Welcome to the Spot Writers. This week’s prompt is to use the following words in a poem or a story: besides, fishes, inn, owing, born.
Today’s tale comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series. Learn more at http://www.corgicapers.com.
Poseidon’s Consort by Val Muller
Shivering in the sea breeze in the setting sun, Amphitrite made her way to the only inn in town. She already missed the calm, perpetual whirl of the ocean, the warmth of water. The air made everything feel too cold and open, even as it carried the comforting, salty scent, reminding her that home was only a few steps away…
Besides, she reminded herself, this little trip was her choice.
The inn smelled of humans and earthy, old, stagnant scents. The air lacked the fluidity of water. Someone was cooking a stew or a chowder, but it smelled more of chickens and boiled onions than of fishes.
Amphitrite approached the innkeeper. She had to do this, she reminded herself. Poseidon had been raging too long, and she needed a break. Why she was the only being who could calm his tempestuous rage was beyond her. Normally she just dealt with it and kept the balance of the sea, but tonight she had enough. Not even the dolphins or the whales could calm her.
“Needing a room?” the innkeeper asked. He wiped his hands on a rag and sized her up. His eyes remained dim, seeming unimpressed with what he saw.
She nodded and adjusted the scarf around her hair, her dry and baggy clothes, trying to absorb his accent. Humans had such awful nuances in dialect and diction. But before she could answer, a man broke through the door, his hair wild and eyes wide, no doubt owing to the wind battering against the door.
“Storm! Tempest!” he yelled. “Poseidon’s enraged!”
A barrage of men, mostly sailors, hurried in and pushed past Amphitrite. The innkeeper screamed over their frantic din, their worries over Poseidon’s mood and the fate of their ships.
“Must be a spat with his missus,” one said.
The innkeeper’s hands grew heavy with the coins he collected as all the rooms were rented out, two or three or more men to a bed. Desperation and panic at the storm turned to banter as the men turned to drinking and tales. The innkeeper could finally turn back to Amphitrite, forgotten and pushed to the corner. He apologized for the lack of rooms. Amphitrite smiled, letting her hair out of its scarf and letting her eyes glow like sea jewels. She did not disguise her voice but instead let it flow melodious like the sea. Before long, he’d invited her to his own private quarters, recent widower that he was.
She smiled, knowing after a night with her, once she returned to the sea to calm her husband’s rage, the innkeeper would rename the inn for her and send her golden coins each week, ones that sparkled when the sun filtered through the saltwater. She would feed his business, for a time, with her little trysts to dry land, allowing her husband to rage now and then, driving business to the inn. How fun it would be to see how many coins the innkeeper would send her way.
She let her dress slip from her shoulder. The innkeeper was nothing special, but he was an authority figure here in this little town by the sea, whatever it was called. What harm could it do? After all, she thought as she led him to his room by the hand, like a mermaid or a siren pulling a catch beneath the waves, why should Zeus have all the fun?
The Spot Writers:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/