Chapter 6: The Company You Keep
It was no use. Castorius supposed he might as well have mercy on the exasperated sigh boiling inside him and just offer it a way out. While he was at it, he also made a point of permitting the old eyes to roll back and up towards the top of his skull.
Not that Sam was like to notice anyway. He was way too much enraptured by his own tales of caddishness and cowardice, told with such vigor that it was as if they'd never before been received by a pair of eager ears such as the ones Castorius was now doing his damnedest to turn off altogether —with minimal imaginable success.
It was exactly as Castorius had predicted, too. He'd known from the get-go what this fellow was all about. The man had practically proclaimed it out loud with his entire being. Castorius wondered if there was anything about this guy beyond what met the eye.
Well, there were his stories, for one, which mostly met the ear. And none too gently, either.
Each yarn came complete with own its tangents and byways, going round and round their precarious yet predictable merry routes, however always returning to the ever-recurring themes clearly closest to the heart of the narrator himself: carousing and coupling.
It had started with a brief account of Sam's past fortnight, initiated by Castorius' well-intentioned, but obviously badly misplaced, question: "so what do you do?" The time-period in question Sam had, in his own words, spent "wasted like big pair of balls on a monk", thus explaining the fact that his memories of it were fragmentary at best.
"Well, the best fragments I recall!" he'd guffawed, then went on to describe them in detail.
Once it had been sufficiently established what an indefatigable conquistador of skirts the man indeed was, and how ferociously unquenchable his thirst, he'd moved on to more general matters. Namely, to start with, anecdotes of the similar life events and adventures of people known to him. This went for enemies and friends alike, though, based on his description, it was for the most part hard sledding trying to tell apart those two categories of affiliation.
Then, as they'd passed the town of Dragon Bridge, crossing the overpass so mentioned in the town's name, Sam had confided to Castorius the lewd taxonomy of the Dragons'—or the Dov's—mating practices, many of which had purportedly carried a remarkably steep death-toll, mere serious injuries set aside.
Upon passing a ravished carriage—the horses dead, people nowhere in sight—Sam had given his delineation on what had most likely happened to the commuters. At that point, Castorius had admittedly not only been bothered by the man's wagging tongue, but been positively shocked by the vivid, nauseating details of his speculations. The way he'd done it was the worst part. How he'd described scenes of murder, rape, and torture—with the exact same insouciance as he'd been retelling the smutty yet basically harmless minutia of offhand brothel-visits—had for a moment made him sound less like a loose-jawed whore-monger and booze-hound, and more a callous and inhuman sociopath.
At least he'd not seemed particularly pleased by such images, but simply interested—if in a particularly disengaged manner.
After such a dark dive, it had been like a breath of fresh air to return to the themes of tail-chasing and befuddlery. The latest in the succession of which was a no-holds-barred narrative about Sam's last brief visit to Cyrodiil, upon which he'd patronized a bordello, and there bedded "the most honest to gods corpulent harlot on the four corners of the wide green Nirn." Castorius, contrary to his better judgment, had to admit that that one had had its more amusing moments. He'd even cracked a smile or two that he'd not had to altogether fake.
The nearly—or entirely—unremitting mouth-running had of course dried the man's said orifice, and he was presently draining the last drops of his canteen. "Ah, shucks!" he said, tossing aside the empty thing. "Knew I should have reserved more!" He slanted Castorius a look, begrudgingly smacking his mouth. "So, not a drinking man, huh?"
Castorius lifted his shoulders. "What can I say?"
"Hmm," Sam muttered. "I don't trust a man of no obliquities."
I'm not exactly begging for your trust, friend. "Oh, I've got 'em, alright! Make no mistake."
"Really? So, what's your vice?"
"Vice" was not like to be the first moniker Castorius would sling at his propensities. But in his mind it still very much outshone the tired old guilt-laden conception of "sin" the self-flagellatory subtype of the spiritually-minded were so fond of bandying about.
Because, after all: why would the gods have given the mortals the ability to enjoy the meager measures of their perishable flesh, if not to go for it? At least he thought it was the gods who'd done it. Who else?
Unfortunately, though, religion by and large bored him to smithereens.
"Well," he said, "you might guess."
"Ah!" Sam's features cleared. "One for the wenches, then."
Castorius replied with a conciliatory smile. Guilty as charged.
Sam waved his finger at him. "I knew it, you know. The moment I lay my eyes on you. I said to myself, 'Sam. Now that there is a man even you could learn something from.' Am I wrong? Huh? Tell me I'm not wrong."
Castorius laughed. "You're not wrong, Sam."
Sam gave a delighted giggle, like a little girl, then asked, "When was your first time?"
"Well, I'd rather not go there." replied Castorius.
"Oh, come on! You can—"
"I was twelve."
Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Oo!" He grinned. "Not bad, not bad. And her?"
