"It is speech," said Jenk, brushing a flask aside with an irritated wave of his hand, "that separates the sentient races from brute beasts. I recall when Sera was an infant; she made charming little cooing sounds, babbled to herself incessantly. She seemed to demonstrate a natural desire for expression, even though the concept of words had not yet occurred to her. If Eirena did the same, I would be considerably more optimistic."
Caleb snorted. "What if she's mute? Maybe she'd like to talk, but her voice don't work."
"My dear Caleb. Your Eirena is very far from mute. She made noise enough on the day she was 'born', but she has refused to utter a sound since. Moreover, I sincerely doubt—" He was interrupted by a frantic banging sound, which came from a wooden chest on the floor by the furnace.
With a reproachful glance over his shoulder, Caleb limped over to pick up the box. The lid, which was fastened by a catch but not with a lock, had been drilled full of holes, and something was thumping wildly about inside the chest. Caleb placed the box atop the table and lifted the lid.
The little female homunculus climbed out, looking rumpled and indignant. Her face had a greenish cast, from so much exertion, her feathery hair was tangled, and her gauzy gown creased.
"Think she don't understand you?" said the proud father. "She knowed you was talking about her, and that was why she started in to raise a ruckus."
The bookseller sniffed disdainfully. "Nonsense. She woke and wished to come out of the box, that is all. And I daresay that she wants her breakfast."
The little creature sat down cross-legged on the table, glaring up at them. "And that's another thing I don't like," said Caleb. "Keeping her shut up in the dark, the way we do. It ain't right, 'tis downright cruel."
Jenk passed a weary hand across his brow. "It is done for her own protection. She is so small and active, and we cannot always be watching where we place our steps for fear of treading on her. It would be different if she would speak, if she could cry out a warning to protect herself. But I nearly crushed her, just yesterday, and she never made a sound. No, except when you are able to attend to her, it is necessary to keep her safely stowed away.
Caleb clenched a fist. "Like she was a parcel or a piece of baggage! It ain't right. She ain't done nothing wrong. We got no call to keep her a prisoner, just because we're inclined to be careless. Just you look at her, the pretty little thing," he added tenderly, "asitting there with the tears running down her cheeks. She knows what you're saying, I tell you she knows, and she don't never want to go back in that box again."
"If she could understand our speech," said Jenk, rising and beginning to pace around the room, "she would make some attempt to duplicate it."
"Maybe she hurt herself, squawking and struggling when you took her out of her egg. Maybe she could of spoke, but she busted something, you was so rough with her," Caleb said, with an accusing glare.
The bookseller gave him back glare for glare. "Given a suitably unpleasant stimulus, perchance she would cry out again. Shall we make the experiment?" And without waiting for Caleb to answer, Jenk moved with uncharacteristic violence and energy, snatching up Eirena and a candle off the table, and holding the flame close to one of her wildly flailing tiny hands.
The homunculus shrieked in pain and struggled in his grip. With a grim smile, Jenk replaced her on the table. For a moment, Caleb was too shocked to take any action. Then he swept her up into his arms and held the little wailing creature against his chest.
"Don't you never hurt her again," he shouted. "I warn you . . . don't you never hurt her again. "
Jenk sat down again, suddenly infuriatingly calm. "It is not a deep burn—the flame barely touched her. Her hand has barely turned green. I did not mean to be cruel, but it was a necessary experiment."
"It weren't necessary. There weren't no need at all," insisted Caleb, stroking the feathery little head in a futile attempt to soothe her. "And even if you thought it was, you should of asked me first, afore you tried anything like that. Ain't I her father—don't she belong to me?"
"Belong to you?" the bookseller asked, with a nasty smile. "You presume too much. You did no more than provide the seed, but I was the one who made her. She is my creation and mine alone. And that being so, I shall use her in any way that suits me."
