Free Challenge by Montgomery Mahaffey Page B

skirts were it not for her walk. Hers was not the
gait of desperation, but the long stride strut of a man. One
glimpse and his body became a traitor to him again, his longing
more brutal than ever.
    The Wanderer didn’t realize he was following
her until a large black carriage caught her attention. A quartet of
horses pulled their burden with a high-stepping trot, the open box
exposing the four noblemen inside. The cape of one soared outside
the carriage, its extravagant length sweeping along the wharf. The
gentleman’s face was hidden with the likeness of a skull, and the
Wanderer realized it must be All Hallows Eve. All the occupants
were in costume, their faces covered in masks. But their voices
were loud, their accents rendered uncouth from drink.
    The carriage stopped before the most raucous
tavern on the wharf, and he heard the sounds of merrymaking ringing
from inside. The Wanderer raised his brows. Surely the gentlemen
wouldn’t dream of going there. This was the place for those who
lived and worked on the wharf, not for the guests of a fancy dress
ball. But the garbled discussion about the fun that could be found
on the wharf confirmed that they intended to do exactly that. The
Wanderer shook his head and snorted. The noblemen looked absurd
stumbling out of the carriage, tripping over the capes cascading to
their ankles. When they lifted their masks, they uncovered bloated
features and bleary eyes. But the tallest of the four was the last
to remove his; the grinning violet demon was replaced with a
handsome face.
    The Wanderer immediately recognized him as
the type of noble he resented the most. He suspected this was a man
whose pride exceeded his ability. Even his beauty betrayed that
kind of vanity. Sharp cheekbones sliced the midline of his face,
full lips curled in derision, chin at a high tilt. His dark brown
eyes were empty when he looked at his friends, his contempt for
them thinly veiled. But he still followed them into the tavern.
    The Wanderer saw the girl watching them as
well. Her eyes glittered as she stared after the billowing cape of
the handsomest nobleman, her thick teeth gleaming when she smiled.
She didn’t hesitate to follow His throat grew tight and the
churning in his belly surged the taste of bitterness to his
mouth.
    “ Go home…”
    The call of his heart was endearing in its
gentleness. He tried to capture the lightness of spirit he had from
his vision of going back to the village. But the memory of the girl
was seared into his flesh and the thought of her with the arrogant
nobleman made him burn. Before he knew what he was doing, he found
himself in front of the tavern. His stomach clenched and the
throbbing of his heart was agony. He tried to will himself to turn
around and go home. Instead, he pushed through the doors.
    The revelry inside knocked the wind out of
him. Seamen were everywhere, both fishermen and pirates. There were
also vagabonds, conmen, craftsmen, and merchants. All of them
drinking together in the riotous brotherhood of men, the only women
in the tavern were serving wenches and prostitutes. The former were
comely; their blouses laced up their middles, their generous
breasts pushed against their necklines, and their arms were
muscular from carrying mugs of ale, most holding three to a hand.
Others carried snifters of high spirits, their balance impeccable
as they held their trays high and pushed through the crowd. The
wenches were adept at avoiding unwanted touches, leaving room for
the night ladies to move in. Their faces were garish from powder
and rouge, their flimsy gowns cut low to the waist. They stalked
for the amorous embrace, their sharp eyes prowling for the look of
lust, a mouth turned down from hidden sadness, boredom crossing one
face in the company of friends. Those were the signs the night
ladies sought out before sidling near their men and smiling with a
suggestive wink.
    The Wanderer couldn’t move at first. The
shouting and singing merged into a loud