In doing some research, I've discovered that while Lloyd's of London was in business at the time this story is set, it was neither an insurance firm nor named Lloyd's. The Twinings Coffee Trading Company imported coffee to England from several locations around the world. Tea was not yet the British mainstay as we think of it today. As tea began to replace coffee, Twinings turned to insuring ships and shipments. With risk reduced to more manageable levels, trade increased... sorry, I'm a Ferrengi at heart; I love this sort of thing.

For the purposes, I'm continuing the story as intended and by the time its ready for a rewrite, I hope to have a better plan in place. Suggestions from those better historically versed are welcomed at greyflank@comcast.com. In the meantime, consider the story now taking place in the early 1700's.

"Mr. Herne?" The man said as he was shown into the drawing room. "I'm Charles Twinings, Lloyd's of London."

"I'm Mathew Thomas Penrod. I was a partner in the Calders Bay Trading Limited Company. Our senior partner, Mr. Merlin Herne would like to apologize for not being able to see you himself." I said to the agent as I indicated a seat by the large oaken desk. "Mr. Herne, I am sorry to report, is currently indisposed due to health concerns." It was hardly a lie. "I've been asked to stand in his stead and assist you in what ways that I am able."

Twinings waved his hand airily, dismissively. "I am sure you will suffice for this day's business." He sat down gingerly as he held his cocked hat pressed against his chest with his right hand. His hair was brown and pulled back into a ponytail so tight, that it might have easily accounted for the pinched expression on his face. He smirked evilly once his bottom was firmly affixed against the cushion and when he next spoke, his voice was almost a parody of concern. "I trust Mr. Herne has not fallen victim to the malady that beset the White Lady."

My heart skipped a beat at the very thought. The very idea that my host should be so afflicted by madness and disfigurement upset me more than it ought to have. I was able to convince myself easily that I was upset at the notion merely because of the delay such a tragedy would cause in receiving our recompense. "He has not. No."

Twinings looked up, an odd expression in his face. Then he smiled and let a little bit of the East End come through his voice. "There is no need for a Masquerade between the two of us, Mr. Penrod. My superiors have already secured the prerequisite funds through my employers. All that is needed is several signatures."

I forced myself not to react to his odd words. Instead, I walked as casually as I could behind my host's desk. Some contraband was to be expected; indeed it was almost traditional. His choice of the word, "masquerade," and the way of he spoke of his superiors as if they were separate and distinct entities other than his employers suggested a conspiracy of some sort.

I leaned on Herne's oaken throne for support as I felt myself suddenly chill with an icy sweat. A nightmarish image of faces pressed up against a wall in the dark nearly overwhelmed me for a flickering moment. I forced the moment aside and met the man's eyes. "The walls have ears, Twinings," I said softly, deciding to play along as best I am able. If my partners were playing a game of chance with my investment, I deserved to know.

"Indeed," Twinings said dubiously. His beady eyes seemed to study me with a jeweler's appraisal. "Why don't you sit down, then? This may take some time, regretfully."

I looked at the chair. It was a very high back, ornate chair. Like so many things in the manse, it was carved with a number of mythical creatures, most of which were obviously aroused males of one sort or another. A large Elk graced a shield at the apex of the chair back. The chair was padded with a supple tanned leather that offset the dark stain of the piece a bit too sharply. The arm were padded where Herne's elbows might rest with a matching sleeve, but other than a pale hide contrasting with the darken, stained wood, the chair was a work of art that looked amazingly comfortable.

"I think I'd rather stand."

A slow, subtly wicked smile appeared on his face. "Looks like a very comfortable chair."

I didn't like this man's attitude and the direction of the conversation did not sit well with me. "Mr. Twinings, I would not like to keep you here longer than necessary. Perhaps, it would be best if we just got down to business. Now I understand--"

"If you are not going to sit in it," Twinings interrupted casually, "may I?"