"No, you won't, then," said Caleb, breathing hard. "I won't stand by and watch you abuse her. Think you're so high I can't bring you down. I could ruin you, Gottfried, if I had a mind to. I know what you been doing here. Folks is already suspicious. A word from me, and—"
"My good Caleb, there is no need for you to threaten me." Jenk was startled by this unexpected display of spirit on the part of his hitherto faithful henchman. "Indeed, I am appalled . . . yes, appalled, that you should find it necessary to do so. I mean the little creature no harm."
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe his face. "Perhaps I have allowed my impatience, my zeal for exact scientific knowledge, to get the better of me. Yes, I fancy that I did. Do not look at me so. You have given me quite a turn, my old friend. I promise that I will be more gentle in my methods after this."
"Aye . . . you will be," said Caleb, very far from mollified. "You'll be more gentle with her—or I won't answer for the consequences!"
CHAPTER 33
In which the Bear is obliged to show her Fangs.
The Black Bear continued to run south until she reached the Gulf of Spagne. There she lay becalmed for many days in the warm southern waters, until the wind freshened. Then, with billowing sail, she was once more underweigh, heading for the exotic shores of Ynde.
For Francis Skelbrooke, under the circumstances, the mysteries of the Fabled East did not precisely beckon. Yet he felt that he had more chance of escaping on land than he had at sea. Indeed, he had already considered and discarded a dozen daring (and highly improbable) plans—from stealing a lifeboat to holding a pistol to the Captain's head—and his invention was beginning to flag. He could only hope that further possibilities would present themselves as soon as he landed in Ynde.
Meanwhile, he was allowed to stroll the upper decks almost every day. Only once did he catch a glimpse of the other two prisoners, when, pale and wobbling with a combination of sea-sickness and apprehension, the girls were escorted above the hatches for a brief constitutional of their own. The older of the two was tall and dark and fiercely protective of her younger companion. With a pang, Skelbrooke was reminded of Sera Vorder. Not for his own sake only was it necessary for him to escape.
Though not allowed to approach the girls, he nevertheless gave them an encouraging smile. But as he was standing chained to one of the masts at the time, was dirty, unkempt, and unshaven—more nearly resembling a crewman under discipline than an erstwhile rescuer of maidens—it was unlikely that the young women derived any considerable reassurance.
He was now wearing both boots (though his foot still pained him), which added to his sense of personal dignity, but the Captain had denied him the use of' a razor, apparently considering him a possible suicide. Fortunately the physical effects of withdrawal from the Sleep Dust were fading, and he was beginning to recover his strength. But his nights were restless and plagued by unreasoning panics and bad dreams, and the craving was still strong—the more so because he had learned that the First Mate was also addicted, and therefore must have a considerable cache hidden somewhere on board.
Whether Mr. Kassien had appropriated the snuffbox in which Skelbrooke formerly carried the Dust, his lordship had yet to discover, but the First Mate did wear a heavy gold ring last seen gracing the hand of "Captain Melville." Troilus Diamond wore the stiletto stickpin, as well as carrying the watch, and the talisman pendulum was also missing. But Skelbrooke still had a number of small useful items sewn into the lining of his coat, including a vial of deadly poison. For this reason, Captain Diamond might just as well have loaned him a razor: his lordship had planned a tidier exit, should all else fail him.
They were off the coast of Mallahari,
two days from their destination, the slave markets of Ranpuhar, when one of the lookouts up in the crow's-nest called down that another vessel had just been spotted and was rapidly approaching on the port side. Skelbrooke and Kassien moved to the rail, along with some of the others, to get a good look as the other ship hove into view.
She was a brigantine, flying the flag of Grall in the Polar Isles. Her sails were patched and dark with much use, but she appeared otherwise clean and well maintained. She was evidently a trading ship: no guns or cannons could be seen, except for a pair of demi-culverins on the forecastle, and the upper deck was loaded with crates and bales. Still, Captain Diamond was wary, watching her approach through a spyglass.
"What do you make of her?" he asked, handing the glass over to Kassien.
The First Mate took the telescope and peered through it. The figurehead of the approaching brigantine depicted a woman of voluptuous proportions, scantily clad. Her face had been freshly painted in garish colors. Mr. Kassien gave an exclamation of dismay. "It's Busty Margaret, sir, that disappeared off the coast of Llyria two years ago. They've renamed her the Hag's Belly!"
