Less than a year before Wanderlust

Motal enjoyed visiting Zianna. Aside for Co, where he had been born, it was probably one his favourite cities. Oh, all the big port cities had good taverns and brothels for sailors to visit while on leave, but Zianna's were simply better. The divide between the poorer and richer sections of the city was more maintained than in other cities, which resulted in the taverns and brothels being fairly cheap. The one downside was Zianna's higher number of pickpockets, but they could be avoided easily enough.

Whenever he went into Zianna, Motal wore his money on a pouch around his neck. It was safer than keeping it in a pocket. He was just tucking the pouch under his tunic when a handful of other sailors joined him near the gangway.

"Motal, first leave you've had in a while, there, mate. Aye?" Wolkar asked, grinning. Everyone knew Motal had been contained to the ship for the last few stops. An unfair punishment for returning late after his time off in Co. Motal hadn't even been the only man who was late, he just happened to the be the one the captain had seen.

Motal elbowed his friend. "Reckon you'n the lads all owe me, given how I took the fall'n all, aye?"

"I'll buy you a drink, mate," Wolkar replied. "Or maybe more than one." He shoved Motal's shoulder, then stepped up onto the gangway to climb down to the dock.

Motal followed him. The dock was crowded and busy, as all ports were. Together the sailors headed through the familiar chaos, past other ships and other crews, warehouses and the cheapest port taverns, until they reached the gates to the main pass.

The main pass was a walled path that followed the tall Cliffs of Loth, all the way back to the castle. Motal had never been further than the lower city gate. When one of the guards at the gate held up his hand to stop them, Motal stepped forward to speak for the group. It was just a formality; every guard knew why Crelan sailors would be entering the city.

"We're on leave from the CN Tidal, merchant ship," Motal said. "One night in the lower city."

The guard nodded. He obviously felt the conversation was as unnecessary as Motal thought it was. "What do you plan to do in the city?"

One of the sailors behind Motal piped up. "Drink, gamble and fu—"

"Go ahead," the guard said, stepping aside and waving lazily.

They walked through the gates, and made directly for the gates that led to the lower city. The guards there let them in without questioning. The sailors joined the crowds of people in the lower city's main courtyard. Mostly they were Native Zians, but plenty of the visitors were other sailors—Crelans, Teltans, likely some Navirians or Deoruns, although Motal couldn't tell the difference between them. He and his friends forced their way through the crowds, ignoring the small market stalls and vendors that lined the street. They knew their destination.

It was a tavern so old its sign had long ago worn away and never been replaced. Motal and the others had never bothered to ask what the tavern's name was, they just knew that it was their favourite. It had good but cheap food, plenty of drinks, relatively nice rooms to rent, gambling tables, and beautiful barmaids. But Motal's favourite part was how close it was to his favourite brothel.

Compared to Teltans, Crelans may have been slightly more accepting of his preference for men. But the Natives didn't care at all. Motal could confidently walk into a Native brothel and ask for a man, and nobody gave him a second glance. That was the main reason he liked visiting Zianna, or any of the mainland cities.

The tavern was as busy as always. Motal and the others managed to get a table. They ordered drinks and food. They talked about their ship and complained about their captain. Some of the men flirted with the barmaids. Wolkar brought out a stained deck of cards and started a game of Stampede. They played as they ate, wiping their greasy fingers off on their pants or tunics before touching the already filthy cards. They drank while they flirted. Some of them flirted because they were drunk.

Another group of Crelans somewhere across the tavern broke out into a rowdy sea shanty, so Motal and his friends joined in. The song quickly devolved into amicable taunts and made-up lyrics, as sea shanties often did when Crelans were drunk. When that died down, someone else suggested a game of Sailor's Dice. They got so caught up in the game that when a bit of a brawl started elsewhere in the tavern, they didn't even pause to watch.

It was all fun and noise. After the strict days they worked on the ship, evenings on shore were a chance to relax and to spend money. Motal knew that the locals disliked them as much as they liked them. Sailors could be rude and cause problems, but they also brought in money.

