“Hey, Stranger, Miss Deirdre’s wondering where you been,” the young man said, putting the harmonica to one side.
“Let her wonder.”
“She saw your cart, couldn’t understand if you was back, why you hadn’t paid her a call.”
“I wasn’t back is why.”
The only answer was a few tuneless notes from the harmonica. The traveler stood and retrieved his shoes from the cart. He rubbed off the mud and slid his feet into them. He was in no mood to bandy words. As he strode past the young man he gave a kick to his chair leg that sent him sprawling, and then throwing the saloon doors open he walked decisively to the back, where he mounted a stair and rapped on the door of Miss Deirdre’s office.
“Enter.”
He opened the door. Miss Deirdre was floating two feet from the ceiling. She wore a long gown that trailed between her legs, and a silver belt around her waist, and on it thirteen bells. She held her arms extended over her head as she moved gently across the room, her long raven locks hardly moving in the almost undetectable breeze. Barely turning in the direction of her visitor, she said, “A mighty burden was in your hands under cover of night. The veil of darkness is now long withdrawn, and what have you to say of it?”
“There’s many a corse I’ve put to bed, but never before was there one that so kept wanting to sit up. It was a good piece of work getting that one underground, I’ll have you know that.” A devil with the head of an ostrich and the legs of a toad sat up in the corner and gave him a wicked grin.
“The Son of Light is in the grave?” Her outstretched fingertips just touched the wall, and she pushed off and started gently gliding towards the other side of the room.
“He’s in the grave sure enough, and can’t you come down where a man can look you in the eye? A man’d get a woeful crick in the neck talking to a body slithering about up there.” For just a moment he saw the water she floated on, a sunny river filled with weeds and shimmering fish. She seemed to turn and swim down towards the level where he stood at the river’s bottom and then the vision was gone and she was seated in an armchair that had appeared near to hand. She inserted a cigarette into a cigarette holder that must have been eight inches long. Then, lighting the cigarette, she inserted the other end of the cigarette holder in her mouth, and as she inhaled a grateful puff of smoke, she gestured him to sit in a caquetoire that had shown up just behind him.
“He blocked me at every turn,” she said. “I can hardly believe he’s dead. The time has come to spread my wings . . .” She took another puff, and expelled the smoke from her mouth with evident satisfaction. “Now, for reasons that are quite compelling, but which I haven’t time to go into, Hell will be coming to the Coast. Are you ready?”
“Aren’t I just?” He sat back and produced a snuff box from his waistcoat pocket. Proceeding to take a good snort in each nostril, he continued, “The pirates of San Luno Bay are starving for a fight. And I’ve the bait for them. The emerald eye of Maddibimbo has been purloined. The ones who did it knifed the thing out of the idol’s face. They’ve left a trail for the angry priests to follow, but they have a date set to sell it in the back streets of Kashahar.”
“Whom would they be selling it to?”
“That would be a shady gentleman wouldn’t want his name recorded in this here transaction. But the point of the matter is I’ll be letting Crazy Dog and his buccaneers know where the exchange is to take place, so when the thieves arrive, they’ll find the pirates waiting on them.”
“I take it these are the same pirates that were raked by the guns of Lost Bastard Island only a fortnight ago, smuggling their rum into Cutthroat Bay.”
“They would be the ones. And I’m thinking the munitions depot on that island has been recently enlarged. Is that the case?”
“It has.” She leaned forward and made a point of capturing his eye. “General Hobsbawm has been recruiting in the Panhandle and all round the Forgotten Forest. The force he’s raised is substantial, though ill-trained and young , liable to run at the first chance. This time they’re minded to put the blasted Indians down for good. I also know that Half Moon and his braves have been smoking the holy mushroom, and while dancing round the totem of war and death they’ve called on their bitter ancestors for help, and aren’t they just that thirsty for a chance to drink some soldiers’ blood. But to get the army marching into the Forest, maybe a fire at their back will do the trick.”