The Captain let out a hissing breath. "Corsairs! Get the men ready for battle, Mr. Kassien, but see it’s done quiet and orderly. Let them blasted pirates think we ain’t on to ’em. Two can play at this game."
From his place by the rail, Skelbrooke observed the preparations of the crew. Muskets, blunderbusses, and pistols were swiftly loaded and primed; barrels full of cutlasses, boarding axes, and pistols hidden behind the port bulwarks, along with pikes, cartridges, and loads of grapeshot. Crewmen unfastened the tarpaulins over the swivel guns, but did not yet remove them. The best marksmen were delegated to sling on muskets, bags of powder and shot, and prepare to climb the rigging to the platforms on the masts.
All this time, the brigantine had continued to approach and was now within hailing distance. Captain Diamond, maintaining the pretense that no alarm had been given, picked up a speaking trumpet and demanded that she identify herself and her business.
The captain of the Hag claimed to be carrying a cargo of oranges, but the wind did not carry the smell of fruit. Then suddenly the decks of the brigantine began to seethe with activity, as armed men swarmed up from below, and tarpaulins and empty crates were whisked aside to reveal a battery of large guns. The flag of Grall came down, and the pirates ran up another in its place: a bleeding heart on a white field, pierced by a cutlass.
The Captain of the Hag took up his trumpet again, demanding that the Bear surrender.
"Not bloody likely!" Captain Diamond muttered.
"It would appear," said his lordship, "that he has you out-gunned and outmanned."
"We'll go down fighting . . . I ain't heading for no slave market, that's certain," said the Captain.
"Then allow me to fight at your side," said Skelbrooke. "Instruct Mr. Kassien to unlock my manacles and—"
Captain Diamond gave a snort of derision. "Fight for me, would you? And why would you want to be doing that for?"
"In return for your promise to set me free on shore afterwards, if we both survive this engagement. Why should you not?" asked Skelbrooke. "You've already been paid to take me out of Marstadtt. And I may prove to be valuable in the coming engagement, more valuable than you know."
Captain Diamond snorted again. "As like to strike a bargain with them pirates, I fancy."
"Not at all," said Skelbrooke. "I'm in no position to do so—for what could I possibly offer them? Their captain has no shortage of men."
The Captain turned his back. "Take this young fool down below," he instructed one of the sailors. "We don't want him underfoot.
The sailor did as he was instructed, taking Skelbrooke roughly by the shoulder and steering him toward the hatch.
From his below-decks vantage point, Skelbrooke saw little of the battle. He could, however, hear a great deal: the deep roar of cannons and bombards, the sharper explosions of the smaller culverins and swivel guns, a rending and creaking of timbers as the grappling hooks caught and slowly pulled the two vessels together.
The truth was, his fate would be much the same whoever won this engagement—supposing that he did not catch a stray cannon ball in the meantime, or fall victim to an overzealous boarder who failed to take notice of his chains and manacles. Therefore, he had no stake in the outcome.
All that remained to him, when a handful of boarders brought the battle below decks and the crew fought desperately to repel them, was to sort through his somewhat bewildering array of personalities, and select and assume the one least likely to be affected by the carnage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that particular Francis Skelbrooke was decidedly unstable, the man who was wont to bury explosive charges in the earth and let the bodies fall where they may. He sat on the bunk in the Captain's cabin with his knees drawn up and his chin resting on his folded hands, whistling a tune under his breath, and watched unmoved as a pirate with a pike skewered the cabin boy like a rat at the end of a hobsticker, and the unfortunate youth thrashed and shrieked for almost a minute before expiring. By that time, the pikeman had been virtually decapitated by one of the crewmen and lay in a pool of blood at the end of the bunk.
Yet he felt some slight flicker of interest a short while later, when two seamen came in, carrying the bleeding and barely conscious Mr. Kassien. His lordship rose from the bunk and pushed the dead pirate out of the way, making room for the sailors to deposit the First Mate.
