by Peter David
Given enough time, surely they would have realized that her absence was far too prolonged to be chalked up to the flighty nature of pixies. They would have put their collective deductive power together. It would have been insufficient to—for instance—capture the Napoleon of Crime. But it would have been enough to make them realize that Fiddlefix was very likely in the hands of the pirates and needed immediate succor.
But events conspired to overtake our heroes, as events often do.
We are, however, getting slightly ahead of ourselves.
Let us focus, instead, on Fiddlefix in her prison.
The prison was a simple metal box, with no light and only a tiny hole drilled in the top to allow air to seep through. So stale was the atmosphere within the box itself, even with the ventilation hole, that Fiddle was reduced to pressing her tiny nose right up against the hole in order to try and take in a few draughts of fresh air. She repeatedly choked back sobs over her situation, while at the same time angrily pounding on the interior of the box with her fists. Fiddlefix’s strength was formidable. But the box was quite durable and easily able to withstand her pounding, even though she kept hitting it until her knuckles started to bleed. Once that happened, she sat there with her legs curled up, miserably sucking on the wounds and lamenting her lot in life.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst was the shaking.
With no warning, at random times, whether she was awake or asleep, Fiddle’s box would suddenly be lifted and shaken violently. The poor pixie would be thrown around inside; slamming up, down, and sideways; helpless to do anything about it except cry out in protest. Her protest was, naturally, ignored by her tormentor. And her tormentor, as you’ve undoubtedly surmised, was Captain Slash.
Fiddle completely lost track of time. Her life had been reduced to darkness, confinement, stale air, and violent shakings. So, as strange as it may seem, the unexpected sound of Captain Slash’s purring voice was something Fiddlefix actually welcomed. If nothing else, it was a break from everything else.
“Poor thing,” cooed Slash. “Trapped here by pirates. Helpless to control your destiny. Not much of a life for you, is it?”
Fiddlefix uttered some relatively foul curses in pixie language. Either Captain Slash didn’t understand them or else she simply ignored them.
“You know you’re at my mercy, don’t you?” Slash said. “The Boy has forgotten you, as he tends to do. Gwenny never liked you in the first place.”
“Paul…” Fiddlefix managed to say.
“You mean that other lad?” said Slash, who, as it happened, was quite conversant in pixie language. “He’ll do what the rest of them tell him to do. He was just as eager to fly away as any of them. You’re on your own, my dear pixie. They’re not coming back for you.”
Fiddle slammed her open hands against the interior of the box, and she was trembling with indignation. But she was also as helpless as Slash claimed her to be, and she knew it; and, worse, Slash knew that she knew it.
She barely had time to ponder her situation before she was being knocked about all over again. She tried to grab something to hold on to, but it was purely instinct. She knew that there was nothing there upon which she could seek purchase.
Then the shaking stopped. The box was being held sideways, so Fiddlefix had slid down into a far corner of it. Her legs were drawn up tightly to just under her chin. She was trying not to cry because she didn’t want Slash to hear her sounds of despair, and she knew that Slash was still holding the box.
“I could, of course, just toss you over the side,” Slash said. “That little hole I’m sure you find so inadequate for air will be more than adequate to let water through. It would take a while, although not quite as long as you probably think. And then you would drown, down in the briny deep, alone and lost and forgotten. Farewell to Miss Fiddlefix. Not exactly the end you had in mind, is it, my pretty pretty? Or would you just like me to keep repeating ‘I don’t believe in you know whats’ until you drop dead once more…this time forever, I assure you?”
Fiddlefix clapped her hands over her ears, not wanting to even chance hearing the forbidden phrase. As a result she didn’t initially hear Slash’s next comments, but then took the chance and lowered her hands just enough.
“—have to be that way,” Slash was saying to her. This caught Fiddle’s attention. “If you help me,” Captain Slash continued, “I would be happy to help you. Just tell me what The Boy fears. What is his weakness?”
