The Secret's Keeper and the Heir

by Jackie McCarthy

  Benson looked at Cricket with a shrug. “You could talk to him.”

  “Nah,” said Cricket after a few moment’s consideration. “That old man creeps me out.”

  Benson shrugged again and paid the Milliner, who’d yelled at them to either buy something or be on their way. Cricket stuck out his lower lip in a pout, listening to the exchange of coins. Turning his attention back to the street, he was soon winking at a girl on the corner.

  As he watched, she moved out of sight, and a familiar antagonist came into view.

  “Oy, Ben,” Cricket tapped Benson on the shoulder, “look there.”

  “Shh, I’m busy,” Benson hissed, focused on counting coins.

  Cricket continued his manic tapping, “No, seriously, I think it’s Auk.”

  “Well, I suppose he goes ashore too,” Benson allowed.

  “Come on, let’s see what he’s up to,” Cricket said, smiling wickedly. He drove his fist into his open palm with a sickening smack. “Maybe I can bribe the girl he finds to put something sharp in his trousers.”

  “You go ahead,” Benson said, “I want to get back to the ship.”

  “What’s on the ship but a bunch of humorless task-masters?” Cricket whined. “I really think I saw Auk. I’m gonna check it out.”

  Benson looked the boy up and down, his brow furrowed, “No, let’s get back.”

  “I stayed with you while you did your stupid hat thing,” Cricket countered, “you could at least have my back now.”

  “Cricket…” Benson groaned.

  “Fine, don’t come,” Cricket punched his own hand again. “I’ll meet him man to man. It’s tougher that way, anyway. Jerk thinks I’m not tough…”

  Cricket walked off after his ship’s Second and was pleased to hear Benson follow on his heels. They got to the intersection where Auk had passed in time to see the oily man timidly turn down another street. Rushing to catch up, they sprinted deeper into the town.

  “I bet he’s already made designs on a fat little misses in one of the brothels,” Cricket sniggered. “I wonder who it is that would take that oily toad into her bed. She must be a real toad herself. Ribbit,” Cricket croaked.

  He and Benson turned the corner and found a winding alley that appeared to be empty. Cricket took the lead in peaking down its various paths and Benson followed. The redhead became aware of the shipmonkey’s sudden stillness and barely stopped himself calling out. He did a light-footed skitter across the alley and came upon Benson’s shoulder, peering over.

  Auk had been found in the midst of a passionate embrace, but it wasn’t with the kind of woman they’d imagined. It wasn’t, in fact, with a woman at all.

  Embracing the man who’d made life aboard the Turnagain so very difficult was another sailor they both knew.

  “Nial?” Benson whispered, not sure what he was seeing.

  Cricket couldn’t hold in his surprised expletive. The ardent lovers looked up at the noise and Nial grew pale. Auk spun around to see the source of their interruption and himself turned red. The look on his face was one they knew well: the look that preceded a mind-numbing knock to the head. He began to chase after them, but Cricket had already pulled on Benson’s collar and they were running back to the ship.

  The former shipboy could hardly believe his good fortune. 

  It would be best to tell the Captain immediately, he knew, for the well-being of the ship. Two men embracing was considered a serious crime at sea. But where was the amusement in that? Perhaps he could have a little fun with it first.

  * * * * *

  Captain Kaille had tried sending Hilias away several times already, but the old shiphand resisted, and he had a sinking feeling he knew why.

  “Just say it already,” Kaille sighed, preparing himself for the worst. 

  “Ben were a good man,” Hilias said, confirming the Captain’s fear. “We all miss him something terrible. But life goes on, ye see.”

  “Aye,” Kaille replied, trying to be generous to the aged shipman without inviting further conversation. “I know it does—”

  “But I knew a man named Ned,” Hilias continued, launching into his own story anyway. “He were just that kind of loyal, good soul. I say ‘were’ cause he got swallowed by a whale some years back. No man thinks he’ll be ending that way, I don’t reckon.”

  “A…” Kaille stammered, blinking at his shiphand. He didn’t know how to respond. “A whale?”

  “Captain,” came Jas’s wonderfully familiar voice, “can I have a word?”

