Page 28 of Blow Me Down
I shook my head, refusing to believe him. “You’re a program. Someone programmed you to believe you’re real. But you’re not.”
“Aye, lass, I am.”
“Nope. Real people don’t change their appearance. You went from gorgeous blond to…” I waved my hand at him.
He glanced down at himself, a frown between his brows as he looked back up to me. “I thought you said you preferred me looking like this.”
“I do. But people who are real can’t change their appearance like you did,” I said slowly, as if I was explaining something to a child.
His lips twitched in a wry smile. “Ah. That. Er. You are right about that being a computer-generated character. But this one is me, the real-life me. I was a bit surprised that you preferred me this way rather than the other since my research had shown that women reacted best to men like him, but my data was based on a skewed survey.”
I looked my question at him.
“My ex-wife’s comments as she ran away with a longhaired, blond bodybuilder,” he answered, a bit sheepishly.
An almost overwhelming urge nearly had me blurting out how much I liked this form over the other, but I bit it back, reminding myself that I had more important things to discuss. “Then she was a fool,” was all I said.
“You are not alone in that opinion,” he said, his mobile face unusually expressionless. “I take it you believe me now?”
“Not at all. I think you are programmed to believe you exist outside the game in order to fool the people who play it.”
“I repeat: I am as real as you are,” he said, pulling a wicked-looking knife from his boot. My eyes widened at the sight of it, the sudden memory of everything I’d heard about the murdering Black Corbin returning with a vengeance.
“Which is one of the two reasons why reporting me to the creator of Buckling Swashes isn’t going to do you any good.”
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” I asked, my voice rising in panic as Corbin strolled nonchalantly toward me. He might not berealreal, but in the game, he was a murderer, and it was always a good rule of thumb not to taunt murderers.
He paused in front of me, a truly evil glint to his gray eyes as he dangled the knife in front of me. “Afraid? The brave Amy? The woman whose praises the whole of Turtle’s Back is singing? The defeater of the dread pirate Black Corbin?”
“I’m brave, not stupid,” I said, watching the sharp point of the knife as it swung back and forth in an arc. “And I’m not above pleading, if it will have any influence on you, not that I suspect it will. As for the praise singing… eh… you know how people exaggerate.”
“But they must have heard the story from someone, and since my men and I didn’t tell anyone, it’s logical to assume that you have been spreading tales.”
“It was the truth!” I protested, then gulped when the knife spun in his hand so the flat side of the blade rested just beneath my chin. He tilted my head up, examining me closely as I bit back all the things I wanted to say. “Never Chastise a Man Who Has a Knife to Your Throat” was the motto I quickly adopted.
“So it was,” he answered, and before I could do so much as gasp in surprise he was behind me, the coolness of the blade sliding between my wrists, slicing the material binding them. “I trust you’ve calmed down enough to listen to what I have to say without disabling any more of my men?”
I leaped from the chair, rubbing my wrists as I glared at him. “I never! I defended myself from attackers, that’s all. And if you hadn’t kidnapped Bas and me to begin with, they’d never have gotten hurt.” I paused for a moment, remembering the knock-down, drag-out fight I’d given Corbin’s men after they unrolled me from the hemp sack in which they’d captured me. It hadn’t been pretty, and I was strangely ashamed of the fact that I’d taken advantage of Corbin’s decree that none of the men harm me in any way. Still, if he hadn’t started it all by having us plucked off the street, Leeward Tom wouldn’t be limping, and the behemoth named Barn wouldn’t be wondering if he’d ever be able to sire children. “How is Barn? He’s not… er… permanently… you know… damaged?”
I made a vague gesture that made Corbin’s left eyebrow twitch. “No, he’s not, although you’re not in his best graces at the moment. Loo has forgiven you for kicking him in the knee, though, claiming you’re a saucy wench who just needs a firm hand to tame your wild spirit.”
“I suppose you think you’re that firm hand?” I asked.
He grinned. “The thought did go through my mind. Right now Loo is talking to that black storm cloud you insisted on bringing, comparing amputations.”
“I told you, his name is Bas, he’s my cabin boy so I’m responsible for him, and what amputations? That is, what amputations does Leeward Tom have? He looked fine to me.”
“Toes,” Corbin said succinctly. “Four of them altogether. Drink?”
He moved behind the captain’s desk, rustling around in a drawer before he pulled out a silver flask.
“Please.” I all but licked my lips as he flipped open the flask and handed it to me. The rum in it burned a fiery path down my throat, ending up in a warm pool in my stomach. “What’s the second thing?”
“Hmm?” Corbin took a swig from the flask.
“The second reason why reporting you wouldn’t do any good.”
He looked momentarily surprised, an oddly pleased look quickly replacing the expression. “You aren’t a lawyer, are you? You have a wonderfully persistent mind.”
