The Devil's Workshop

by Donnally Miller

  When they had them all up on deck, Crazy Dog took a walk around so they could see who he was. The night was overcast, and the moon just peeping through the clouds. There was a little swell to the sea, and Crazy Dog was rolling to it. A few lanterns were lit, one run halfway up the mainmast and another on the quarterdeck railing. Their tawny glow illuminated the flapping sails and the scared faces of the men.

  “Now you’ve led me a merry chase,” said Crazy Dog. “But the chase is over, and you’ll find I’ve an enmity for you that’s a lot like love. There’s many a one would cut your throats, but you’ve been lucky. Very lucky. You’ve fallen into the compassionate hands of Crazy Dog Talbot. Any man who lies to me, or any who disobeys, will lose his life far more swiftly than any court could devise. But the ones who obey, and the ones who tell me the truth, they will prosper, and some may even get a chance to grow rich, and they may even get a chance to grow rich while they’re still young enough to enjoy it.”

  He pointed to the Master’s body, lying face down in the bilge. “This was your captain. What other officers are there on this ship?”

  The First Mate was scared enough almost to faint, but he took a step forward. “I am one,” he said.

  Barnacle Jack pointed his pistol at the First Mate’s head and said, “You’d best call him captain.”

  “Aye, aye. I am one, Captain,” he said.

  “Who else?” said Crazy Dog.

  It took a few moments, but with some shuffling and some pushing, Ramsey was shoved forward.

  “You two. Can you navigate?”

  “Yessir,” they both said.

  “Yessir?”

  “Yessir, Captain.”

  “Good.” Then he turned to the crew, his eyes a candid gray. “Now I want every married man to raise his hand. And remember what happens to those that lie to me. Every married man.”

  Most hands went up, including the First Mate’s.

  “I see. You married men, stay where you are. Single men, over to the starboard rail and sit down.”

  They did as they were told. There were only four single men, Vincenzo, Diego, Mr. Chips and Ramsey. Two pirates watched them. While they sat there, the other pirates were getting the longboat into the water and getting the married men into it, with a keg of water and a string of onions. When the boat pulled away, it was just a darker shadow on the water, but it was jammed full of men and like to sink the first rough wave that hit it. There must have been twenty men packed into a boat that couldn’t hold more than a dozen.

  Then Captain Crazy Dog came over to the four men remaining. “Listen to me and listen sharp. You may join my crew if you wish. We’re the Free Brethren of the Coast. If you do, each of you will take an oath, and your lives will be forfeit should you break it. Once you’ve taken that oath, you’ll share in our gains just as these others do. You’ll eat with us and drink with us and be accounted a full member of the crew. If you don’t, I’ll put you ashore on the next deserted coast or scorching marl I reach. Now every man willing to join us should stand.”

  They all stood and took the oath. Then Crazy Dog said to Ramsey, “You that can navigate, I’ll make you captain of this vessel. Your first task is to take her and all her cargo into Kashahar, where you’re to sell the cargo and sell the ship as well, and deliver your earnings up to me at an appointed time and place to be distributed among the Free Brethren. You’ve got three for your crew, but I see one has a broken arm, so I’ll give you four more from the Seahawk. That should be enough. And Barnacle Jack will be at your shoulder to make sure you do not break your oath.”

  “Aye, aye,” said Ramsey. “I mean aye, aye, Captain.”

  Then Crazy Dog went into the Master’s cabin and he went through the desk, and the items on the table. He found a mirror that had been given to the Master on the occasion of his birthday. It had a silver frame with a design of laurel leaves and ribbons. He decided to keep it but he’d no sooner looked in it than his countenance broke the glass, so he cast it aside with a curse. He then sent for Ramsey to join him and when the man entered he put on a pleased expression and said, “You’re an honest man now, and you work for the King.”

  “The King?”

  “Yes, that same king we all owe allegiance to back in the old country. It’s he I work for. None of these jack-a-nape merchants.”

  “Does the King know that?”

  “It matters not a whistle what the King knows. But General Hobsbawm, his sworn minister here in this land, is apprised of it, and so now are you.”