  “Aye, please!” Kaille said louder than he intended. “I mean, aye, several. Immediately.” With a friendly nod to his sailor, Kaille said a dismissive, “Thank you, Hilias.”

  “What was that all about?” Jas asked, feeling he had interrupted something.

  “Yet more condolences,” Kaille said. “It’d been almost a fortnight since the last one. I thought they’d all been done with. But no, every time I think I’ve gotten Ben from my mind another soul aboard feels the need to remind me.” Thinking back to the brooding weeks following his friend’s death, he asked, “Was I truly so bad, that the entire crew thinks I require so many months of their sympathy?”

  Jas only winced and nodded.

  Kaille fought to maintain his good mood. “Well, I’m glad, then, to be back in charge of my faculties…and my ship.”

  “Speaking of being in charge of your ship,” Jas said quickly, “I really think you should take a more proactive stance towards the Scribe.”

  “Wouldn’t you know it,” Kaille said mischievously, “I have a stern talking-to in mind for him this very evening.”

  “I don’t mean talking to him Eli—” Jas said with a sigh.

  “I know,” Kaille teased, “you mean shackles and hot pokers. I don’t trade in that kind of brutality, however. Especially not upon an innocent man.”

  “Define ‘innocent’!” Jas cried. He looked around to see that his outbreak hadn’t drawn unwanted attention and whispered the rest for good measure. “That man is a psychopath—”

  “—as diagnosed by a lunatic,” Kaille pointed out, referring to Whyl and his delirious ranting. “I’ve neither seen nor heard any evidence of such a claim.”

  “The Scribe’s powers of persuasion are the stuff of legends,” Jas said cryptically.

  Kaille shook his head, not to be taken in. “I like legends. I never heard that one.”

  “So you’ll pay this no mind?” Jas asked, perturbed. “You’ll let a known murderer go free?”

  “You say ‘known murder’ as if you’ve actually discovered anything,” Kaille said, staring incredulously at his old friend. “Whyl’s story is his to prove, and he hasn’t done so. I’m disinclined to believe his word over anyone else’s.”

  “Then believe me,” Jas pleaded. “I’ll vouch for him. He’s opened up to me in ways that he doesn’t feel safe doing with you—”

  “And am I to soon hear the sound of nuptial bells?” Kaille teased, hoping to break out of this pattern of argument.

  Jas wasn’t amused. “Gods smite it all, Kaille! Why won’t you listen to a word I say?”

  “I am listening,” the Captain said seriously. “If you don’t like my reaction, then perhaps you should say something of value.”

  “I happen to believe that what I’ve said in this matter is of value—”

  “That’s exactly my trouble,” said Kaille with a frown. He pulled back and sighed. “That’s my trouble indeed.”

  “What trouble?” Jas snapped, appearing ever more frustrated.

  “It’s you, after all,” Kaille began as though he was already in mid-thought, “who’d make my best companion for meeting Lord Delahaye at the ball in a day’s time, and yet I can’t take you, for you’re determined to take sides. Nay, and so it must be: I can’t take you.”

  Jas’s demeanor had changed dramatically at this new development. “Wait just a moment,” he called. “You’re going to meet a Lord? I’m the best company. Who else here was raised a
s a gentleman? You can’t consider leaving me behind—”

  “What choice do I have?” the Captain demanded. “It was the Scribe himself only moments ago who told me he’s arranging this meeting, I hardly think—”

  “Why in the Endless Sea would you let him do that?” Jas cried in disruption.

  Kaille laughed wryly. “Here you are again proving my point,” he said. “This is business, and I need it to go smoothly.”

  “Go smoothly?” Jas asked, though he had the good sense to appear chastised. “That’s the last thing you want: to put yourself and your ship in the power of that poisonous Scribe. We shouldn’t be taking this meeting at all, we should be lifting our anchor and sailing away as fast as any wind will carry us.”

  “And forego the mystery?” the Captain inquired. “I would’ve thought you’d rather live forever on flat land than leave a mystery half-solved.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Jas launched into his rant once more. “It is solved. Kill the Scribe before we lose the chance. We must act now, before he slaughters an innocent girl. It may already be too late—”

  “Stop just a moment,” said Kaille, holding up his hands. “I fully understand how suspicious it is that Fenric traveled all this way, and at a great expense, to visit an under-aged girl, but until you catch him with a pistol in his hand, I’ll have no more of your accusations. Now tell me, do you want to go to this meeting or not?”