This is how it always starts, he was thinking, and a satisfied glint came to his eye. Mankind is that blood-thirsty an animal. His instinct is always to make sure there are no survivors. The devil in the corner had produced a tarnished trumpet and was tooting away. “So I’ll be off to Kashahar,” he said. “But on my way, there’s a new lot of slaves coming to the markets of Indradoon, and there’s rumors of rebellion I’ll be whispering into some willing ears. I suspect there’s many won’t go docile into that sweating hellhole of misery and subjugation.“
Little whirlpools appeared where the top of the water would have been and started dancing round the room, casting ripples from the light that came through the windows. Miss Deirdre stood, and spreading her arms invoked the obscene deity she worshipped and cast her wicked spell. “A new age is come. We’re in the Devil’s workshop now. Send me demons, send me the dangerous, the resolute, those fierce to upset the continuity of earth. Send me gremlins to undermine and rabid beasts to overwhelm the great convexity of this globe! Send me those who would destroy, dismantle, and demolish!” Tiny horned demons appeared in little explosions of light throughout the room, some floating in the air, others perched on the furniture. They howled icy shrieks of glee, turning somersaults in the air.
A sound as of wings muted by great distance seemed to happen just at the top of the traveler’s skull. He could hear it there, like a monstrous bird flapping incredibly high in the sky but somehow still inside his head. The flapping horror hovered lower, seeming to settle now somewhere behind and just above his right shoulder. He looked behind, jumped up and started to run. He was running through the whirlpools of light and in between the demons dancing round his head, and when he looked behind he saw ferocious talons taking shape in the gloom above him. Just at that moment with one impassioned scream Miss Deirdre vanished in a startling fizzing burst of crimson motes that scattered through the air and disappeared before they’d hit the floor, leaving only her cigarette holder hovering tentatively in mid-air with the cigarette still lit. The whirlpools and the demons that had been tripping round the room were gone like smoke. The devil in the corner hid his trumpet somewhere in his posterior and went out with a pop. Suddenly the room was empty save for himself. Where there had been chairs there were now piles of rotten sticks. Miss Deirdre reappeared for just a moment to catch her cigarette before it hit the floor, and then was gone again. He looked about himself, muttered something under his breath, and strode out the door. He descended the stair and cast his eyes round the unfriendly saloon. A few of the faces at the bar went so far as to look up from the bottles they held before them.
“I need a man who’ll ride with me to that fly-infested blister on the land they call Indradoon. I have business in the slave markets there. Fifteen silver dollars in your pocket now and another fifteen when the job is done. A man can’t be fairer than that. Who’ll ride with me?”
There was a general resurgence of interest in the contents of the drinks. The traveling man cursed and walked out onto the boardwalk outside. The young man with the harmonica was still there. In fact he’d acquired a banjo as well, and was picking at it in a desultory fashion, as much as to say I know I can’t play this very well but neither can you.
“Fergus,” said the traveling man. “You’re mine.”
“Not me. Nossir.”
“Come off that nonsense. Have you fed my horse?”
“No.”
“Why not? What have you been doing all the time I’ve been dallying with Miss Deirdre?”
“Haven’t been doin’ nothin’.
”
“No, I see. Well look sharp. Get Dobbin a good feed of oats, and unhitch him from this cart. We won’t be needing that. Have you a horse of your own?”
“No.”
“Of course you do.”
“Said I don’t.”
“What did you do with your horse?”
“I never –“
“Did you sell him for that banjo?”
“A horse’d be worth a lot more than a banjo.”
“I’ve seen them that weren’t. So what you’re telling me is, I’ve got to get you a horse, is that the long and the short of it?”
“No, don’t get no horse. I’m not goin’ nowheres.”
At just that moment, a black stallion no one could recall having seen before ambled up and whinnied in a companionable manner. Fergus kicked the side of the building and said, “Gol darn it, Miss Deirdre, I hears you.”
The traveling man added, “Now all you need’s a saddle.”
Fergus went off mumbling, “That Miss Deirdre’s in my head and all, it’s like she’s squeezed my thoughts down till they’re not much more than a little oil that spills out my ears. And she’s taken up the rest of my head for herself.”
