by Steve Goble
Daphne smiled. “But he’s so pretty. And I did not choke a cat, Mister Fawkes.”
“Your sweet little hands were locked around its little throat, missy.”
“I was coddling him. I love kitties.”
“Well, I’m told that one was struggling, and you dropped him when Peter saw what you were doing, and it ran like bloody hell once it hit the floor,” Fawkes said. “And I have not seen that little black shit around here lately. Have you, Raldo?”
The swarthy man spat. “Hell, no. I think she cooked him and ate him. She is crazy, this girl.” Raldo, leering at the girl, looked crazy, too, Spider thought.
“I did not!” She cuddled the cat in her arms closer and nipped its ear with her teeth.
Fawkes shook his head. “You know what the master has said. He has been kind to you, given you some freedoms and all, but you are not to take advantage. Do you wish us to wrap you in sheets again?”
The blonde scowled and dropped the cat. It hurried away and vanished around the home’s southwest corner. “Mister Fawkes, you are vile and mean.”
“I am only doing as the master tells me to do, Miss Daphne.” He doffed his tricorn and tilted his head forward in a courtly gesture. Then he popped the hat back onto his head. “For my own part, I do not care if you strangle every damned cat on the property, just so long as you do not try to strangle me. That would end very badly for you.”
He smiled as he said it, and Spider clenched his teeth. Spider had seen many women treated ill on the Spanish Main, and he had an idea just how badly things could go for Daphne.
The girl, however, seemed to take no note of what Fawkes said. She bit her lip and tilted her head, and Spider wondered if she was, indeed, pondering the demise of many cats.
“If you kill all the kitties, you’ll have to do their mousing, I suppose. Ha!”
The woman looked up at Odin and her eyes widened. She rushed forward and ran a hand across the scarred tissue of his face. “Oh, my, sir. Was this painful? The loss of your eye?”
Odin stepped back. “To be honest I didn’t feel a goddamned thing when it happened. I was dead to the world.”
“Dead to the world,” she repeated, softly. “Dead to the world. Oh, my. How was that? Was it terribly cold, terribly dark?”
“My face hurt like a kick to the balls when I woke up,” Odin said. “Still hurts now and then, when the weather is cold or the wind has a lot of salt on it. But when it happened—a cannon blast, and me knocked right in front of the goddamned thing—I did not feel a thing. Just a bright flash, and then I woke up hurting. In between, nothing.”
Spider looked on, dumbstruck. “That is the most you have ever said about your face, and the most honest I have ever heard you sound, and I’ve known you a long time. You just met this pretty snip, and you are telling her everything.”
Odin grinned. “I like her.”
Half-Jim Fawkes maneuvered his crutch between Odin and the girl, then wedged himself between them. “Let this man be, Miss Daphne. He and his friend are going to see the master. If we don’t kill them, perhaps you can play with them later. So long as that play doesn’t get too amorous.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at Odin. “That might be dangerous for you, both from her, and from the master. He decrees hands off of her, and he means it.”
“Aye,” Odin acknowledged.
The girl tiptoed on her bare feet to peer over Fawkes’ shoulder. “When we can, we shall play cards. And you must tell me all about the loss of your face. And your pain. You must promise!”
Odin nodded. “Do you play chess?”
“No! But is that not the game in which one kills the king?”
“Aye.”
She clapped her hands. “Will you teach me?”
“Aye.”
Fawkes snarled and leaned close to the girl’s face. “Where is Missus Fitch, Miss Daphne?”
“Daphne!”
The cry came from beyond the southwest corner of the house. “Daphne!”
“We have her in hand, Missus Fitch,” Fawkes yelled. “And no critters dead, that we’ve found, anyway.”
A tall woman, moving quickly although she was possibly as old as Odin, rounded the corner and hurried toward them. “Girl, you will be the death of me yet.”
Daphne laughed. “Death of her!”
Mrs. Fitch halted by the girl and caught her breath. “Oh, my, I should not have used that turn of phrase with you, girl.”
“Why?”
“Never mind why. You promised me you would remain by my side and help with the meat pies, Daphne.”