A wave of irrational revulsion shook me. The very thought of this arse lowering his hindquarters into Herne's throne was quite nearly sacrilegious. For no reason that I could fully comprehend at the time, I felt my fists clench at my side as my blood began to boil.

Had I my wheelock at that moment, I am quite sure I would have shot Twinings where he sat; right through his tricornered hat. The thought spawned a tingling shadow of a nightmarish image, a triangular head that was all teeth and antlers screaming as the echoing of report died in my ears.

I instantly checked myself. I had not slept well. In fact, I had slept so badly that even the incident with the mulatto obliviously drawing his indecent portrait of a satyr had left me at raw ends. Even with the dreaming world left behind hours ago, nightmarish creatures seemed to threaten me, still, in the daylight hours.

With that in mind, I had to accept that what Twinings was saying was not irrational, but perhaps just an attempt at whimsical wit that my befuddled mind could not properly dissect. This meeting had been important enough that Merlin Herne had told me to rest specifically so that I would have my wits about me. The thought that I might fail my lord because I was not well rested frightened me.

A calmness settled upon me and I sat in Herne's throne-like chair. "Very well, I shall sit to expedite this meeting, if you are so set upon it." I choose to ignore the sudden tension I had felt but a moment prior and get down to brass tacks. "Have you visited the wreckage of the White Lady yet?"

"Frankly, Mr. Penrod, I simply did not see the need. My superiors have freed up a great deal of resources which far exceed the amount my putative employers had seen fit to guarantee this enterprise. As an additional bonus, Mr. Herne receives his monies with extreme alacrity, along with my apologies and those of my superiors." Then he smiled, placing a sealed envelope before me on the desk. "I believe your master will be quite pleased, all told."

I was so flabbergasted by his manner of boorish and outrageous flippancy, I was unable to momentarily find my voice. "I beg your pardon!?" I growled. "Of whom might you be referring to as my 'master?'"

A smile twisted his face evilly, as if his countenance had not been unpleasant enough a moment before. "My, my, Mister Penrod... you remind me of Jared when he first arrived here. Have patience, in time all will be made clear to you. You would not like the consequence of knowing more than your... Mr. Herne sees fit to share with you." The smile stretched thinner and wider, until I am reminded of the evil sprites I've seen illustrated in some obscure books. "I assure you, you can not appreciate the cost of forbidden knowledge unless he deems you fit to receive it. In fact, should he discover that I have hinted as much of the truth to you as I have dared, you would certainly meet a quick and questionable death... while I might not receive the luxury of a _quick_ death."

"What are you going on about?"

"If you do not trust me, open the envelope and count out the contents, why don't you?"

I took a convenient letter opener from my host's desk and broke the red wax seal. In addition to a bank draft drawn on the account of Lloyd's of London, a sheaf of large denomination pound notes, crisp and bundled as if fresh from the Bank of England itself, had been jammed quite snugly into the sleeve. The bank notes were equal to the cheque, and then some. I looked up confused but Twinings was no longer sitting in front of me.

He hadn't vanished; he had merely gotten up silently while I was distracted by the money. He'd gone to the piece Merlin Herne had been quite proud. I flinched inwardly as I watched him examining the golden satyr, using the statue's engorged member to turn the objet d'art as if it had been meant to use as a handle. "That is a museum piece," I growled, "Be careful with that."

Twinings laughed slightly, letting go of the phallic. "Do not worry about that, these are actually quite common when one knows where to look."

"I seriously doubt that."

Twinings shrugged. "Herne can make another. He always does," he said cryptically, as he eyed me up and down. "In any case, I trust you have no objections to the monetary amount?"

Never had I met a more confusing man than this. "The monetary amount is quite acceptable; it is _you_ that I find concern with."

The man shrugged and placed his hat upon his head, as if making ready to leave. From within his coat, he pulled out a portfolio the size of a small ledger. "Sign the papers and be done with me, then."

