Eight Feet of Magic by Ofelia Gränd

Author:Ofelia Gränd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance, M/M Romance, Gay Steampunk, M/M steampunk, gay holiday, M/M Christmas, Gay Sci-Fi, M/M Sci-fi, lgbt steampunk, gay adventure
Publisher: Ofelia Gränd
Published: 2017-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

Storms and Ratlines

In the old days, the goddess of storms and drowned dead lured men into her net and then pulled them down under the surface.

Hank woke with a start. The grey morning light was spilling in through the window, and he hurried to get up. He and Elazar had taken turns getting up to watch the fire.

The ship swayed a little and Hank stumbled. How the fuck did Steel do this with only one leg? He dragged himself out on deck, really needing to go, and was met by a grinning Captain by the steering wheel. His black hair was pulled in different directions by the wind.

“Slept well?”

“I would have if there hadn’t been someone snoring next to me.” He hadn’t been snoring.

“Humph, the nerve. I’ll put you to work, seaman.”

Hank chuckled and neared the railing. The wind was chillier today. He looked down at the foam travelling the waves and gripped the bronze bar in front of him. “You...erm...you just...go over the railing?”

“Sure. If you’d rather use the chamber pot like before, go ahead.” He blinked owlishly as if Hank had asked something stupid.

“Where do you empty it, the chamber pot?”

“Captain. Over the railing, of course.”

Hank glanced down again. His heart jumped to his throat as he looked at the world far underneath. “But...what if you’re flying over a city?”

Steel spun the steering wheel, making the ship lurch and the brass ring clink against the steam pipe before it straightened itself again.

“I think we’re losing steam. Would you be a dear and go shovel some more coal?”

Losing steam? His inner voice screamed. Were they about to drop? Hank threw himself against the door leading back inside the cabin. Coal, he needed to get more coal into the hearth.

“It’s okay to take a leak before you go. I’ll only peek a little.”

Hank stopped and stared at him. “I can hold it for a bit longer.”

Steel tsked and shook his head. “Landlubber.”

Going inside, Hank ran into Demetrius. “Morning, Dad. Did you sleep well?” He hurried to squeeze past him to get to the spiral stairs leading down to the fire room.

“Well enough.” The words were followed by a grunt and some rubbing of his joints. In the mornings it was easy to see the years weighing Demetrius down, as the day progressed he usually became more agile. The excitement that had clung to him yesterday was far away now. “Is there any breakfast?”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Unless you woke from someone making breakfast my guess is no.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, boy.”

Hank slipped down the stairs; steam was more important than Demetrius's morning temper.

***

The wind increased more and more during the day. Hank shivered from the cold as soon as he left the fire room, and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was glad he had his ugly wine-red coat. Every time he took a step out on deck the icy wind whined in his funnel making a painful, bright white, lightning strike at the backside of his left eyeball.

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