“He fears nothing. He has none. Now let me go.”
“Then let’s take it from another angle,” Slash said, making her voice sound sweet as honey. “Who hates The Boy? Who would ally with me to dispose of him for good? Who would stop at nothing, care about nothing, if it meant ending him?”
“Well, that would likely be everyone in the Anyplace,” Fiddle said. “After all, you and your despicable brother turned him into a pirate. He’s likely feared and loathed by the entire population.”
Captain Slash laughed at that. “I think you underestimate The Boy, pretty pretty. I would venture to guess that, even now, he is reforging old alliances with such former friends as the Indians. Once he has recaptured their goodwill, it’s only a matter of spreading word to everyone else on the island that The Boy was treated ever so badly by cruel, heartless pirate folk. Cast us as the villains once more. We’re used to it.”
“You are the villains.”
“Eye of the beholder, pretty pretty.” She shook the box once more, more violently than ever, and was rewarded with more squeaks and squawks; and she didn’t cease doing it until she actually heard Fiddlefix beg for mercy. Even then, she kept it going for a few moments more, just to drive home the point that she was completely in charge of the situation. Then she stopped, although she heard Fiddlefix’s body rattling around for a short time before it rolled to a stop. “You know The Boy better than anyone. You know the island of the Anyplace better than anyone. Your wings, your tiny size give you free rein to move about as you see fit. And now I’m asking you to tell me: Who will help me destroy him?” She paused and then added, “There’s no point in loyalty, you know. He’s not coming back for you. None of them are. None of them care.”
We will condense this back and forth for you, for in fact it went on for quite some time. We don’t want you to underestimate Fiddlefix’s resistance to Slash’s words or to think that the pixie gave in so easily to the pirate queen. But we don’t want to belabor matters either, or dwell excessively on poor Fiddle’s torment. It will provide excessive stage time for a nasty egg such as Captain Slash and certainly diminish your enthusiasm for the tale we have to tell. So, without telling you how long it took, except to say it was a long time, Fiddlefix finally broke down and told Captain Slash exactly what Slash wanted to know. Fiddle did this in exchange for a promise of her freedom. That should give you some idea of just how desperate the beleaguered Fiddlefix was that she capitulated to Slash on the basis of a promise from a pirate…a promise that was worth about exactly, not one farthing more or less, what you would think it was worth.
Consequently, Fiddle and her locked box were set safely back in storage in the captain’s cabin. The captain then set sail for the far side of the island, heading straight for the individuals whom Fiddlefix had named.
She stood upon the forecastle, the wind whipping past her, and she saw her brother’s shadow stalking the deck. Big Penny was giving the shadow a wide berth, as were the other Bully Boys; and even the fiercest of the Moriscos seemed disconcerted by the disembodied silhouette’s presence. This didn’t surprise Captain Slash all that much. Pirates were generally averse to the unnatural. So although the shadow of their former captain had been initially welcome, particularly when it gave them leverage in the battle against The Boy and his cohorts, the shadow’s continued presence tended to discomfit them.
It might have helped if the shadow had had voice to accompany it. If it had stalked the ship being verbally abusive, that would have se
emed a more customary state of affairs. But it just hung about, eerie in its silence. Captain Slash, however, felt no need to address the matter. As long as her crew got its job done, it was all she required.
Caveat, the craftiest of the Bully Boys, approached Slash at one point and said in a lowered voice, “Captain…begging your pardon, but…I know this particular route. It puts us in severe peril of drawing too near the Seirenes. Their nests are—”
“I am very aware of that, Caveat,” she said. “That is where we are heading. I have it on”—and she smiled that terrible smile—“good authority…that they would be willing to aid us.”
“But their song…”
“I know that as well. It does not concern me, though, and I have made allowances.” She had a pumice stone and was calmly sharpening the curve of the blade upon her arm. She looked askance at Caveat. “Are you doubting the wisdom of my decisions?”