  “Oh. I thought you were a pirate.”

  “The merchants call me a pirate. But what call I them? I dare say peddling shoddy cloth and watered wine in fake measures makes one a merchant. We’re all robbing someone. Do you have any idea how long I’d be able to keep this up if General Hobsbawm and his men took the notion to clap me in irons? What would be your guess how long I could keep it up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Not long.”

  “I mean, I don’t know, Captain.”

  “You can dispense with that when we’re alone. Hear me now. Pay attention. Look at me. The money I’ll make from this cargo is money I’ve stolen from some gang of fat, greedy guts merchants, is it not? And can you tell me, what is the difference between a pirate and a merchant . . .? Eh . . . ? Can you tell me?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know, Cap – I mean, I don’t know.” He was really starting to fidget by this time.

  “Well neither do I.” And he smiled with his great misshapen teeth. “And, for that matter, neither does the King. So, when the merchants come to General Hobsbawm in his great fort in Port Jay and they complain to him of the depredations of Crazy Dog and his Free Brethren, what do you suppose the General does? Eh?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea.”

  “Well, he tells them, I’m going to put a stop to that piracy, just you watch me. That’s what he tells them.”

  “And a good thing he does, too.” The fidgeting was really starting to get out of control.

  “You think that’s a good thing, do you?”

  “Oh, no, I don’t.”

  “Changed your mind. I see. Well, in any case, as soon as those merchants leave his fort, what do you suppose General Hobsbawm does?”

  “I really don’t know. Please don’t send me out on this ship with those other three men. They’ll kill me. I’m certain of it.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, control yourself. You’re ruining my story.”

  “I’m sorry. Well as soon as the men leave I’m sure General Hosbawm does something magnificent. He probably writes a lot of orders and sends them off to the captains of the fleet. I don’t know. What does he do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you see my point?”

  “No.”

  “I’m not getting much satisfaction out of talking to you.”

  “If you send me off on this ship, please don’t include those other three men in the crew. They hate me. It’s because of a mistake I made. I said eighty lashes when I only meant eight.”

  “You’ll have to explain this to me some other time.” Crazy Dog stood to leave. “You’re in command here.” He walked out.

  Back on deck he barked his shins against a long wooden box. “What’s this?” he roared. The talk with Ramsey had spoiled his mood and he felt like slitting someone’s throat.

  Mr. Chips, still huddled against the rail, answered. “It’s a coffin. Spent the better part of the day I did building it one-handed.”

  “That’s bad luck, a coffin. Toss it overboard.”

  “We were going to give the body a decent burial, in the Potter’s Field in Kashahar.”

  “No time for it. Toss it in the drink. Do it now.”

  Diego and Vincenzo dragged the heavy coffin to the rail and lifted it up, grunting with the effort. “Ashes to ashes,” said Vincenzo.

  “Dust to dust,” said Diego. “If God won’t take you, the devil must.” They dropped
the coffin overboard. Then, looking over the rail they were surprised to see the heavy box, that had caused them such pains to lift, did not sink, but was floating on the water’s surface. They watched as the lazy swells slowly bore it away from the ship.

  “Never saw the like of that before,” said Vincenzo. “Must be cursed.”

  Meanwhile, Crazy Dog selected four old tars from the Seahawk to stay on the Queen. Then he filled Barnacle Jack in on the plan, letting him know he should keep Ramsey on a short leash. Fortunately, they would make Kashahar the next day so it wouldn’t be for long.

  Then he returned with the rest of his men to the Seahawk. Once in his cabin he unrolled his map of Kashahar and ran his finger along the winding, tortuous streets of the city in search of the inn where the emerald was held. He was two days late.

  Kashahar, at this time, was a city of open piazzas and lush gardens. Formerly, it had been a site of religious significance to the Indian civilization that had lived in this part of the world several centuries ago, but they were long gone, leaving behind many enigmatical limestone obelisks and heathen icons slowly crumbling to dust. The explorer Horatio Castro had found it a desert spot, where grasses grew over fallen statues and raindrops dripped and the steps were green with moss and vast weeds flourished in the flower beds. When he first stumbled on the spot he had commemorated it in poetry, comparing the decaying Indian relics to the fading beauty of his paramour. Here is a sample:

  No birds now sing in the gardens of the dead,

  No fountains plash, no words are said.

