Where Mary gets accosted…
Start the adventure from the beginning.
“What the deuce is going on here?” Marshall yelled as he stumbled upon the scene.
Three men were struggling to haul down The Profound Name by its mooring ropes, while a fourth man rolled in the dirt clutching his ankle and groaning pitifully. Above them, in the gondola of the airship, Mary was hurling both insults and whatever small objects she could find.
Marshall dropped the calico skirt he had been carrying and, with two long strides, grabbed the first man by the back of his collar, yanking him off the mooring line. The second and third men were shoved aside with equal force.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he bellowed.
“Marshall!” Mary’s voice called down, sharp and clear.
“Are you okay up there?”
“I am now!” she replied, her voice tinged with relief.
Marshall turned his attention back to the man he still held by the collar. He shook him hard, his voice thunderous. “What are you doing? Speak!”
“We… we came out to see the airship!” the man stammered. “This contraption is unlike anything we’ve ever seen, and… well, weren’t we surprised to find a floozy in it.”
Marshall’s grip tightened, his face darkening. He let go of the man’s collar just long enough to draw his arm back and slap him hard across the face. The sound cracked like a whip.
“Don’t you dare speak of her that way,” Marshall growled, his tone low and menacing.
“What were we supposed to think?” one of the other men chimed in. “She’s up there wearing nothing but her skivvies!”
Mary’s voice rang out from above. “And I told you to go away!”
“You hear that?” Marshall snapped. “She told you to go away, and you should’ve listened. But no, you couldn’t just leave a lady alone, could you?”
“She ain’t no lady,” the man spat back. “Only a tart would be dressed like that.”
Marshall spun toward him, his glare deadly. “I said, don’t speak of her that way.”
“What were we supposed to think?” the man persisted.
“You were supposed to think she was in need of assistance,” Marshall snarled. “And when she told you to leave, you should’ve had the decency to listen.”
“Well, then if she’s a lady, what happened to her clothes?” one of them asked.
“I told you,” Mary shouted. “We were attacked by saurans.”
“There ain’t no saurans around here,” the youngest of them spoke up.
“Shut up,” Kyle.
“Shut up. Kevin, you don’t know nothing.”
“We were attacked by a pack of those little frill neck bastards,” Marshall said. “And you know what those little frill neck bastards do? They spit acid. And let me tell you, acid and ladies find linen skirts
are not a good match.”
“She really face off against a sauran?”
“Faced off and I’ve ridden them too!” Mary said proudly.
Marshall smiled as he gazed up at her. She’d always been feisty. It was good to see that she was also feisty enough to protect herself when necessary.
“But we wanted to see the boat in the air!”
Marshall’s voice rose as he loomed over the man. “You don’t always get what you want. Now, get out of here before I make sure you don’t forget this lesson.”
The third man, apparently emboldened by his companions, sneered. “How come you get to be out here? Is she your whore too?”
Marshall didn’t give him the courtesy of a warning. His fist flew, connecting with the man’s face with the force of a battering ram. The man stumbled back, clutching his nose, blood streaming between his fingers.
“You broke my damn nose!”
“And I’ll break it again if you keep talking,” Marshall shot back.
Marshall turned his attention back to the man holding his ankle. “You break your ankle trying to climb up, did you?”
The man groaned, his face pale and sweaty. It was clear his injury was severe.
Mary leaned further over the edge of the gondola, pointing at the injured man. “That one tried to climb aboard after I told them to leave. I pulled up the ladder with the winch, and he fell like a sack of potatoes.”
Marshall’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Good on you,” he murmured, loud enough for only her to hear.
Mary’s gaze softened. “They ruined our dinner too,” she added, nodding toward the smoldering remains of a small fire nearby.
Marshall clased his eyes and took in a deep breath catching the faint sweet scent in the air. “Wild plums?”
“And a hare with decent meat on it,” she confirmed, her tone tinged with frustration. “But it’s all ruined now.”
One of the men muttered something under his breath, but Marshall silenced him with a glare.
“Let me get this straight,” Marshall said, his tone sharp. “You lot show up uninvited, harass a lady, ruin her dinner, and then have the nerve to act like you’re the injured party?”
“Where were you?” one of the men accused. “Why wasn’t she with you?”
“Because the lady didn’t have proper clothing, and I was in town getting her some.”
The mention of the town—and specifically the pastor’s wife, who had provided the skirts—seemed to drain the bravado from the group. One by one, their gazes dropped to the dirt.
“You gonna let us see the boat now?” one of them ventured.
“No,” Marshall snapped. “Now get out of here.”
“But—”
“I said, get out of here!”
The men reluctantly began to retreat, two of them helping their injured companion to his feet. As they shuffled away, a new voice cut through the clearing, sharp and scolding.
“Howard Kessler! What are you doing out here harassing that poor woman?”
Marshall turned to see a slight figure emerging from the trees—the pastor’s wife, her hands planted firmly on her hips.
“Mama?” one of the men whimpered.
“You’ve got some explaining to do, young man!”
Marshall couldn’t help but chuckle as he bent to retrieve the discarded skirt from the ground. Dusting it off, he looked up at Mary.
“Put down the ladder,” he said.
The ladder unrolled with a series of audible clacks, coming to rest with a solid thunk on the ground.
“Here,” he said, wrapping the voluminous fabric around one of the rungs of the ladder. “Get yourself dressed. We’ve got company.”
Will Mary entertain company now that she has a proper skirt? Tune in next time…
©2025 Lulu M. Sylvian