“No,” Caveat said quickly, as she knew he would, for he was far too craven for any sort of direct confrontation. Quickly he scuttled off toward the far part of the ship, leaving Slash smiling to herself.
Some minutes later, she ordered the ship to drop anchor. She was sure she could hear sighs of relief from the crew, since the word had spread that they were coming within range of the Seirenes and no man aboard was ecstatic over that prospect.
Once the ship was anchored, Captain Slash ordered a longboat to be put into the water. What with her being the captain, it would have been unseemly for her to row herself. But bringing any male within proximity of the Seirenes represented unconscionable risk. Fortunately, there was an easy solution. Remember that there are some pirates we have not yet named. We will name one of them now: Fearless Earless, a buccaneer who had the misfortune to run afoul of the East India Trading Company early in his career. His ears had been severed in punishment for his piratical practices. It didn’t make him entirely deaf; just mostly deaf. So the only way he was able to hear orders was if someone walked up and practically shouted them into the side of his head. Since that was far too much effort, mostly he was left alone to sit around and deal hands of solitaire.
He was particularly useful in hand-to-hand assaults, since he was usually unable to hear shouts of “Retreat!” As a result, he would keep on fighting beyond all sense of reason, and had single-handedly turned the tide on several occasions simply because he literally didn’t know when to quit. Thus had “Fearless” been tacked onto the more obvious sobriquet of “Earless.”
In this case, though, force of arms was not going to be required. Instead, Fearless Earless simply served as oar master for Captain Slash as the longboat set course for the nesting area of the Seirenes.
The longboat bobbed atop the water as Fearless Earless drew the ship closer to the shore. The sun was rising high. At that moment elsewhere in the Anyplace, the Piccas were having a grand celebration at which Paul was looking rather morose while The Boy and the others danced and gyrated around the Piccas’ blazing campfire. So Captain Slash’s assessment of The Boy returning to the good graces of the Anyplace’s other denizens was being proven quite correct. But that was of little moment to her. Only her business with the Seirenes concerned her now.
There was an outcropping of rock that blocked her immediate view of the Seirenes, but the splashing of the longboat in the water undoubtedly alerted them to her presence. That was how the Seirenes always knew of the approach of potential victims. If unwary mariners happened to see them before they were in range of their voices, they would know enough to turn aside. But if they were upon them without knowing the dangers that awaited, then the Seirenes could lure them close with the summoning call of their song.
Fearless Earless had a bit of a time maneuvering the longboat around stray pieces of wreckage that dotted the area from previous unfortunate travelers. Directly in front of the Seirenes’ lagoon was a shoal of devastating rocks, hidden beneath the water’s surface. Directly in front of the rocks was a gargantuan drop-off. As a result, ships drawn toward the lagoon courtesy of the Seirenes’ song would strike the rocks, take on water, and then sink into oblivion, down and down into the drop-off never to be seen again. But a few random pieces of masts and such had caught on stones, and those were what Fearless Earless had to attend to as the longboat approached the lagoon. The fearsome rocks were too far below the surface to be of concern to the smaller, lighter boat, although naturally they were fatal to any of the far heavier sailing vessels that dared draw near.
Nevertheless, Captain Slash had no desire to draw too close to the Seirenes themselves, for who knew what additional obstacles might present themselves as traps? The outer shoals might prove no danger, but Slash wasn’t overlooking the possibility that there might be more jeopardy within. That was why Fearless Earless was essential to her endeavors: Any other man at the oars would have felt compelled to keep right on rowing toward the Seirenes, no matter what orders to the contrary Captain Slash might issue. For that matter, had it been Slash’s brother at the helm, he would have been perfectly willing to order the longboat speeding forward to its likely doom. But since Fearless was largely deaf and Slash was female, neither was at risk.