“Meat pies are my favorite,” the girl said, smiling. “Meat used to be alive.”
“Good Lord,” Mrs. Fitch muttered. Then she noticed Spider and Odin and caught a gasp in her throat at the sight of the latter’s disfigured face. “Oh, my, have you come to see if the master can help you with that? He may be able to ease pain or something.”
“No,” Odin said. “I came looking for work.”
“More new hires, Mister Fawkes?” She looked at him sternly. “That’s for the master to say,” Fawkes answered. “We might be feeding them, or we might be feeding them to the fish in the pond.” He chuckled at his own joke and cast a sidewise glance at Spider. “Big fish.” Mrs. Fitch took Daphne by the arm and began leading the girl away. “Come, girl, we’ve more work to do. We’ll have to make the food we have stretch, is all. I haven’t the time to watch this one all day and cook a larger meal, especially without proper notice.”
“We might just kill them now, then, to save you trouble, Missus Fitch.” Fawkes laughed, and his men joined in. The woman muttered under her breath, but Spider could not make out what she said. He could discern her displeasure, though, in her rapid pace and the shaking of her head. Daphne, meanwhile, simply looked back at Odin in awe.
Daphne practically had to be dragged, but the women eventually vanished around the corner.
“Well then, Spider John,” Fawkes said, grinning. “You begin to see what sort of ship we run here, aye? Not precisely shipshape, is it? Let us proceed inward and meet the master, Mister Oakes, shall we? Hugh, run on ahead and tell the master what we are bringing him.”
The Frenchman ran ahead, and Spider caught a whiff of whisky in the air as the man passed him. “God, for a drink,” he said.
“If the master decides to keep you around, I will pour you a libation myself, Spider John, and we shall drink to old memories and dead friends. If not, I shall pour dirt upon your face.”
Fawkes led the way, and the gunmen remained behind them. Odin leaned toward Spider and whispered. “What the bloody hell goes on in this place?”
“I don’t know, Odin. But I might leave you here.” Spider winked.
The attempt at humor had been intended to calm Spider’s own nerves. It didn’t work. He glanced up at the windows as they entered the building, hoping to see Hob’s face peering back.
He didn’t.
15
They climbed a short set of steps, entered the home through a door with badly rusted hinges, and were directed by Fawkes to a drawing room on the right. The chairs, tables, and divans all had been elegant once, but now showed signs of much wear—minor stains, loose threads, small gashes in the wood. A massive blunderbuss mounted above the fireplace had gashes in the stock, but otherwise looked lethal.
“I want it,” Odin whispered.
“Shhhhhh,” Spider admonished.
Raldo placed the sea coats and weapons confiscated from Spider and Odin on a large oval table near the massive fireplace. He noted Spider’s gaze and slowly withdrew Hob’s throwing knife from the pouch. He placed it on top of the rest, then walked away. He took up a station near the door and crossed his arms.
“If the master hires you, then you’ll get those toys back,” Fawkes said. “You’ll need them to do the work.” He winked. “If he decides not to employ you, well, those are some nice-looking pistols and I shall put them to good use. I think Raldo wants that pretty knife, but I am
not of a mind to let him have it.”
Fawkes and Raldo stared at one another for moment, both grinning, but there was menace in their eyes.
Raldo turned away first, and Fawkes chuckled.
Hugh entered the room. “Master is coming, mon capitaine.”
The leader nodded. “Seat yourselves, gentlemen.”
Fawkes waved toward a divan, and Spider sat. After an awkward moment of glaring at Fawkes, Odin mimicked Spider’s actions. Spider realized he’d been holding his breath, wondering if Odin might pick a fight. He exhaled slowly.
“So then,” Spider ventured, “what sort of work is it being done around here?”
Fawkes turned toward the fireplace. “Light your pipe, Spider, and clench your teeth on it to keep yourself quiet. The master will ask the questions.”
“Well, then,” Spider said, taking up his pipe. “Might I borrow some tobacco?”
“Raldo,” Fawkes said. The man tossed a pouch at Spider, who caught it deftly. The man then fetched a brand from the fireplace. Soon, Spider had a good smoke going and his nerves began to calm a bit.
