Blackveil

by Kristen Britain

  He was drawn to them like an ant to honey. He had questions ...

  He stepped from the shadows and strode into their path before they reached the inn’s door. They staggered to a halt, one still singing in wretched strains until his companion jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Whaaa?” the singer asked. He was short and round. The dim light from the inn glanced off the cracked lenses of his specs.

  “Someone in our way,” the other replied. This one was tall and skinny and carried, Amberhill noted, a cutlass on his hip.

  “What does he want?” the singer asked.

  “Dunno.”

  “I want to know,” Amberhill said quietly, “if you recognize this.” He held his hand before him so they could see the dragon ring. The ruby caught in a glimmer of light and turned to red fire on his finger. The two pirates stilled.

  “That’s Cap’n Bonnet’s,” tall and skinny said.

  “That means ...” short and round began. Both gazed at Amberhill. “The cap’n. Where is he? We got separated in them woods.”

  “Dead,” Amberhill said. “Very dead. As is the crew with him.”

  The two pirates glanced at one another with wide eyes. Then, “You kilt them!” tall and skinny cried.

  “I had little choice at the time. It was me or—”

  But the pirate did not want to hear an explanation. He whipped out his cutlass.

  “No,” Amberhill said, “I have questions!”

  The other pirate caught at his companion’s arm. “Don’t!”

  “Git off, Yap! Lemme kill ’im!” He shook free of the other’s grasp and swung his cutlass at Amberhill.

  Amberhill danced away. This was ridiculous. The pirate was so drunk he could hardly walk much less engage in combat. His companion, Yap, moved out of range of the flailing cutlass and pressed his back against the wall of the inn.

  “I just want to—” Amberhill began, but he needed to duck as the cutlass scythed for his neck. The momentum made the pirate spin all the way around before coming to a staggering halt. Amberhill thought he could hear the rum sloshing in the pirate’s gut.

  “I’ll flay yer skin and wear it as a shirt,” the pirate declared. “I’ll ...” He stumbled and wove about the street. “I’ll ...” He swayed one way, then the other, as if unable to control his feet. He swung the cutlass like a blind man and it flew from his grip through the air and clattered onto the street somewhere in the dark.

  “Oops,” the pirate said.

  He started to run after it, but his toes caught on a loose cobblestone and he tripped and fell hard, his head striking a hitching post with a crack and snap as he went down. After he hit the street, he did not move.

  “Keeler!” Yap cried, and he raced to his companion’s side.

  Amberhill joined him and immediately saw that the pirate had not only gashed his head open, but had broken his neck as well. Already the reek of decay drifted up from the pirate’s body and Amberhill grimaced. Like the other pirates he had slain, Keeler’s corpse decomposed rapidly before him, flesh sinking into ribs, his face turning into a grinning skull.

  Amberhill drew his parrying knife and cut away the pirate’s shirt.

  “What are ya doing?” Yap demanded, balling his fists.

  “Checking for treasure,” Amberhill replied.

  Yap backed away. Evidently he knew to what treasure Amberhill referred.

  Amberhill turned back to the corpse, feeling like a grave robber preparing to practice his skills. That was another rumor he heard in the night, of menders paying fees to grave robbers to bring fresh corpses to them so they might cut open the bodies and learn what they could of their inner workings. But this was no fresh corpse. He pulled out a handkerchief, covered his nose and mouth, cut into the parchmentlike skin of the pirate, and peeled it away from the bones.

  Amid the gore within were glints of gold, and globules he at first took to be the eggs of some creature. Some parasite? He nudged one with the tip of his knife, then dug it out. He held it pinched between thumb and index finger to better see it in the lamplight.

  Yap had overcome his fear or revulsion or whatever to peer at what Amberhill had found. Amberhill wondered briefly why the fellow did not simply run off. Curiosity? It appeared he did not perceive Amberhill as a threat, and why should he when Amberhill hadn’t even drawn his rapier to defend himself against the drunken Keeler? Nor did he detect any great sense of loyalty in Yap for his dead friend.