“I wouldn’t fret. It’s not as if you’re losing much. That banjo’s got more brains than you do. Now come on.” He unhitched the horse.
That afternoon the two of them were out of town, on the road to Indradoon.
Chapter Two
NEW ACQUAINTANCES
Katie Jean slept alone, with only her thoughts for company, and some of the thoughts that kept her company these nights were making her very sad. Unlike the other lasses, she’d not chased after boys from the farms that sat along the river, no, a life of churning butter and keeping the cows contented was not for her. She’d given her heart to a sea-faring lad who bore a fever and a magic she’d thought took on the right and unmistakable shape of her desire. And now when the man was gone to sea, she had these thoughts that came to her at night to chase the sleep away. Some were thoughts of poor lonely Tom, out on the windy sea, and the ravages of the work he’d be enduring. And then there were thoughts of herself and the work she had to be doing. And the sum and the lot of all these thoughts was a great sadness with no way of ending for two long, empty years.
So after a night of tossing and turning in the sheets, punctuated by moments of staring at the ceiling, it was her custom in the morning to walk to the roof of the mansion where she worked, where there was a veranda enclosed by a wooden railing. From there she could see far off the constant turning and pounding of the waves, and she could hear the snarling they made as they tried to snaffle up the shore. Sometimes a little sob would rise in her throat, and sometimes she’d let it come out, as a tear or two drifted down her cheek. It was the tribute she paid to the persistence and steadfastness of her loving heart. And much as she wished that she could have done different, she believed the tribulations suffered by a loving heart were the reward of living life with a passionate intensity, and that her struggles were a blessing. At least it’s what she told herself.
Tavish, the boot black, butler and general factotum, watched her cry. He was a tall man of dark aspect, several years her elder. He’d been in service to the Lanchesters all his life and was the owner of an unfortunate face, one eye being larger than the other giving it a queer, misshapen look. Also his nose had broken and not healed well. His voice was harsh, and he had thick lips. He wished he could touch her, but he was certain that was not his place. Instead he scanned the town below. There was a noise being made by a batch of boys who were taking delight in torturing a dog, and it gave him a sick feeling all the way through the middle of his stomach. What was it about people that made them think they weren’t doing anything unless they were doing something cruel? It was a sore distress to him. He pointed the disturbance out to Katie, and the mood she was in gave fuel to her natural womanly anger at the pointlessness and brutality of men.
When Katie left the roof, she descended the stairs to speak to her employer and her mistress Madam Arabella Lanchester. She spoke of the boys taking their heartless pleasures by distressing a poor animal, and asked if there wasn’t something that could be done.
Madam Lanchester took a distant view of the actions of those she considered lesser than herself. In fact, nothing they could do would surprise her, and she took a grim satisfaction in the confirmation of her low esteem for the human rabble. “You can hardly expect them to display the least sensitivity to the feelings of other species. Be thankful they don’t see fit to indulge their malicious inclinations by tormenting a small child.”
Katie said, “I’m in the way of thinking we should put a stop to their fun before it reaches that point. It seems there’s a wildness and a fury that’s come over people in the night and I don’t know what to make of it at all.”
“I’m of a like mind. Tavish.”
“Yes ‘m,” said Tavish.
“You’re the man of the house. Can you see what can be done for the rescuing of this poor animal. We’d be beholden if you’d take this matter in hand.”
“And I’ll go with,” added Katie Jean.
So that’s how Katie came to be holding a good thick stick as she followed Tavish down the hill towards the boys whom she’d made the true objects of her festering anger. The dog had been a poor one, even before being singled out for abuse, just a poor starved mutt really, little more than a friendly rat that had been promoted. He was probably some little one’s pet, with a name like Bowser or Winky, who’d wandered from his proper friends and now found himself in the clutches of a gleeful gang of bored brutes. He’d tried to ingratiate himself, giving them his fawning gaze, and wagging his bit of a tail, but now his forepaws were tied to a wire, and his body was dangling down, his poor hind feet unable to find purchase on the ground below. His front legs were likely broken by the weight of his body, and he was whinging in a desperate fashion, still hoping to appease the excited rabble who were set on his execution. The ringleader was a lout with an unruly mop of black hair, and he wore a vest and had buckles on his shoes, as if he worked in a clerk’s office. He was poking the little animal in the stomach with a stick, eliciting excited shouts from his audience every time the dog howled and flinched.