They sat in silence for several minutes, during which time at least one man had a gun trained on them every moment. Spider noted, too, that they spread about the room, preventing any sudden attack from disabling more than one of them at once. Fawkes apparently had trained his men well.
When the door opened, Spider noticed that all the men—except Half-Jim—snapped to attention.
“Well, Mister Fawkes, we have been busy, have we not? Did you slip away and hire more men of arms while I was unaware?”
The man who had entered the room and asked the question was bloated, whale-like, with a stomach that shoved his white shirt forward beyond the high-collared black coat. He was almost as short as Spider, which emphasized his excessive weight. He was hairless, too; Spider had difficulty even making out the faint white eyebrows.
“Ha!”
Spider shot Odin an angry look, then returned his attention to the man who had entered the room. The black man brought the newcomer a glass. “Brandy, sir.”
The man took it without a word of thanks, and without offering anyone else a glass. Spider caught scent of the brandy, though, and inhaled deeply. He determined to return to this room when he could and smoke out the bottle. A dram of liquor would do him good about now.
“We have been busy, indeed, sir,” Fawkes said, deferentially. “I did not go looking. These gentlemen arrived today, and say they seek employment.”
“Do they?” The man looked about, then began pacing like an admiral on a quarterdeck. Fawkes’ men steadfastly avoided looking the man in the eyes. “How many men are still patrolling the grounds?”
“Three, just now, on the grounds, and Stingo will be on the road again soon. He trailed these new fellows back here after he saw them on the road and got suspicious,” Fawkes answered. “We’re light on hands, just now. Some are away, you’ll recall.”
“We’d best bolster the patrol, then. You men,” the fat man said, pointing at the others. “Go back to work and join your fellows. Keep an eye out for trouble.”
“Aye, sir,” they said, leaving quickly.
The fat man stepped forward, swirling his drink. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce myself. I am Ambrose Oakes, healer and philosopher, delver into unknown knowledge . . .” He looked at them, furled his brow, and shook his head. “You would not likely understand any of that.”
Arrogant prig, Spider thought.
“This place is my home and my dream.” He spun slowly, arms wide. “Here at Pryor Pond I provide sanctuary for troubled souls, the deluded, the crazed, the sick of mind.” He took a sip of his brandy, closing his eyes and licking his lips afterward.
“Like that girl, Daphne?” Spider took a puff from his pipe.
The man tilted his head. “Do you know her?”
“We met her outside. She seems . . .”
Fawkes intervened. “The girl went wandering again. She is back in Missus Fitch’s care. No dead cats.”
Oakes nodded. “I do not think she killed the kitten, Mister Fawkes. Your men wag tongues. They are paid to guard my property, not to trouble my patients with accusations and rumors.”
“Aye, master.”
“She seems troubled, the girl,” Spider said.
“Troubled,” Oakes said. “Indeed, our Miss Daphne suffers from much morbid rumination, a fascination with pain and death that is most at odds with her youth and beauty, and likewise at odds with the wishes of her parents. They have entrusted her to my care, and we have made progress, mark my words. We may be able to help her yet. There is a bright flower inside her. We shall entice it to bloom.”
He sized up Spider and Odin, staring coldly. Spider felt the pressure of that gaze and wondered if the man was looking for signs of mental instability. He also wondered if he was finding any.
Oakes stepped toward Odin, with the same scowl Spider had seen on the face of many a captain or shipwright staring at a bit of hull rot. “Old. Disfigured.”
“Lame, too,” Fawkes said. “Limping a bit.”
Odin grinned. “Aye, I am old, because nobody’s been able to kill me yet. My leg will heal, just took a bit of a blow. It sounds as though you have rough work for us. If you like, let one of your fellows take me on.” Odin’s grin widened. “I can’t promise I won’t ruin him for you, though. I take no half measures in a fight.”
Oakes looked up at the high ceiling, as though pondering Odin’s suggestion. Then he looked at Fawkes.
Half-Jim shrugged. “I do not know him, but I have sailed with the other gentleman. Spider John, he is, and a right quick hand in a fight.”