  “I…damn you, Kaille!” Jas shouted, the cogs in his head straining against two dissonant desires. “Aye, I do. It’s been so long since I’ve rubbed elbows with a Lord…”

  “If you want me to reconsider my decision to leave you behind,” said Kaille in the form of instructions, “then I expect you to be on your best behavior. I’ve summoned Fenric to my cabin. We shall be hearing more of his story.”

  “What more is there to hear?” Jas grumbled. “If he told you that he helped Nic Pharus murder the King would that resolve your mind to distrust him?”

  Kaille clenched his jaw, now thoroughly annoyed at his friend’s decision to be contrary. He was tired of people trying to decide his mind for him. “Do you know what it would take for me to distrust the Scribe?” he shouted. “The same thing it would take to turn me against anyone: evidence. Evidence, Jas!”

  “But Eli, he—” Jas guttered.

  “The Scribe is coming to my cabin. You’ll show up, listen, and behave,” Kaille said authoritatively. “Do you hear me?”

  “Aye, but—”

  Kaille chose not to hear anything else. Turning his head aside, he called, “Ben!”

  “But Captain—” Jas tried again.

  “What did you call me?” Kaille barked a stern question.

  “I…” Jas quailed from his friend’s fury. “Captain. I called you Captain.”

  “Exactly, I’m the Captain, not you,” Kaille said unbendingly. “Now do as I say.” He called again, “Ben!”

  A moment later the yellow-haired shipmonkey rushed to his side. “Aye, Captain?” he intoned.

  Kaille, deflating the moment he saw the boy, sighed. “I meant Hector.”

  The Monkey nodded. “I know, Captain,” he said.

  Noticing that Jas had witnessed his moment of weakness, Kaille snapped. “Why are you just standing there?”

  Jas answered coldly, “I’m waiting for an order, Captain.”

  “Just go! Get out of my sight,” Kaille snapped. Jas turned defiantly on his heels and walked away. The Captain turned to the boy and raised an accusing finger. “And you! You damned little Monkey. You claim to know I’m not calling for you, so why in the Endless Sea do you keep answering?”

  “I…I don’t know, Captain,” said the boy, shaking under Kaille’s steely blue gaze. He looked towards the bright blue water. “I’m sorry, Captain.”

  Kaille’s hand shot out and grabbed the Monkey by the chin: “Don’t lie to me, boy,” he said, feeling his breath reflect on Benson’s smooth cheek. “Don’t ever lie to me. I can tell.”

  When the boy was released he took a shaky step backwards. He smoothed his shirt, looking skeptical but afraid. He said defiantly, “You can’t tell.”

  Kaille raised an eyebrow, surprised to be challenged after what he knew to be a threatening display. “Oh can’t I?” the Captain asked. He stepped back and raked his new hire with critical eyes. “You’re a fisherman’s son from along the River Kent, if your accent is any indication. You skimped on most of your chores as a child, which is why your muscles are so…pathetic. This is probably because you had a lot of older siblings to do the work for you. You have a shrewd, attentive look most of the time, except when you lie, at which point your eyes turn towards the sea, as though you hope to bury your secrets in its depths.” Seeing the boy’s arms twitch over his body as though to cover himself from further scrutiny, Kaille took a step closer. “Should I go on or will you answer my question?”

  “I forgot the question, Captain,” the boy said honestly, visibly shaken.

  “Why, little Monkey,” Kaille repeated slowly, taking another menacingly step closer, “do you haunt me so?”

  “Because you’re grieving, not insane,” the boy blurted out of nowhere. His lean body shaking in brazen defiance, he cried, “If you call for someone, then someone should damned well answer. Even if it’s not who you want it to be.”

  Not expecting this thoughtful response, Kaille blinked repeatedly. He staggered back a few steps. “How old are you, boy?”

  “I don’t know,” the Monkey said, still trembling behind his brave façade. “Old enough.”

  Kaille squinted in confusion, hardly able to believe that such meaningful answers could come from the strange little package before him.