“Now that’s enough of that,” Tavish strode into the midst of the crowd. “Put that stick down,” he told the boy, using his most commanding tone of voice.
“And who are you?” said the boy. He was backed up and reinforced by a resounding chorus of jeers from the younger ones who didn’t want their fun taken away just as it was getting to the delicious point of it all.
“This is my dog,” said Tavish, “and I’ll not put up with anyone treating him poorly.”
“You’re a liar!” The boy was now threatening to poke Tavish with his stick. “I’ve seen you round the town. You’ve got no dog.” One of the urchins threw a stone in Tavish’s direction.
Katie saw fit to wave her own stick, which was a good bit thicker than the one the boy held. While the boy was distracted, Tavish untied the dog’s legs. The rabble, seeing their prize on the point of being carried away, put up a vociferous clamor. The leader jabbed Tavish with his stick. One or two boys tried to grab the dog by the tail and pull it back. Katie was infuriated. She waded in and the next thing she knew she was wielding her stick like a truncheon round the skulls of the offending mob. She’d knocked one or two of them back off their heels, but she had the feeling more were coming up behind her. She whirled to take account of them, and knocked a couple of sconces into the gutter. Then she turned back to give a really good bash and at that moment felt a restraining hand on her shoulder.
“Easy, girl, easy,” said Tavish. “I think you’ve driven them off.”
She looked around. Nothing was moving, except the poor dog, who was trying to lick his damaged paws. The boys were huddled together and giving her a gaze of earnest apprehension, as if to ask what was she so worked up about? She stared them down.
“What�
��s got into the lot of you?” she asked, waving her stick. And they kept their eyes on the stick. “You’re horrible,” she shouted, “torturing a poor dog that’s done nothing to you. All you’re doing is showing how mean and ugly you are. Haven’t you got the sense to see that? No. Of course you don’t because you’re stupid too!”
At this, one of them threw a small rock.
“Who threw that rock?” she said. Her spirit was up now. She marched towards them, waving her stick. “You’re mean and ugly and stupid! And what’s worse, you smell bad!”
Tavish pulled her back. “Let’s not get into a contest of who’s got the best insults. We’d not win.” He lifted the damaged puppy and held Katie’s hand as the two of them backed slowly away. Once they were certain of their escape they dashed back to Lanchester Mansion, where they laid the pup down and tried to minister to it.
“You’re a right terror when your back’s up, ain’t you?” said Tavish, as he tied a splint to the poor beast’s paw.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered.
“They’ll remember who cracked their skulls, and I’m thinking maybe they’ll be hurrying the other way next time they see you with a stout staff in your hands.”
“I don’t see that I did anything so extraordinary.” The dog gave a little whimper. “Oh, this poor one,” she said, turning her attention to the animal, “I’m afraid he’ll never walk really sound again.”
“I feel a mood’s come over this place,” said Tavish. “Like on a sunny day when a cloud comes to cover the sun and there’s a shiver and a little breeze. Do you know what I’m feeling?”
“No I don’t. I think you’re a silly man with your feelings and your shivers. All I did was knock a few heads, and they were heads that needed knocking. We’ll have to be giving this poor boy a name since he’s ours now. Think I’ll call him Tommy, in honor of my own Tom who’s out on the wild waters.”
So they named the poor mutt Tommy Dog and they kept him with them in the house. That spring Tommy Dog came back to life. Katie’s daily routine now had to include taking the time to be certain he was walked and fed. She made him a bed at the foot of hers where he curled up in the night, and in return he gave her what companionship he could.
The Devil's Workshop Page 2