Herne had warned me I would need my wits about me in dealing with this man, but surely he could not have expected such an insensible man. Just signing the papers and being done with him was perhaps the first logical idea I had heard this afternoon. Yet, I was no longer in doubt of my own facilities and I had a sense of ill ease about the papers he wished me to sign. I should not buy a pig in a poke, and he was no doubt behaving this way in hopes of getting to do just that.

The portfolio contained articles of incorporation and a number of other forms and contracts. They were, in fact, triplicated duplications of the papers I had signed at the very formation of the Calders Bay Trading Limited Company, down to the very dates. Of perplexing interest was the omission of all references to Merlin Herne, himself. Twining wandered the room, admiring the many art pieces with an amused patience. I knew it was not the artwork that he found amusing, although a common sort such as he might well find such displays of apparent indecency the acme of jest. Twinings found my studying the documents amusing, so I held my tongue as long as I could. When I did finally speak, I was sure I understood the role these papers were to play, but not their purpose.

"You would have me conspire to remove Merlin Herne's name from this enterprise as if he never existed." I managed not to have the least bit of uncertainty in my voice. What I said was patently obvious from what he was asking me to do. "Why?"

Twinings replaced a book he'd taken a fancy to and turned to me with a full, toothy smile. His teeth were not pretty things, but rough ivory spearheads distributed unevenly along his jaw. "It's what Mr. Herne wants."

Suddenly, I realized, that whatever else this Mr. Twinings might say, this was the truth of the matter. I know not what my host had left behind in Europe, but the White Lady had come into conflict with a ship from His Majesty's Navy. I suspected that it would be best for all parties concerned that the name of Merlin Herne not be mentioned in any report that might attract the attentions of any official authority in England.

Before I realized fully what I was doing, I was gently blotting the extra ink from my signature on the bottom of the forgery. I sat stunned as I looked down on my own name, drawn by my own hand and unmistakably in my penmanship. As I sat blinking, startled by my inability to recall setting pen to paper, Twinings helpfully pulled the sheet aside so that I might sign the next copy.

My mind felt as if it were held in suspension. I was certain that I was doing what my gracious host would want me to do. But was it right and in my best interest? I could not decide. I could not think of such a thing, although I have time enough now to dwell. I knew there was more to what I was doing than just "signing papers," yet, even as I questioned myself and my motives, my pen repeated the circuit of inkwell to paper to inkwell to paper several times.

My stomach felt as if I was put out to sea for the first time in years. My hand felt like it belonged to another. My mind was numb and my soul was in conflict. Yet, for all that, I felt no panic nor did I feel a greater concern than a slight ill ease. I was doing with Merlin Herne wanted me to do and that was all that really mattered.

As I blotted yet another signature, Twinings patted my hand fatherly. "You are exactly as Jared was when he first started," he said. "Merlin Herne will be quite proud of you." Despite the falseness of his tone, his words caused my face to flush with pleasure. "Still, there is time to escape your fate, you know." His words became full of honey, sweet and cloying.

I barely paused in applying my signature to yet another paper. "My fate is in hands of the Lord," I said simply and without heat.

Twinings snorted quietly, almost silently. "Your lord is mad."

I put the pen down and met his eyes. "I have signed the papers. I don't think your presence here is further warranted."

Twinings blinked and smiled. "The ink is barely dry, while my throat is quite parched. Don't you think the offer of a drink would be a very Christian thing to do?"

These words caused me to think back to Herne's offhand comment about my sounding like a solicitor. The memory of his benevolent smile was a small comfort and gave me strength enough to match false sincerity with false sincerity. "Alas, dear friend Twinings, the bounty of this estate is not mine to offer."

Twinings sat down again, tapping the papers spread across the massive desk to dry. "These papers say otherwise. This estate... this Albatross..."

"Avalon," I snapped, surprising myself with my sudden anger.

Oddly, Twinings seemed not surprised in the least. He conceded the point with a dismissive hand gesture. He seemed much too comfortable in that chair for my liking.