Later in the evening, most of their friends had peeled off to do their own things. One of the younger sailors had been enticed away by a pretty barmaid. A few of the sailors had already had too much to drink. Two of them had left together to try to make it back to the Tidal, and their hammocks. One of them was somehow asleep at the table, slumped over with his head buried in his arms. Another man had decided to pay the brothel a visit.

Motal and Wolkar were left, along with a pair of brothers. The four of them were playing Stampede again, but the game wasn't going well. For the others, at least. Motal was doing very well.

"Just lend me the money," Lomar, the younger brother, whined.

"No." Fomar tossed down his cards. "'m out, lads. That's it."

"That all your money?" Wolkar flipped through the cards he had left and held one out to Motal.

Motal stretched to accept it, and while the brothers continued bickering, he selected a card to pass back to Wolkar. "Listen, laddies," he said. "Reckon Wolkar'n me wouldn't mind if you were bettin' somethin' other than money, aye?"

Fomar narrowed his eyes like he was thinking. "Like what, then? Y'expectin' me t' take one o' your watches, that it, then?"

"'m in," Lomar said, perking up. "I'll take a watch."

Fomar shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Wanna be an idiot, Lo? 'm not gonna stop you."

Lomar dealt himself some of the spare cards. "That's my bet, then. One watch shift."

"We'll hold you t' it," Wolkar said. He offered a card to Lomar.

The game continued for a few minutes. They passed cards around quietly, until finally the moment came when Motal had the cards he needed. Triumphantly, he placed the set faceup on the table. "That's Stampede, lads."

Lomar groaned, and his brother laughed. Wolkar dropped his cards with a sigh.

"Right then, you're havin' a lucky streak t' night, mate."

"Reckon so." Motal scooped up the coins in the middle of the table. "Fomar, lad, might be time t' take your little brother back t' the Tidal. Before he offers somethin' more than just a watch shift."

Fomar stood, and dragged Lomar to his feet. "Don't think I dunno what you're talkin' 'bout. Things happen at sea, not on land."

Motal slowly counted out his coins. "Just sayin', lad."

"Well." Wolkar gathered up his cards. "Reckon I'm done, too, mate."

"Goin' back to the ship?" Motal asked.

"No, mate. I didn't bet all o' my money," Wolkar laughed. "'m gonna get a room, and sleep 'till noon. You?"

"Might find another game t' join," Motal said. "Lucky streak'n all."

"Right. Good luck, mate." Wolkar clapped him on the shoulder as he walked by. The brothers were heading out the door. Motal dropped his new money into his pouch, finished off his ale, and stood up to look around.

The group of Crelans they had sung with earlier in the night had thinned out, but some of them were huddled around a table playing Commandeer. Motal strolled over to watch. He wasn't very good at Commandeer, but that was mostly because he hadn't practiced it as much.

A few minutes into the game, one of the Crelans noticed him. "Looking to join, mate?"

Motal, as a proper Island Crelan, immediately recognized the slight difference in the young Crelan's voice. Continent Crelans tended to speak more like Teltans, and even when they tried to sound more like Island Crelans it was never quite right.

"Just watchin', lad. Commandeer isn't my best game."

"Oh." The Crelan shrugged and turned his attention back to the game.

Motal found his gaze lingering on the Crelan. He was a good-looking lad, probably somewhere in his late teens. It didn't take long for Motal to realize that the Crelan wasn't watching the game, so much as he was watching one of the players. Motal's interest was piqued, and he moved a little closer to the young man.

"Where're you lot from?" Motal asked.

"The Hireath," he replied distractedly. Crelans often answered that question with the name of their ship. That's what the question meant, if it was another Crelan who was asking. Although the answer was more helpful with navy ships.

"Home berth?" Motal asked.

"Oh. West Draulin."

Motal wasn't surprised to hear that they were from West Draulin. That explained the lad's slightly different way of speaking. "'m from the CN Tidal," he said.