Castorius cleared his throat. "Twenty."
Sam settled for an appreciatory whistle for that one.
"Suffice it to say," said Castorius, a tingle of pride on his cheeks,"that I was a very precocious child." As a whole, he had few memories of his childhood. Perhaps only that one. Could have been worse.
"Though not overtly precautious, I take it," Sam said.
Castorius snorted. "No." Suppose some things never changed.
"Ever been in love?" Sam asked, a question as unexpected as it was logical.
The answer was sufficiently provided by the shake of Castorius' head.
Sam did not seem interested in pressing the issue further, and they enjoyed a rare and welcome respite of silence.
Love, Castorius thought, as if it were a swear-word. He'd seen with his own eyes men killed over such foolishness. And even a fairer number doomed to a miserable survival. There was no change he'd ever temper with such a surefire recipe for disaster. Seeing his share, he'd always taken all possible care not to get entangled in that particular web of woe. The species of spider came to mind, in which the female ate the male right after coupling. Such was the sad fate of the androgenic arachnid. Everything necessary had been extracted from the poor bastard, so he had to go. Obsolete.
That would never happen to Castorius. In fact, he'd made it certain that were someone to simply use and discard, it would be him. He could charm them, he could entertain them, could even love them in sense—perhaps keep going back to them—but he would never allow for himself to be caught by them. Never.
Sometimes it happened more neatly then others. Many of the women knew the nature of their involvement, shared his non-committed stance, and didn't even try to make anything more of it. But then there were those that didn't, who did try.
So obviously there had been a time or two that he'd been forced to break someone's heart. But by morning he'd already usually feel better.
"What are you thinking about?" Sam asked.
"Nothing." Castorius shook his head.
"I bet I know."
Castorius met the man's stare. He had a sly grin on him. "What then?"
"That broad back in Solitude," Sam said. "You're thinking how you'd like to give her one. Huh?" He laughed. "I know cause that's what I'm thinking, too." He licked his lips. "Mm, mm, mm, have to say they don't come so fine none too often, the skirted mortals."
Castorius tried to pay the man no mind. In a way, I guess, it's nice to be in the company of someone who makes me look like the gentleman, he thought. He had, of course, in his way always deemed himself one. Nowhere did it say a gentleman was supposed to be virtuous. Did it?
"Yes, siree," Sam went on. "The drink, it puts me in a restless mood it does. I believe tonight I will find me a place to spend some of my pocket-money. Oh yeah."
"I bet you will," Castorius said, unenthusiastic.
"You do?" Sam asked, shooting a sideways look with one arched brow. "Are you a betting man, by any chance?"
"Nope, can't say that I am." Was that even a lie?
"Ah, too bad," replied Sam. "Always love a little wager, myself."
"Why do you ask?"
The sly look had returned. "Why? You interested?"
"It depends." Castorius didn't quite himself know what he was doing.
Sam bared his drink-stained teeth. "You like pranks?"
Now was Castorius' turn to cock a brow. "Pranks? What am I, twelve?"
Sam laughed. "We're all twelve inside," he said. "Twenty, thirty-five, seven thousand; don't make no difference."
"I'll not argue with you there," Castorius muttered. Mainly he was deeply regretting having pressed the issue at all.
Sam, appearing to catch Castorius' drift, snorted softly. "Not with me, then?"
"Sorry. Not really my thing."
"That's alright," replied Sam. "Guess I'll have to find someone else."
"Guess so."
"Let me know if you change your mind."
"Oh, don't you worry about that." It was not likely to happen.
"Ah!" Sam let out a hacking cackle. "Oh, that reminds me!"
Castorius drew breath. Here we go again.
However, it seemed as if he could thank his lucky stars. There would be time for no more stories, for even if he had all but completely lost track of to their position, his eyes now picked up a very welcome sight. It was a signpost, just coming up at the side of the road, proclaiming: "Morthal".
He was saved!
"Uh, Sam," he interrupted the man. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to stop you there." He was, of course, not sorry in the least. "This is my stop."
"Huh?" said Sam. "We're not to the Pale, yet."
"Yeah, I know. But I have to make, um, a service stop."
"Ah!" Sam's expression took on a knowing glint. "I see. You old dog!"
"I've no idea what you're talking about," replied Castorius.
"I'm sure you don't!"
They stopped at the crossroad, the sharp turn to Morthal to their left. The path sloping down towards the town was scantly visible underneath all the mire. All around them the ground was covered in gray slush, despite it being the middle of summer.
"Guess this is where we part," Castorius said, while simulating something like a prayer in his mind that Sam would not come up with some excuse to follow him.