The Seirenes were singing their alluring melody at full strength now. It was light and airy, but at the same time there was a sense of timeless sadness about it, like something that might be produced by a lark that had seen its mate and offspring torn to shreds one by one. Captain Slash could sense the attraction that the song might provide in the same way that a sober judge could, upon sipping a glass of sherry, comprehend in a distant manner the glorious wonders that excess imbibing might provide. But the sober judge would feel no personal compulsion to partake, and Slash was no different in her disposition. The blue water was astoundingly clear, and she could see the drop-off and shoals that provided her line of demarcation. She put up a hand, gesturing to Fearless Earless that he should cease his forward motion. He did so, putting up the oars. The water was flat and motionless this particular day, with not a shred of wind to gust it, so the longboat maintained its position easily.
From this vantage point, Captain Slash could easily behold the Seirenes. Their nest was elevated far above the waterline, with cliffs stretching high above and behind them. There were three of them: One with blond hair, one blazing red, and a third dark as the heart of the foulest villain. They shared one nest, and their long hair hung down and around their naked torsos, covering their bosoms discreetly. From the waist down, they had no need of hair covering: Their plumage more than sufficed. As human as their torsos were, from hip to toe they were a bizarre combination of human female and bird. Their legs were festooned with wild purple feathers, and they ended not in normal feet, but in three-toed talons—two forward, one reversed—as a parakeet might have. Although they had human hands, their arms were covered with feathers, these overlaying one another and with a skeletal structure that gave the arms the distinct likeness of wings. Their eyes had an avian look to them, with gleaming yellow irises.
Their nest was extremely large to accommodate the three of them. They had brought their heads close together, perhaps the better to harmonize. But when they saw who had drawn near, and that it was a female at the helm and a man who for some reason was immune to their musical blandishments, they promptly ceased their song and merely looked irritated. The raven-haired one, whom Captain Slash had correctly intuited was the leader, flapped her wings in irritation and then drew them around herself like a bat. She tilted her head slightly. When she spoke, there was still a musical, singsong quality to her voice that reminded Slash of a Jamaican lilt.
“Who are you?” said the Seirene. “What brings you to this place?”
“I am Captain Slash, a humble pirate. I seek your help.”
This brought a good deal of twittering from the Seirenes, who thought this was simply the funniest thing they had heard in many a day. But their chorus of birdlike laughter abruptly ceased when Captain Slash said, “I seek your help against The Boy.”
The Seirenes cr
ied out as one then, in a combination of fury and pain; and then the black-haired one stilled the outrage of the other two as she perched on the edge of their nest. “What know you of The Boy?”
“I know that you both despise him and covet him,” said Captain Slash. “I know that you have wanted him to remain with you forever and always.”
“Who told you such things?”
Captain Slash thought of the trapped pixie and yet again smiled her awful smile. “Someone who would know.”
“He flies!” said the Seirene, as if the source of the information was no longer of interest. “The Boy flies! And he sings pretty songs. Why should he not be with us forever and always? We have begged him and pleaded with him to remain with us and be ours, and we would love him if he would only love us, for we are so very similar. But he denies us! Refuses us! Will not give himself over to us! Instead he prefers to laugh and play and remain a boy always in the jungles of the Anyplace.”
The redhead spoke up. “And every so often, he flies near us and calls down taunts over how foolish we are. If he remained with us, we would sing for him and only for him. No sailors need ever fear us again. But does The Boy care? He does not!”
“How does he remain immune to your song? Could you not force him to remain with the allure of your song?”
“His head is far too full of himself to become filled with us,” said the blonde sourly. “We sing to him, and he whistles back a mockery of our song before flying away while laughing.”
“Evil boy. Inconsiderate boy,” said Slash in her most sympathetic voice. “And how long has this state of affairs been the case?”
“For as long as we can remember,” said the raven-haired one. Naturally, since all three of them were somewhat birdbrained, it is impossible to determine exactly how far back that “as long as” really was.