  Something rumbled in the pirate’s chest. “Keeler was fond of oysters,” he said.

  Amberhill smiled. The globule was a pearl. There were many inside Keeler. He dropped the one into the cavity he’d created, stood, and swept off his cloak. He laid it flat on the street beside the corpse. “Help me, will you?” he asked Yap.

  When the pirate saw what he was about, he helped transfer Keeler’s remains onto the cloak—not that Keeler had much bulk left to him anymore. Amberhill folded the cloak to help conceal the corpse, then took up the head end. Yap, catching on, took the feet.

  “Where we taking him?” Yap inquired.

  “Where all bones must go.”

  Amberhill felt even more like a grave robber as he and Yap stole through Sacor City’s deepest shadows with their burden between them. They might find concealment in the dark, but, unfortunately, little could be done about the stench. Fortunately, most citizens were abed at this hour. Just so long as they didn’t run into a constable ...

  Yap kept up as best he could, his breathing harsh and his bare feet slapping the cobbles of the street behind Amberhill. His steps were sometimes clumsy, but he asked no questions, did not try to murder Amberhill, did not run off.

  Fortunately, Amberhill’s destination was not terribly far. It was a small, unkempt cemetery off Egg Street—one of many tiny cemeteries located throughout the city. Because space was limited, it was common practice in Sacor City to bury the dead for a time, then remove their bones to an ossuary. Some wealthy citizens had permanent graves or mausoleums, but ordinary citizens usually accepted the community ossuary as their final resting place. Some were so packed with bones that they had to be closed, and the remains therein moved elsewhere.

  The gate to the cemetery off Egg Street was broken, hanging from one hinge only. Amberhill and Yap slipped in with their burden. Among the weeds were wooden markers protruding at irregular angles. They followed a worn path toward the back corner of the cemetery where the stone vault that served as the ossuary stood. It did not take much to break the lock. The door groaned inward, and the building exhaled a fetid, musty breath. It was actually preferable to the stench Amberhill had been carrying in his cloak.

  “What,” he asked Yap, “do you suppose is the opposite of a grave robber?”

  Yap scratched his head. “A grave returner?”

  Amberhill did not enter the vault, but stood in the doorway and pitched Keeler’s bones inside, crumbs of flesh falling from them. As undignified as his treatment of the bones might be, it was probably better than Keeler deserved. Yap certainly made no protest.

  When he finished, he brushed his hands off, then closed the door to the vault. He gathered up his cloak, carefully folding into it whatever tiny bits remained of Keeler and the treasure that had been contained in the pirate’s corpse.

  “What now?” Yap asked.

  The moon was setting and daybreak would soon be upon them. It was time to return home.

  “I have questions,” Amberhill said. “Will you come with me someplace where we can talk? Voluntarily?”

  A look of astonishment overtook Yap’s face. “Voluntarily ...” he murmured, as though the concept had never occurred to him. “Aye. I think I should like to.”

  By the time they reached the noble quarter and Amberhill’s house, birds were awake and chattering in the trees. Dawn was shifting the world from night to morning dusk.

  Again, Yap had followed without asking questions and seemed to absorb his surroundings with interest. Amberhill led him to the back of the house a
nd stashed his bundled cloak beneath a shrub bordering the foundation. The groundskeeper was not due today, and it was well concealed, so it ought to be safe for the time being.

  He opened a window he kept well greased for his stealthy comings and goings and jumped up onto the sill and swung his legs inside.

  “So,” Yap said from outside, “are we robbing the house, or returning something?”

  Amberhill smiled, pleased the pirate had a sense of humor. “What was here is mostly gone, and all of it mine.” He could’ve entered through the front door, but old habits died hard. He preferred no one espied his late night entrances and exits, regardless. He supposed he could use the back entrance, but where was the fun in that?

  He assisted Yap through the window, pulling on rough, cracked hands. The rotund pirate scrabbled frantically over the windowsill and pretty much rolled into the house, landing on the floor with a hefty thump. Vacant as the room was of many of its original furnishings and objects, the noise seemed excruciatingly loud to Amberhill’s ears and he hoped it did not awaken any of his servants.