"Co?" the lad turned to him. "We just came from Co. Look." He pushed up his left sleeve to reveal crisp black swirls. "I got both arms done."

Motal smiled. "Looks really good, lad."

He beamed. "Thanks, mate. Had my shoulders and back done for a few years, but I wanted to get more." His gaze flickered back towards the Commandeer player he had been watching.

"'m Motal," Motal said, mostly to pull the lad's attention back to him.

"Soren," he replied.

Motal eyed the nearly empty mug Soren was holding. "How 'bout another drink, mate?"

Soren looked down at his mug, like he didn't realize it was done. Or maybe no one had offered to buy him a drink before. When he looked up again he smiled. "Aye, mate. Thanks. I'll get the next round?"

"Deal," Motal agreed, and he waved down a barmaid.

Sometime later, Motal had been talked into playing a round of Commandeer. He wasn't quite drunk enough to make stupid choices, and he kept his bets low. He lost against the Crelan Soren had been watching, who Motal had puzzled out was the crew's captain.

At the end of the round, the captain stood to gather up his money. He was handsome and charming, and Motal understood how he had captivated Soren's attention. But over the course of the games Motal had watched, and the one he had joined, he had noticed the captain's behaviour towards the barmaids. It seemed very clear to Motal that the captain wasn't interested in Soren in the way the lad was interested in his captain.

With a few final words to his men, and a nod at Motal, the captain went off. Without him running the games, the other sailors who were still around dispersed. Motal was delighted to find himself alone with Soren. Motal knew what he wanted to ask, but bringing it up wasn't necessarily easy. Brothels were easy, they provided an automatic understanding. It was different with people he wasn't going to pay.

Soren moved around the table to take the seat beside him. "Commandeer's not your game, mate."

"Said as much," Motal replied. "Stampede's my game."

"I like Sailor's Dice."

"Sailor's Dice is just luck, lad," Motal laughed. "Gotta think for the other games. More to it."

"Reckon that's why I like it," Soren said. Then he looked around the tavern.

Motal followed his gaze, trying to figure out what he was looking for. "Reckon your captain left."

"What?" Soren's attention snapped back to Motal. "I wasn't looking for him."

Motal shrugged, and decided now was the time. If Soren rejected him, he could just head to the brothel or back to the Tidal. No harm done, really. "Just thought maybe you'd hope he'd—"

"So listen, mate," Soren interrupted. His accent was slightly more prominent, but he still didn't sound like a proper Island Crelan. "I promised I'd buy the next round of drinks, but I'm short on siyas. So I thought, maybe..." his eyes flickered around again, and he lowered his voice. "Maybe there's something else we could do."

It was Motal's turn to be surprised. The last thing he had expected was for Soren to broach the topic. Really, he wouldn't have been surprised to find that Soren was in denial about his feelings. Maybe he had misunderstood. "What?"

Soren looked at him. Motal looked back. The lad was young, but that didn't mean he was inexperienced. And even though they were both a little drunk, Motal thought he could see a sort of determination in Soren's eyes. Motal had wrongfully assumed Soren would be timid and tentative.

Soren broke the silence between them, but he was still speaking quietly. "I know what you want."

Motal blinked. "You're... you've done this, then?"

Soren shrugged. "Some of it. Rent us a room."

"Aye," Motal agreed, pleased he hadn't lost his money in the Commandeer game. He went over to the bar and spoke briefly with the tavern's owner. There weren't many rooms left, but Motal didn't care much about the quality and was happy to pay for one of the smaller rooms. With the key in hand, he crossed through the still busy room to start up the stairs. When he paused at the top of the stairs and cast a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that Soren was getting up to subtly follow him.

Motal found his room down a short hall and waited by the door until Soren had seen him, then went inside. It really was a small room, but that suited Motal's needs just fine. A light breeze fluttered the curtains, which were so thin and worn that moonlight easily shone through them. The bed was narrow and had a single blanket neatly folded over it. An empty basin and water jug sat on the small table by the door.