  Who walked these streets now turned to dust?

  Oh, Kashahar, oh, Kashahar, your secrets hushed

  By silent eons still await

  The masters of a new estate

  Who in time will build anew

  A city by the sea, both tall and true.

  I recognize and call to mind

  The beauty that my memories find

  When, Clementine, your withered face

  Reminds me of a time and place

  When youthful loving laughter

  Was the rule, not what’s come after.

  Just so it is with Kashahar:

  Whose ancient grandeur lies not far

  In sunken gardens of the dead

  Where silence reigns and ghosts now tread.

  History has failed to record Clementine’s opinion of the piece.

  No one knew what had become of those who dwelled here long ago. There were obscure legends of a great wave from the sea that had toppled the city, or perhaps it had been a gigantic serpent that, angered by some act of disrespect on the part of the citizens, had come by night to destroy it and make prey of its inhabitants. In any case, its roofs now sheltered mostly settlers from the old country who had come in the expectation of wealth. They employed many of the natives as servants and laborers, and the countryside surrounding the city was rapidly being deforested and put into cultivation.

  The part of town by the harbor was the oldest and most densely peopled. There were many inns, taverns and brothels that sought custom from the ships that were constantly putting in and the merchants who traveled great distances to meet them. The inn that Crazy Dog located on his map was one of these establishments. It was in this inn that Stampour and his two fellow bandits were at this very moment waiting impatiently.

  Stampour was looking out from beneath the hood of his jellaba at the rafters upholding the roof of the inn. He had been pondering these same rafters for two days now. Was there some message he should read in them? He knew there was not, yet his deepset, roving eyes had memorized their appearance.

  This inn had been constructed in a manner common to Kashahar. There was a central courtyard open to all the floors that rose above it, and the rooms on each floor were entered through doors placed around the walls. Guests, when they exited from their rooms, could look down into the bottom floor courtyard before descending the stairs. Also, those in the bottom floor courtyard, such as Stampour at present, could look up to the roof five floors above. At this moment Stampour reached into his sabretache and retrieved the much-folded missive that had led him here. Was he certain this was the spot, he wondered. This deal should already have been consummated two days ago but here he still sat, waiting for the buyer, as the cagey priests he was running from drew ever closer. Almost he felt their eyes were upon him.

  All about the stool on which he was perched there were genteel young men watching with awed fascination the various dancing harlots and courtesans who frequented this inn. The innkeeper was busy renting rooms for their trysts, and imparting suggestions as to the sexual favors to be enjoyed. Stampour sat in the midst of this swirling frivolity, unmoving, eyeing the door and waiting.

  “Bring me wine,” he said to the innkeeper.

  The innkeeper placed a bottle of wine in front of his most sullen customer. “Here, drink yourself drunk.”

  Stampour moved not a muscle.

  Outside the inn were three watchers. There was one standing across from its front door at all times. He was watched in turn by two others on the inn’s roof. Sometimes these three traded positions. These were the vanguard of the priests of Slothikay. They had been afraid they would arrive too late to intercept the sale of the emerald, however that had not been the case. The remainder of the priests, led by Kanbold the Lame, High Priest of Maddibimbo, were only a day away. Kanbold, mounted on his mighty steed Tessephon, was accompanied by four acolytes carrying the sacred sacrificial blades, whose edges were whetted to a keenness twice that of any razor. Kanbold had not set foot outside the mountain fastness of Tambay, deep in the heart of Slothikay, where the temple housing the great idol of Maddibimbo was located, in over three decades. But he had ridden out on this quest, to make certain that the emerald would be recovered, and to scourge the infamous villains who had tampered with it. When he left Tambay there was a wailing of women, and a clashing of many gongs. After they had departed, there was a rumbling heard in the temple, and many attributed this to the wrath of Maddibimbo.