"Shall I have someone show you out?"

"Actually," he said, crossing his leg casually and removing his hat. "That is exactly the offer I have for you. They say that once one has eaten faerie food, one can never truly leave. And that is true enough, I suppose. But for those who have the strength of character necessary, there are many ways such a trapped man may make the best of his situation."

The man was absolutely infuriating! Yet, the business man part of me held my tongue for a moment. Beneath the daft exterior, Twinings seemed to believe that I knew what he was referring to ever so coyly. My immediate dislike of the man from Lloyds' and my unexpectedly strong loyalty to Merlin Herne seemed to have conspired to blind me to another situation. I was not sure what I was involved in or what games Herne might be playing with the clerks, but it had to be steep and questionable enough to be worth the deed to Avalon.

Then suddenly, my head is reeling. Avalon! I gripped the edge of the desk as the knowledge seeped into my head. I can't be the owner of Avalon, I told myself. The thought of Avalon without Merlin Herne was akin to sacrilege! No, Mr. Herne would have had to sign other papers, hadn't he?

Before I could fully sort out my thoughts, Naomi entered the room with a silver tea set. She paused just inside of the door and asked if we would care for tea.

From where I sat, the gold phallus of the satyr statuette came to rest across her ample bosom. My own sinful loins stirred excited at the outlandish image before my eyes. I nodded gratefully; tea would help me think more clearly. Naomi was as close to a Grecian goddess as a Negress could come; certainly her mere presence would improve the taste of this meeting.

Twinings, on the other hand, seemed to suffer apoplexy the very second the dear girl made herself known. His face drained of all blood until he was paler than Merlin Herne, himself. He stood up, as if to bolt, but froze when confronted with her unmoving form between him and the room's lone egress. She stared at him brazenly. Had she been my slave, I would have corrected her, but she was not. Instead, all I could do was enjoy Twinings' sudden ill ease.

"Oh, please, Mr. Twinings," I said with a voice full of honey, "Stay for a cup of tea and some scones."

Twinings shot me a perturbed look and twisted his hat in his hands. "My superiors--" he began in a voice somewhere between a warning and a plea, but checked himself as if suddenly realizing that there was a reliable witness to his glib posturing that the Master of the house might believe.

"Your superiors," Naomi purred, placing the tea tray directly upon the drying pages with a studied nonchalance, "must be terribly upset with the wreck of the Diomead."

The man's eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. With an effort, he closed his mouth and swallowed. I felt smugly vindicated and pleased with this new direction of conversation. "The Diomead..." I said thoughtfully, "Why... isn't that the ship that was docked near the White Lady when she sank?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Penrod, I do believe you are correct. Not that anyone would be so crass as to blame Captain Darcy for so strange a set of circumstances; especially not Master Herne."

"Especially not him, no." Twinings said hollowly and returned to his seat, visibly shaken. I felt a passing twinge of guilt as I wondered if perhaps Twinings knew someone aboard the H.M.S. Diomead.

"Not that I am one to spread idle talk, but the rumors of its destruction also falls under the pall of a stranger set of circumstance still." The dark woman poured two cups of tea into porcelain cups, leaning forward just enough to call my eye to her even darker cleavage and its inviting depths. For a moment I was lost between her ample mounds of flesh that were at once exotic and, yet, somehow, familiar. For a moment there was no sound in the room but the pouring of the tea and my sudden into of air.

I hadn't realized I had begun to hold my breath until she straightened up. No liquid had yet crossed my lips but I felt ever so slightly intoxicated all the same. I turned my gentle gasp into a display of curiosity and mild encouragement. "Do tell, Naomi. I find it hard to fathom a stranger set of circumstance than a ship crossing the sea only to sink in its home berth."

