aches and love, layer upon layer. "The ship is due in Buzzards Bay tomorrow
night. I expect to meet Khordas on the water."
"I see," she said. "And I take it you'll chop his head off."
"That's usually how it works."
"Or he yours."
"Right." Duncan rubbed his neck. He needed sleep. Then he heard the words
corning out of his mouth, they had to be said, rotten, roten Game. "Gabriela,
this could get dangerous. Perhaps . . ."
Gabriela sighed deeply and shook her head. "I must be going insane. Are you
telling me to leave?"
"I know it's all very difficult to grasp."
"Are you referring to Khordas, or the matter of your bein. "Immortal?"
Gabriela placed her hand under her delicate chin.
"The whole thing."
"Yes it is," she said. "It is very difficult to grasp."
Gabriela rose and came to the bed, and climbed up, placing her knees on either
side of
Duncan's legs. She put her hands to his face and Duncan watched those hands,
so throbbing with blood and youth.
Gabriela was unbuttoning his shirt, now, and speaking into
his chest, and Duncan was watching the thin wool sliding along her thighs.
"But do you know what, Duncan Macleod? This may be very difficult for you to
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