Rainy Days

Zheng didn’t like the rain. When she and Izzy returned from smoking, sprinting through the drops, my old friend pulled pillows and poofs and blankets around her for a makeshift bed near me and Marco and passed out, Izzy right after her.

The rain continued through the night and into the morning. My internal clock woke me at my normal early hour but the rain, the darkness, and Marco pulling me back into bed with him grumbling, “No, not yet. Get back here,” and trapping me to him around my waist, sent me right back to sleep.

There was nothing to do in the rain. It always reminded me of snow days back in the 21st. The big snow storms where enough snow fell that even the plows didn’t bother coming out and we were literally stuck inside. Even Mom had had to stop working during those storms.

Marco slept most of the time and pulled me next to him as often as I’d let him. Sleep seemed as good an occupation as any in this weather-induced inactivity. Zheng found reasons to stay in our tent, mostly revolving around squeezing every last drop of battery from my laptop. She made it through three quarters of Legally Blonde before the whole setup died on her and her heart broke. She idly tapped the keyboard as she struggled to remember the next series of scenes and her favorite lines.

I helped her with the parts I knew and Izzy was able to fill in what she remembered. Together we retold the movie as best we could through the final scene when the movie ended with Elle’s graduation. Zheng was depressed that she’d have to wait for the sun to return to charge the batteries before the laptop could function again. She and Izzy decided to brave the rain and go smoke their hours away.

“Sit up.” Marco came to our bed with a deck of cards. “I want to get some practice in before the party and the games begin.” He started dealing me a hand. I didn’t know what game we were playing but it was guaranteed to be a losing hand.

“What are we playing?”

“Thirty-one. It’s easy.” He went on to explain the rules, only a third of which stuck in my brain. It sounded similar to Black Jack. “Now, what are we wagering?”

“Must we?” I was terrible at games. I hardly ever won. If any amount of gambling or wagering was required I was doomed to lose. The only game I was ever successful at predicting were the gladiator games in Rome. I thought of the indigo again. I thought about Rome again. I thought about Captain Khan’s ship again.

“Of course we are wagering. I can’t pass up a sure thing when she sits there in front of me with deeper pockets than the emperor.” He was such a liar. The rest of my family couldn’t wait to spend my money but Marco never took a cent.

“What are we wagering then? The usual?” Our family typically wagered time in these games. Marco was here now for losing two years to Zheng on whatever bet they’d made and he’d lost. It was a tricky bet to make good on as you had to be concurrent with the person you made the bet with.

“Nah. Let’s do something else for these practice rounds.” He smiled at me over the cards. It was a good idea. Time promised between us was a bad idea.

“Fine. I win, I get to make you a coat. I lose and I’ll make you a coat.” I grinned. I was making him that damn coat.

“Deal. And if I win, I get to spend all day with you on the beach when this rain lets up. You win, you get to spend all day with me on the beach.” He grinned right back.

“Deal.” I shook his hand.

I lost.

Lost the next round too.

And the next.

And seven other hands.

By the time Zheng and Izzy got back from smoking, Marco was in tears laughing as I lost yet another hand.

“Deal me in. Izzy, you playing?” Zheng flounced on my bed and tapped the spot where Marco should deal her cards.

“Depends on what we’re betting on. And whether or not anyone’s checked Marco’s sleeves for cards.” Izzy went back to tinkering with her water filter setup and checked the volume of output.

“Currently in the pot is a pretty embroidery of a duck wearing a ribbon, seven feet of sail repairs, a day and a half challenge to see who can make Zheng angrier, twelve names to commit to memory, and lessons on how to Ballantine coil a rope.”

“I don’t really understand how these things are valued, but okay. Can I offer,” she looked around the tent for anything of value and came up with little, “a goat cheese and bacon pizza? Does that work? Or maybe a mani-pedi?”

“Works for me,” Zheng spoke up.

“Then you’re in. And if you want to check my sleeves, come on over and do it.” Marco grinned, knowing Izzy would never do it. It wouldn’t have yielded any results anyway, the winning cards were likely shoved up his ass.

“Zheng, you check him. I’m sure you’re more familiar with his tricks.” Izzy reluctantly sat down.

“Oh, we’re all going to lose. But! If I win, these two have to kiss,” Zheng cackled. It was her typical wager from time immemorial.

“If you know he’s going to cheat, then why even play?” Izzy asked. We all laughed. It wasn’t like there was anything on the line we cared about. It was just fun.

“It’s raining and I’m bored,” Zheng responded and snapped for Marco to deal already.

“Hope springs eternal. He could make a mistake,” I laughed. He wouldn’t but it was fun to think of the day he might. “You playing? I asked Izzy. She still looked on edge that she might lose a fake game that didn’t mean anything.

“Can I get details on that duck embroidery?” Izzy asked.