“Is he, now?” Oakes turned his hard gaze toward Spider. He nodded approvingly. “Not yet thirty, I’d wager. Experienced hand, are you?”
“I know my way with guns and swords and knives,” Spider said, “if that be what you need. And I am a carpenter as well. You could use one about this place, I reckon.”
Oakes paced. “Pryor Pond was uninhabited for a long time,” he said. “I came into it to find it in a state of neglect. And I admit my work takes priority over attention to the household. Perhaps you will be of use in that regard.”
“My friend here, Odin, is mean and tough as a shark,” Spider went on. “Sailed with Blackbeard. Ed Teach is dead now. Odin is not. I’ve seen him fight many times, and I rely on him. I think Odin is more than the match for any of the men I’ve seen here.”
Oakes grinned, and paced some more. He finished his brandy and placed his glass on a table. Finally, he spoke. “Well, we shall not waste any good blood in foolish demonstrations. What made you think I might hire you?”
Spider cleared his throat. “Well, sir, we heard in the town . . .”
“Which town?”
“Lymington, sir.”
“Continue.”
“We heard that you had hired some sailing men . . .”
“From whom?”
“Who did you hire them from?” Spider pulled the pipe from his jaws and pointed it at the man. Oakes was trying to control the conversation, firing questions at him like a broadside. Spider was determined to slow things down. “Oh, I see. That’s not really your question, is it? You want to know who told us you was hiring, I suppose. Well, we stopped at an apothecary to get something to stop Odin’s horrible itching . . .”
Odin pointed at his scarred face.
“The man’s sack, it itches from whores, it does, and his pickle itches, too . . .”
Oakes closed his eyes, and his jaw quivered. “Who told you . . .”
“That you was hiring seamen? Well, the apothecary, a Mister Kegley. He told us a wounded sailor came in regular, to pick up supplies, and that the men accompanying him had the manner of sailors about them, they did. So, we being sailors who would prefer not to be on the sea for a while, me and Odin, but needing coin and quarters, as it were, we thought we’d see if you had work for us.”
“Is that so?” The man opened his
eyes. “Did Mister Kegley tell you anything else?”
“No,” Spider said. “Just that he valued your trade.”
“Very well.” Oakes turned to Fawkes. “And you know this man?” Fawkes pointed at Spider. “I sailed with him and fought beside him. He’s fast, and a right devil with a knife, and he don’t want to die so he fights hard.”
Oakes nodded. “What do you think of the other fellow?”
“One eye, old as Moses, and he limps,” Fawkes said. “I see no use for him.”
“Fawkes, I have seen you prove many times that a wounded man can be very dangerous.”
Fawkes nodded, and grinned. “Aye, Spider John. I suppose you have.”
“Odin is tough as the devil,” Spider said. “We’re not fools, Mister Oakes. You had men about on your property, standing guard. You’ve got enemies, it seems. Well. Odin and me, we’ve been in the thick of it, smoke and oakum, blood and fire, more times than you can imagine. If you don’t think Odin can protect your grounds or wrestle a crazed patient to the ground, well, give him a knife and someone to fight. I know who I would bet on, if I had money.”
Oakes and Spider stared at one another for a long while, with Oakes casting the occasional glance at Odin.
Fawkes shrugged. “I can vouch for Spider John, sir. As for the other, if he can’t fight we’ll likely know soon enough and we can always have Michael and the boys dig another hole. I suppose John is worth a gamble on the old man.”
“Very well.” Oaked grasped his hands behind his back and continued pacing. “I have need of men who can handle themselves. Some of our patients will flail and bite and scratch, and their madness lends them a strength and determination that will often catch an inexperienced man off guard. Mister Fawkes has helped me procure men who are accustomed to violence, and who will not flinch.”
Fawkes nodded in agreement.
“In addition, there are those beyond my acres who, being ignorant fools, view our operation here with suspicion. Every time a crime is committed, every time some drunken fool wanders off, they blame our patients, as though we allow them to simply wander about freely doing harm as they will. They do not understand us, so they fear us.”