  Yap clambered to his feet and glanced warily around in the dim light of the library. The shelves were mostly empty. There were a few chests and packing crates on the floor.

  “Have a seat,” Amberhill said, indicating one of the few remaining chairs.

  Yap did so tentatively at first, but then with an expression of delight, he allowed himself to sink into the plush upholstery, exhaling with contentment. Amberhill hoped the stink of pirate would not adhere to the fabric.

  He remained standing with arms folded and regarded his guest, but could discern nothing beyond his rags, stubbled cheeks, and straggly gray hair.

  “You must be very rich, sir,” Yap said.

  “More so than many,” Amberhill replied, “with the help of pirate treasure.” If his words had any effect on Yap, he could not see it in the pale dawn light. “What can you tell me about the dragon ring?”

  “Is that what ya brought me here for, sir?”

  “I said I had questions.”

  “What if I don’t have answers.”

  “I shall send you on your way.”

  Yap gasped. “Ya won’t kill me then? Not even for ... not even for ...” He patted his chest to indicate the treasure within.

  “Only if you give me cause shall I kill you.”

  Silence fell as Yap considered his words. “That is fair spoken. And if my answers please ya? I have no ship no more. Old Yap’s nowhere to go.”

  Amberhill was not surprised Yap angled for some small reward. He was, after all, first and foremost a pirate.

  “I am sure I can make it worth your while. If your information is good.”

  Yap took another moment to consider his words, then said, “Fair. I will tell ya what I know of the ring. It starts with the sea kings.”

  YAP’S STORY

  The light in the library turned gray with the rising sun. Yap looked like a figure of pewter as he sat unmoving in the armchair. Would he vanish in a puff of light when full morning broke? The pirates were not entirely mundane, and whether it was the influence of some outside force that made them so, or an innate quality of the pirates themselves, Amberhill did not know. He had only to consider the treasure he’d collected from their quickly rotting carcasses as proof there was something arcane at work. He recalled Captain Bonnet mentioning a curse.

  Yap, however, did not vanish, but cleared his throat. “As long as I can remember, Cap’n Bonnet was gripped by the lure of sea king treasure. He’d listen to tales in every port about the fabulous stuff the sea kings had. Funny, but none of these tale tellers could show us any proof these stories were true, or tell us who might have a piece of treasure, but that didn’t stop the cap’n one bit. Oh no. Many was the time he’d pick out an island that might fit one of the stories, and he set us to digging, looking for treasure.

  “Once we found something stuck in a beach. A gold torque with a dragon’s head. Not worth much when you spread its value around the crew, but it was enough to excite the cap’n and off we were again chasing some other old rumor. To be sure, we still took ships and their cargoes as any decent pirate must, otherwise the cap’n woulda had a mutiny on his hands for chasing ghosts and nothing to show for it.”

  “How did rumor turn into treasure?”

  “Why, it was a storm, sir. An autumn ripper as my old dad would have called it. We were in the Northern Sea and the storm was so bad it rammed us aground on a small island there. We spent weeks making repairs and poked about the island. That’s when we stumbled on the grave, sir. Well, that’d be Eardog who fell into it. He was always finding trouble, Eardog. Rigged wrong in the head if you take my meaning.” Yap thumped his forehead with his finger.

  Amberhill had met Eardog, so he did take Yap’s meaning. “What was in the grave—besides the obvious, that is?”

  “It wasn’t just any grave, sir. It was a cavern, a big one, with a whole, real ship in there. The entrance hole was big enough for a man, but not big enough to push a whole ship in. Makes me think they musta took the ship apart and carried it in, in pieces, and rebuilt it. A black ship with a dragon figurehead. That’s how they buried the king—in his ship with all his treasure. Aye, it was an amazing sight.” Yap paused, his gaze glassy as he remembered a scene long past.