Soren slipped into the room a moment later. Motal turned around, ready to either make a joke about the quality of the room or apologize for it, but he didn't have a chance to do either. Soren moved closer and kissed him.

Motal stopped thinking about the room. He stopped thinking about most things, and let instinct take over. Soren was eager and desperate and Motal almost found himself struggling to keep pace. Motal wasn't much older than Soren, so he remembered what it was like. Being young, possibly a little confused, surrounded by men night and day who couldn't really understand him. It really wasn't a huge surprise Soren had jumped at someone who had given him attention.

Even though Soren had taken the lead by initiating their kissing, Motal steered him over to the bed. It creaked when Soren sat down. Maybe it was that sound that made Soren snap out of the moment. He placed a hand firmly on Motal's chest, and Motal, somewhat reluctantly, backed up.

"What?" Motal couldn't help but sound a little annoyed. His annoyance softened when he really looked at Soren again. The lad was easily one of the more attractive sailors Motal had ever been with. Motal knew that if Soren had been given real options, the lad would have never picked him. Maybe that was suddenly occurring to Soren. "If we're done—"

"No, wait."

Soren was sitting on the bed, Motal was still standing in front of him. He watched, equally puzzled and thrilled, as Soren reached up to unbuckle Motal's belt.

"I've got some practice," Soren continued. Whatever confidence he had shown downstairs seemed to be dwindling. "I've been told I'm pretty good."

Motal could read between the lines. He knew what Soren wasn't quite saying. He wasn't about to discourage Soren, if that was what he wanted to do. But Motal had been hoping for more. "That all?" he asked.

Soren shrugged, still watching his own hands on Motal's belt as if the task needed all of his attention. "I've never done more. I'd like to."

Motal's confusing mix of assumptions and understanding only got more convoluted. So the lad was experienced, but he also wasn't. Motal's mind raced and nearly tripped over itself at the idea that he was about to be the first man to sleep with Soren. Forget his luck during the card games, that was nothing compared to his luck in finding Soren.

He slipped his hand under Soren's chin and gently lifted his head, so Soren would look up at him. "That what you want, then?"

Soren's eyes darted away like he was nervous, but he nodded. "Aye."

Motal smiled. "All right. So show me what you can do, lad."

It was early in the morning when Motal started to get dressed. So early he thought he could probably make it back to the Tidal with time for a few more hours of sleep. He was tightening the buckles on his boots when he heard shuffling behind him.

"The room's paid for 'till noon," Motal said, without turning around. "You can stay."

It took Soren a moment to reply, quietly, "You can stay, too."

Motal finished with his boots and turned. He couldn't deny that he was tempted. Soren had been fun, but there was something else on his mind. "You called me Toliver."

Soren winced. Despite the blue moonlight, Motal was sure he could see Soren's face go red as the lad looked away.

Motal stifled a sigh and sat on the edge of the bed. "Your captain, I reckon? Lad, if that man was interested, you'd know by now."

Soren still wasn't looking at him. "You don't know him."

"No," Motal agreed. "But I have a lot of practice with men like him, right? Believe me. If he was interested, you'd be in his bed, and he'd've been your first."

"You don't know him," Soren repeated.

"All right." If the lad wanted to pine and mope, there wasn't much Motal could do to stop him. "Like I said, room's paid for 'till noon, so get some rest. Maybe we'll end up in the same port again one day." He started to get up, but Soren suddenly caught his hand and tugged him back down.

"Wait," Soren said. "Was I... good?"

Motal gently pulled his hand from Soren's grasp. "Aye, you were." As much as Motal had enjoyed himself, and as likeable as Soren was, he didn't exactly want to sit around talking. He stood again, and this time Soren didn't reach for him. "Go to sleep. I'll keep an eye out for the Hireath." He walked away, and before Soren could try to call him back he had already slipped through the door.

He left the tavern and started the walk back to the port, letting his mind wander as he walked. Overall, it had been a very successful and enjoyable night. Motal nodded to himself. He really did love visiting Zianna.