"I'm sure it's just sailor talk, Mr. Penrod, but they say the HMS Diomead was attacked by a sea monster." She smiled, almost in apology, turning three quarters of her back to Twinings. "The stories are all different, of course. Some say it was a giant whale. Others say it was a kraken or squid. None--"

"A giant shark, perhaps?" Twinings spat. He looked lost in that chair suddenly, as if he'd gotten smaller just sitting there.

As Naomi turned to offer Twinings a steaming tea cup and saucer, I caught the glimpse of a wide smile on her face. "Why, Mr. Twinings, you of all people should know, sharks on this side of the Atlantic are carrion eaters." Twinings flinched as if slapped and then looked away, ignoring the cup of tea held out to him. I rather doubt that he was aware of its existence at all.

After a few moments, Naomi simply shrugged and placed the tea cup back on the silver tray. "Perhaps a scone then, Mr. Twinings?"

His body rigid, only his eyes moved slowly towards Naomi. Silent and motionless, Twinings was eerily disturbing. If looks could kill, sweet Naomi would have burned on the spot.

All this merely underscored my ignorance of what was truly going on in this room. Strike that. I was ignorant of the dramas playing out within the halls of Avalon and I was equally unawares of events and agendas of those Merlin Herne trucked with.

Perhaps, I thought desperately, Merlin Herne was unaware of all that transpired here. Perhaps, I should step back and see how this all plays out. Perhaps, Naomi should not be trusted...

Suddenly, an image passed across my eyes, of a palsied colt staring up at me in a darkened stall. The taste of fish tingled on my tongue as phantom fingers squeezed my upper arms. The air drew thickly about me with the comforting aroma of a well kept stable. And there was a sense of a great and wanton hunger that can never be satisfied.

My own gasp for air startled me out of the fugue I had fallen into. My manhood was distressed and put upon so sorely that had I not been already seated, I would have thrown myself behind the huge desk.

Somehow, I had missed the final exchange between Naomi and Twinings for the man stood in the doorway as he did his best to restore the now crumpled tri-corner hat to the state its manufacturer had intended. "This is a madhouse," he spat. "You are all mad to stay within these walls." With those words ringing in my ears, Twinings turned and stomped away towards the Great Hall, where one of the darkies would show him out, should he think to stray or tarry.

"That went rather well," Naomi said, her casual tone nearly covering a wickedly malicious purr of delight.

"I would rather know what just the hell happened here," It was not a question, so much as an order.

Naomi turned back to me, her face softening but the smile did not vanish. Obviously, my order... my confusion seemed to amuse her on some level. "Perhaps Adam would not know a serpent in Eden for what it was, for all that he named it himself. You might consider that a trial by fire, if you like." With that she spooned a bit of sugar into the cup that Twinings had spurned, and she sat in the chair vacated by the disconcerting man. She tittered pleasantly at my apparent astonishment. "As I told you last night, Mr. Penrod. My nights are not my own, but my days... by day I am no man's slave, despite the role I willingly play."

My hands began to shake ever so slightly, but I spilled a bit of tea on myself. I was very much aware of the heat seeping into my crotch, as I tried to casually put the cup down upon its silver tray. My constrained organ roused itself further into frustrated potential as I leaned forward.

"Is this, then, another test? Another trial by fire?" I tried to answer bravely, and with no little contempt, but my voice trembled so that I must sound terribly, terribly frightened. I might have called it unmanly, if my own manhood were not becoming an ever-growing spire of stone just beneath Herne's massive desk. I watched her nearly as expansive bosom rock with gentle sigh, my eyes unable to keep themselves from rolling downhill into the beckoning darkness betwixt those ample mounds of supple mahogany flesh.

A delicate hand of ebony placed itself coyly just below her exposed cleavage. "If it were, Mr. Penrod, you'd fail horribly, I'm afraid." With artfully measured movements, she sipped at her tea. She too spilled a small drop of tea upon herself. I watched enviously as the bead slid down into the dark abyss. It rolled casually at first, but then suddenly, it pitched itself forward like a fox into underbrush. I once had my fortune read from my tea leaves. I found myself hoping that liquid tea could hold some portent as well. "Luckily for you," Naomi said, "I took your measure against a whole different standard last night."