To his immense relief, then, the other man just nodded. "Suppose so." He reached out to land a light punch on Castorius' shoulder. "Stay out of trouble, huh? Or don't!" He winked, clicked his tongue, and spurred his horse onward. As he went, he broke into an off-key song, singing with a raspy tenor. The lyrics, it scarcely needed to be added, were racy in nature.
Well, that was relatively painless! Though Castorius was glad to be rid of his loud-mouth of a companion, there was still no doubt that—all things considered—his day so far had shown a clear upwards course. Suppose when you got out of bed with the thought that it was to be the very last time, and when it then turned out that—contrary to your anticipation—you got to keep your head after all . . . well, there scarcely seemed much point in complaining. Castorius felt as if each breath of open air drawn into his lungs was another chance to turn things around.
It scantly even mattered whether or not he was merely deluding himself. For, if a delusion it was, it was a sweet one.
Castorius rode cautiously down the muddy slope of a path, the horse's hooves sinking into the muck with sucking, squelching sounds. The town of Morthal came into view. It was a collection of two-storied houses with thatched saddle-roofs, clustered around something like pond of swampy, smelly water, connecting at its northeastern corner to the surrounding marshes. A faint fog hovered in the air, smelling of swampland. Some scattered heavy and wet flakes of slow fell ungracefully through the air. They lost their own color and merged into the sludge instantly upon contact with the ground.
It was a small town, and sparsely populated, so not too many people were about. Most folks you saw were the guards patrolling the muddy streets, and an odd citizen here, another there, going about their business. Nobody seemed particularly interested in Castorius' arrival, though he did get shot with a couple passing, halfheartedly disapproving glares. The normally none too welcoming attitude towards strangers mixed with the displeasure of laying eyes on the Imperial colors, and so Castorius' uniform no doubt added a crease or two to the scornful frowns afforded to him.
Not that such a thing carried any weight in his mind at the best of times.
He got off of his horse, and walked it on the planks of the pier surrounding the body of water, which provided something like a dry walkway to the houses residing beside it. The wood was covered by a layer of mire brought in by the boots of the inhabitants.
Castorius stopped in front of one of the houses, tied the reins of his horse to a pole of the railing at its front. He took a deep breath, and stalked up the stairs. He stopped at the door, and prepared himself. In this house lived a relatively affluent merchant who, like his kind often did, had the habit of staying out of town on business, traveling widely all across Tamriel.
Castorius straightened up his uniform and rehashed the lines he'd long since memorized. He'd need them ready at hand in case the man was home. "Sir, official Imperial business." He cleared his throat and deepened his voice. "Official Imperial business, sir . . . official Imperial . . . "
It would have to do.
He shook himself from head to toe, gave the door three confident pummels, and waited.
After two dozen or so escalated heartbeats, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. Behind it stood not a middle-aged, puffy-faced affluent barrel-belly at all, but in its stead a slim, black-haired beauty in her mid-twenties. She wore a quizzical expression, and appeared somewhat surprised when taking a look at Castorius' attire. Despite it being midday, she looked like she had been pulled out of her sleep—with dewy eyes and disheveled hair, dressed in an expensive-looking silken nightgown.
Castorius said nothing, just raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
The woman then let the door open up all the way. She stepped aside, giving him an expectant look.
Not home, then. How fortunate!
After a casual look about to see whether he was being observed, Castorius eagerly entered.
He did not really even care if someone was watching.
Once the door banged shut, he took an assertive step towards the woman. He reached out, and pulled at the lace bindings at the front of her gown and the woman did nothing to stop him. The gown came loose, releasing a pair of voluminous breasts with large, brown nipples.
Castorius closed his hands around the circuit of the warm, heavy flesh and gave a gentle squeeze, feeling the concise, lumpy texture underneath the soft skin. He smiled, and a long-held, ragged breath was released though his nostrils.
A faint smile played at the corners of the woman's lips. "Where have you been?" she asked.
Before there was time for Castorius to let any answer out of his opened mouth, the woman was all over him, shoving her tongue inside it. He pressed his now-invigorated crotch against her, and felt a hot shiver.
He pulled his mouth away from hers and looked into her hungry cobalt eyes. "Nice to see you, too, Alva," he breathed.
It was no lie.
Alva, making no reply, reinserted her tongue, and started pushing Castorius towards the bed in the corner of the room. Never discontinuing to eat away at his tongue—like she'd been kept hungry for weeks, and was planning to devour it—she started to undo his uniform. Once his breastplate clonked on the floorboards, she suddenly pulled back, frowning.
The woman slapped Castorius hard across the mouth. She gave him a hard stare. "Where have you been?"
Castorius smiled, face stinging. He tasted blood, but the taste was sweet in his mouth. "I've missed you," he said.
Once again, no lie.
A ferocious grin spread across Alva's face. "Oh, I bet you have!" She shoved Castorius hard, toppling him on the bed. She then dropped her gown next to the breastplate, and dove right after him.