“Marco is going to look just darling with that duck on his collar.” I was already planning it out, extra cutesy eyes and a big bow blowing in the wind.

“Pretty sure that’s in the pot more as a threat.” Marco winked at me. He was exactly correct. I was going to embroider 70 ducks all over his shirt.

Marco laughed. I laughed. Izzy laughed. Pretty sure none of us were laughing for the same reasons.

“Deal already. Izzy, are you in or out?” Zheng demanded.

“Deal me in,” Izzy committed. She fixed Marco with laser focused vision, ready to spot the slightest incongruency in his actions.

“So what is that contraption again? A filter?” Marco asked Izzy as he dealt.

“Yes. It sifts out some impurities. But you still have to boil it afterwards to be sure. It’s really slow too, but I’m hoping I can at least get some stuff ready in advance.” Izzy said all this while glancing back at her filter then back to her audience.

Marco was dealing her cards from the bottom of the deck as he distracted her.

“Oh! Anne, can I have some bleach?” Izzy asked as Marco finished laying out the cards.

“I’ll need that in Rome. See if you can find a substitute here,” I answered. Bad enough she was going to copy my maps, she wasn’t taking more illicit items on these 17th century Asian ships that would already have a difficult enough time making it through the English Channel without the added stench of chemical witchcraft.

“Japan, not Rome,” Zheng insisted. She whacked Marco when he tried to palm the final card he placed down.

“The indigo will sell better in Rome,” I insisted right back. How much were Jacks worth again? I had a Jack in my hand and a three. There was a three turned face up in the card river on the bed between us. Did pairs earn you more?

“The charcoal is the substitute,” Izzy said, her eyes half on her filter and half on her cards. “Is bleach a thing we can make? Or iodine?” she asked.

Zheng shook her head. Marco looked to me for translation of her words. I shrugged. If she wanted to start storing her own pee till it turned to ammonia, that was her prerogative. I tried to focus on the cards and the math problem they presented.

“I doubt it,” Izzy trailed off.

Zheng smirked as she watched Marco turn over another card.

“Where’s Rohail’s next assignment?” he asked Her Excellency. “I was going to drop in on him once the rain lets up if he’s still around.”

Zheng went into a lengthy explanation about sending the glassblower out to “rendezvous” with ships from the mainland known to carry the precious material. As she discussed the personnel disputes between Rohail’s ship and three others who were still complaining about a cache of cinnamon and how now, every damn time their ships came in, she had hours worth of disputes to sift through. Zheng was distracted enough that Marco smiled after doing something that surely assured his victory. He was too fast to see and I was going to lose no matter what.

He turned over another three and I was sure three of a kind meant I had a chance at winning. I tried to look nonchalant. Marco saw my nonchalant face and couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Zheng, Izzy, and I all lost. By a lot.

****

“Give me your shirt.” I held out my hand for Marco’s shirt. I had all my embroidery supplies set up and there was just enough light to work by.

He took off his shirt and tossed it to me. There was enough light to see him by as well. I stretched a section of his collar through my frame and began to tack the outline of a 3x3” duck with a gigantic ribbon around its neck. This way people would know Marco wasn’t for eating either.

Marco practiced the shell game on the small table. The sounds of the scraping cups and the rain falling mixed together with the occasional grumbling curse from him when he fumbled the pebble.

He looked really nice sitting there without a shirt. He caught me looking and met my gaze. Neither one of us looked away. I put the embroidery down and walked over to him and picked up his arm. There was a new ring of scar tissue just below his elbow.

“When did you get this?” I ran my fingers over the scar.

“On my way over after you killed that rat.” He didn’t take his arm back. He had several of these rings up and down both arms. They were the result of his hands and arms being chopped off, punishments for stealing. The band around my left shoulder was more ragged, the result of that instance when the portal was furious with me and sent a megalodon to take my arm in punishment; his was sharper and cleaner, the result of blades and angry shopkeepers.

“I wish you’d let me set you up in a safe place. Give you enough to keep you comfortable. Comfortable and safe.” I handed him back his arm and went back to my embroidery. I could do so much for him. I wanted to do so much for him. He rarely let me, preferring to risk himself on the streets than in my pockets.

“Maybe I’ll let you do that one day,” he said. My head snapped back to him. I’d never heard even this much of an admission from him. “Not Italy.” He pointed at me with one of his shells.

“Not Italy. No.” Although I’d make him and Catherine so very, very comfortable. Last time I saw you, you were in my bed under my sheets…

Izzy’s ships were in good shape. They’d be able to take him safely there. He’d be able to look after her and see she didn’t die of dysentery before leaving the Indian Ocean. Mo would be here soon and, with him, our refills of Fountain. Should she contract dysentery, he could administer her a dose. That would ensure she gets there safely.

That would deliver him to that upstairs hallway.

“Not England either,” he whispered.

I shrugged but didn’t otherwise respond. The pieces fit too well together to deny.