  “Can I just say—” the boy began after several moments of this stunned silence. His voice was softer and his eyes were diverted to the decks, and Kaille was brought forcibly to mind of Hilias mere minutes before.

  The Captain hadn’t yet decided what to think of his brave little Monkey, but he knew he didn’t want the boy’s pity. “Everyone has a story of loss to share with me,” Kaille said more harshly than he meant. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Benson stood still this time, blinking his confusion. His face twisted into a grimace as he set the record straight: “My story is none of your business, thank you,” the Monkey said rudely. “I was going to tell you that your boot had come undone. Go ahead and trip over it, what do I care?” With these words, the boy turned on his heel and followed after Jas.

  “I,” Kaille began. He bent hurriedly down to re-fasten his bootstrap. “Wait! Benson, wait!” He was relieved to see, from his crouching position, that the boy turned around. He stood quickly, his face apologetic. “Thank you. That’s really all you were going to say?”

  The boy nodded and gave the Captain a sympathetic shrug. “I’ve heard other sailors give you their commiserations, but I think it’s stupid,” Benson said. “All these ‘the same thing happened to me’ stories aren’t helpful.”

  “They really aren’t, are they?” Kaille laughed nervously. He was pleased to find himself empathizing with someone who actually understood, but he also found himself flustered. Try as he might to maintain his cool reserve, he desperately wanted to impress the brazen youth with the piercing green eyes. “It’s as though the knowledge that what you’re feeling isn’t original is supposed to make your pain less real.”

  “It’s never less real,” said the boy, who glanced sadly inland. And so it wasn’t.

  “Then you have lost someone?” Kaille asked, taking in the boy’s unhappy expression.

  The green eyes turned back to him, but this time they were playful. “I thought you didn’t want to know.”

  “I don’t,” Kaille said with a smile, allowing himself to be part of the joke. He stood with a silly grin for a moment too long, however, and had to turn away in a hurry. “Look, since you’re here, why don’t you go fetch Fenric? I think my last envoy has failed. That slippery eel keeps eludi
ng me whenever I try to get answers.”

  Benson tossed his head back in laughter. “Wouldn’t you know it, the same thing happened to me.”

  Without another word, the Monkey scampered off.

  Kaille’s mind was whirling in confusion. He couldn’t understand why he felt so undone by the boy…and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

  * * * * *

  Lucy settled herself happily into Emibelle’s dressing chair, her feet beating eager patterns upon the wooden legs.

  “Maybe something to hide my shoulders,” she said as she watched the second Delahaye girl rifle through her small collection of dresses. “They are gawky, aren’t they? Do you have anything with puffy sleeves?”

  “I didn’t come out that long ago, Lucy,” Emibelle chided. “I only have a few gowns.”

  Lucy sat back, examining the beautiful room with its combs and perfume bottles. It looked like the room of an adult, she realized. “What was it like?” Lucy asked, suddenly curious. “When you were presented?”

  “It was…” Emibelle considered, looking fondly into the part of her memory that held that night, “magical. You feel completely different afterwards, too. Like you’re not a princess anymore, but a queen.”

  “Wow,” Lucy exclaimed, exhaling softly. Wanting to create such a moment for herself, she turned back to the wardrobe excitedly. “What about that pale green one?”

  “Mmm, no,” said Emibelle definitively. “I like that one too much. Here, the purple. You can have that.”

  Lucy examined the purple dress that was handed to her, seeing a style that was at least a year old. She hesitated. “Oh…the purple? No one wears those dark colors anymore…”

  Emibelle’s hand recoiled and the dress moved away. “Oh my gods, are you being picky? No one wears ruffly pink either!” She shook her head, “I thought you wanted my help.”

  Lucy reached for the dress, which was now held at a distance. “I do! Please, I do!”

  Emibelle’s head continued to shake. She stepped back towards her overflowing wardrobe. “You know, this was probably a bad idea. I should’ve known you weren’t ready.”

  “I’m ready!” Lucy cried, following her foster sister and trying to grab the gown. “I’ll wear purple. I’m so ready.”

  “You still play with dolls, Goose,” Emibelle sneered. “You’re not ready. Just be a kid for a little while, okay? There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”