  “The old king, he was laid out on a byre on deck, he being nothing but bones covered in furs and rugs. And jewels. And all around him were chests of coins and more jewels. Weapons, too, and some other rubbish we didn’t care about—kettles of food and drink all long gone, or long gone bad. The treasure we loaded right quick into the hold of the Mermaid.”

  “Your ship, I take it.”

  “Aye, and bloated she was with our treasure when all was said and done.”

  “And the ring?”

  “Cap’n Bonnet took it right off the king’s bony finger. Saw him do it, too.”

  Amberhill did not think it a good omen that the ring only seemed to come off the fingers of the dead. He suppressed a shudder and gazed at his ring anew, at how the ruby caught even the dimmest shreds of dawn leaking into the library.

  “We mighta gotten away clean and good,” Yap said, “but for that ring.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Those islands, they were the dominion of witches I’m thinking. That’s what the stories say, anyway. And the one whose island we were on? She wasn’t too happy we took her treasure, and somehow she knew when the cap’n took the ring from the king. The air, it changed. Got thick. The wind keened with her voice, grief and anger in it. It was enough to skin ya. We ran back to the Mermaid right quick and pulled anchor. She tried to swamp us with huge waves, but Cap’n Bonnet, for all he was a bloody, murdering thief, he was a good seaman. When the storm settled, we laughed at our luck and cheered the cap’n’s prowess.

  “And then ...” Yap squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered.

  “Go on,” Amberhill encouraged in a quiet voice.

  “You won’t believe it.”

  “There is much in what you’ve already said that I could refuse to believe.”

  “It’s true,” Yap said. “All of it.”

  “I’m not disputing your words. I am simply stating that your story is of a rather incredible nature.” Amberhill had seen enough that was strange of late that he was not about to dismiss Yap’s tale. “Tell me what happened next.”

  “You got drink, sir?”

  Amberhill was quite sure he’d get nothing further from Yap without it, so he poured him some brandy. Likely Yap had never tasted anything so fine, unless he and his crew had stolen quality liquors off some ship and shared them out.

  “None for yerself, sir?” Yap asked.

  “It’s a little too early for me.”

  Yap shrugged and threw the brandy down his throat as if it were some third-rate whiskey. Amberhill frowned, but said nothing for the drink appeared to bolster Yap’s courage to go on.

  “We heard her voice, a mourning song for the old k
ing it sounded like. Then she chanted the curse.”

  “Who? What was the curse?”

  “Why the witch, sir. Haven’t ya been listening? The curse, why that was a bunch of mumbo jumbo, though some of it we could understand. Something about being stuck in mist, out of time, no land to see until the bottle is broke.”

  “Bottle?”

  “Aye. Musta broke, cuz here I am. Why the ship ended up in a house, though, I can’t say.”

  Then it resonated. Something Captain Bonnet had said about being “bottled up,” and then later, the Berry sisters mentioning that one of their father’s “things,” an arcane object, had broken, leading to a pirate ship emerging in their house.

  “A ship in a bottle,” he murmured, and instantly he pictured one of those clever renderings craftsmen made to sell in shops. For many a sailor or shipwright it was winter’s work. But for a full size vessel to be bottled? He exhaled a long, deep breath. What he knew of the world had been deeply challenged since autumn. Best not to dwell on ships in bottles. Best just to accept the impossible and move forward.

  “After the witch spoke the curse,” Yap continued, “the wind, it got real calm, too calm. It never picked up again. Never ever. We were dead becalmed, like the Listless Ways of the southern seas. But at least the Listless Ways will pick up now and again and ya can eventually find the trade winds. No trade winds here. We got all twitchy. Some thought mutiny. We’d soon run out of food and drink, and in time we did. It was somethin’ terrible. We had all that treasure, but we were stuck someplace where the stars made no sense. By day sea smoke hung on the horizon, surrounded us like a wall. We were trapped there on that patch of sea for a long, long time. It wasn’t regular, and only a curse would do that. Nope, that witch was not happy we stole from her island.”