  Stampour was not aware of all this, but his highly sensitive nerves were alerting him to the fact that danger was near and was closing in. All his instincts, instincts which had been honed and sharpened during a lengthy career of thievery, were telling him to move. Yet here he sat, and here he had sat for the past two days. He sipped the wine the innkeeper brought him and looked once again at the rafters upholding the roof of the inn. And he came to a decision. He would wait no longer for the shady gentleman who had promised him such a rich price for the gem. No. He snapped his fingers. Instantly Clovis and Demetrio were at his side. “We are leaving,” he said. “This is a trap.” At the very moment he said the words he knew them to be true.

  Clovis was up the stairs to their room. Demetrio was to the stables for their horses. Stampour approached the innkeeper for a reckoning and after a final tally went out front to meet the other two.

  Clovis, however, was being detained by the serving wench Portia. As he attempted to leave his room, bearing the possessions of the three thieves and carrying the emerald eye of Maddibimbo in a leather satchel hanging from his waist, Portia had her arms around him and was imploring him to stay. He told her he would stay later, but at this moment he must leave. Demetrio was just leading the three horses up to the front of the inn when one of the watchers on the roof, under the mistaken impression that the gem was changing hands, leapt onto his back, his priestly robes flapping furiously as he descended. Demetrio fell to the ground with a cry, and Stampour rushed to his aid only to find that the watcher at the front of the inn had him by the throat. Clovis, having escaped from Portia, neared the front door just in time to see both his companions being wrestled to the ground. Not knowing how many attackers were involved, he immediately turned about, rushing into Portia’s waiting arms, and then ensconced himself with her inside their room on the third floor.

  While this was taking place, the third watcher descended from the roof and assisted his colleagues in binding and gagging Stampour
and Demetrio. Once they had been thoroughly trussed, the lead priest undertook a thorough search of their belongings but was unable to find the gem he sought. He removed their gags.

  “Where is the eye of Maddibimbo?” he asked of Demetrio.

  Demetrio merely spat in disgust.

  “The fabulous emerald? Where is it?” he demanded of Stampour.

  “I know nothing of any emerald,” said Stampour. “I am a simple camel herder. You have made a terrible mistake. Release me.”

  “This inn will be searched, and we will find what we seek. Once we have found it we will return and you will be killed. If you do not tell me where to find the gem, you will die slowly and in great pain. However, if you tell us where it is, I promise you a quick and a painless death.”

  “Your promises aren’t worth the turds my camels crush beneath their hooves – aaghie!” said Stampour as his hair was wrenched viciously from behind.

  “Tell me where it is, or must I roast your testicles over an open flame?”

  “I piss on your open flame – aaghie!” Once again his hair was wrenched.

  There was a great deal more of this, but in the end the three watchers learned nothing, so they conducted a thorough search of the inn. When they came to the room where Clovis was hidden, Portia chastely raised the sheet to hide her breasts, also concealing Clovis and the satchel containing the emerald. The searchers apologized and left.

  So in the end, not having the jewel and uncertain of where it could have gotten to, they decided their best course was to await the arrival of Kanbold the Lame and his retinue, which was expected the following day.

  Chapter Ten

  TWO VAGABONDS

  When Katie opened her eyes, the sun was already up and shining brightly into her bedroom. Her first thought was that she was late to lay out Madam Lanchester’s bath and prepare her breakfast. Her second thought was that she would never be doing either of those things again. The events of last night tumbled back into her mind and she sat up, seeing the open suitcase where she’d laid it beside her bed. Then, seeing all her scattered belongings on the floor, she sat for one long moment, hoping to summon the strength she needed. She felt as if these jumbled clothes were the memories of her life, now discharged, dispersed and atomized. How would she ever put them where they belonged, and put herself back together again? It was a dangerous step she was taking but a deliberate one. She knew that, and she wasn’t lacking in courage. She looked out her window at the interior garden, and at the rest of the mansion, thinking this was the last time she’d have this view. It had become familiar, so familiar she hadn’t seen it really in years. The garden was just starting to come into bloom this summer. Well, she’d not see it at its peak. And gardens, what was it Father Clumphy had said about gardens? There was something there. Well, it wasn’t coming to her just now.