It was with some effort that I found her face again. My thoughts were fleeing, scattered into a hundred different directions, to be replaced with a cascade of images that, only now, forced to stand here night after night alone and mute with naught to do but dwell on the last moments of my life that I might have made good my escape... only now can I explain what I saw. The colt. The smells. The tastes. Rutting like animals in the dark with a woman so dark I could see naught but her eyes.

It was staggeringly impossible, but suddenly, I could feel the healing scars of a raking ecstasy. "I had a dream last night," I stammered, believing and not believing the words that came reluctantly from my mouth. "I dreamed of a dark temptress... a siren... whose song pulled land and sea together... I must... I must be a fool."

Then her ebony hands were pulling at the bow of her blouse. "Yes," she said, with a purr in her voice that sounded of waves crashing in the distance, "You must be a fool." With a pinch and a tug, the bow came apart and so did her dress so casually it's a wonder she'd been able to keep it on in the first place.

My jaw raced her garment to the floor as she rose up, a dryad carved of the darkest ebony wood. "And so I must be a fool, also, Mr. Penrod." And with those words, she came around the desk and consumed me without mercy or hesitation.

***

Does the shipwreck sailor, awakening on the debris strewn shoreline of some deserted isle, bless or curse the sea? I awoke from the slumber of one fully and absolutely spent, feeling much like that proverbial sailor must. Disoriented, weak in the knees, aware of an incalculable loss, and, above all else, happy to be alive; this is what it felt like after spending but an hour in Naomi's embrace.

I had quite nearly drowned in her. Were I such a sailor, storm-tossed and shipwrecked, I doubt I could say if I loved or hated the sea. I only understood that I had to get back to her. So it would be with any sailor, I would think. So it must be with me.

The door to the drawing room was closed, which left me free to gather my clothes with something of my dignity intact. I was alone. In my younger and wilder days in London, I was the one always eager to avoid any messy post-coital regrets. With the tables turned, I was surprised to discover my only regret was that she was not there.

My jacket waited patiently for me on the end of the golden phallus of the ancient statuette that greeted anyone who entered the room a foot past the doorway. I wondered, as I adjusted my stockings and shoes, if it landed there by design or accident. I would have to ask Naomi, the next time I saw her alone, I promised myself.

So huge is the phallus, with my jacket resting upon it, that I could not see the golden fawn's face until I went to doff the jacket. Its face, oddly, looked familiar all of a sudden. It not as if I had really noticed its face before, having been distracted by its other rather notable elements, but I would have sworn the face was different.

The half sized satyr had a short, unremarkable nose rather than an axe-like Greek proboscis, that struck me as odd right off. The chin was too weak. The face was too tame, over all, although the lusting sneer was dead-on.

It was at that moment that Jared entered the drawing room. "Ah, Mr. Penrod! Just the man my uncle was looking for. We thought you might like to get in a little hunting before the sun sets. Rabbits are getting to be a nuisance, I should say."

It did not, for some reason, strike me as odd at the time that Jared did not wish to discuss business. I must admit that my time with Naomi had seriously disrupted my priorities. It had been quite a day for befuddlement, from Merlin Herne greeting me just before dawn, to the slave boy who obviously had as much Herne blood as slave, and to Naomi rescuing me from Twinings. My priorities had become suddenly very fluid since entering Avalon.

It was way too late to escape at that point, in any case.

"Yes, that would suit me nicely as well," I said. "But your opinion first, does anything strike you as odd about this satyr?"

Jared looked at me slyly and then at the satyr's face. Considering the size of his other assets, I doubted very few had paid this much attention to its face in many, many years. The younger Herne's face lit up brightly, almost too bright to look at. "Why... you are right Mr. Penrod. It DOES look like you!"