"Heard you was some sort of a chirurgeon," one of the seamen shouted over all the noise.
Skelbrooke rapidly assumed the role that was needed. "A physician, but I can stop the bleeding." And suiting his actions to his words, he snatched up a cloth off the Captain's table.
Kassien revived while Skelbrooke was knotting the tourniquet. "The Captain's dead on the forecastle . . . picked off by a sniper on the mainmast."
As he had not yet heard anything spectacular in the way of an explosion, Skelbrooke concluded that the dying Captain Diamond had slid to the deck, rather than toppled. "You are in command, then."
Mr. Kassien nodded. "Aye, and may remain so. There have been few boarders and we've killed them all. Looks like the battle may yet go our way." He reached into a pocket and drew out a key. "In which case, we shall undoubtedly have need of your services, `Doctor' Skelbrooke."
Skelbrooke accepted the key and unlocked his irons. "I may be of greater service as a gunner, supposing I can reach Mr. Diamond's body in time," he said. And pausing only long enough to snatch up a cutlass and a pistol from the fallen pirate, he raced above.
He was climbing the narrow stairs when the Hag discharged a three-gun salvo which punched through the gun deck. The blast knocked him off of the stairs. He lay stunned for several moments, before recovering and rising painfully to his feet. He scrambled up the stairs again.
It appeared that the tide of battle had turned since Mr. Kassien made his optimistic assessment. The pirates were beginning to swarm on board. A gigantic corsair wearing a red scarf around his head bore down on Skelbrooke, waving a pistol and a long knife. His lordship swung his cutlass, slashing the fellow across the belly, effectively gutting him. The pirate screamed, discharged his pistol, and fell back. The ball whistled past Skelbrooke's head, leaving a powder burn on the side of his face.
All around him, men fought with pikes and boarding axes; the air was full of smoke, reeking of gunpowder; the deck ran with blood. As Skelbrooke made his way to the forecastle, he was engaged by a beefy pirate who aimed a wild overhand cut at his head. Moving to block, he slipped in a puddle of blood and fell to his knees. The pirate raised his blade again—Then staggered back and fell down dead as an axe flew though the air and clove through his skull.
Skelbrooke found Troilus Diamond lying atop a heap of bodies, piled up out of the way of the action. He knelt down and searched through the Captain's pockets. Finding the watch, he pulled the timepiece out by its heavy gold chain.
There were two keys on that chain:
one to wind the watch, the other to arm it. He unscrewed the ring that fastened the chain to the timepiece and inserted the appropriate key in the hole thus revealed. He turned the key three times, then made his way to one of the swivel guns, where he enlisted the aid of the gunner.
The gun had a relatively narrow bore and was designed to shoot stones and odd bits of iron shrapnel when the grapeshot ran out. They primed the gun and loaded it, inserting the watch along with a handful of rocks. Skelbrooke took a slow-burning match from the gunner, trained the gun at the mainmast of the pirate ship, and touched the match to the vent.
There was a loud explosion and the base of the mast vanished in a burst of flame and smoke. Many of the pirates were hurled to the deck by the force of the blast, others were pierced by flying splinters. The mast crashed down, crushing a dozen or more beneath it, and causing the brigantine to heel strongly to port. Meanwhile, several fires simultaneously broke out on deck.
Lord Skelbrooke viewed the destruction with characteristic detachment. "If I am needed again, you may find me down below, tending to the wounded." Then, straightening the kerchief he wore in place of a neckcloth, he sauntered toward the hatch.
CHAPTER 34
Wherein Sera receives Information and Knows not how to Take it.
Sera was climbing the stairs to her bedchamber on the third floor, after an afternoon spent sipping tea and sherry with the old Duke, when she met Hermes Budge descending the staircase with uncharacteristic haste.
"Miss Vorder, I have been looking for you everywhere. Can you spare me a moment of your time? Would you be so obliging as to join me in the library?"
Though Sera had been heading upstairs to dress for supper, intending to change the gown of black bombazine for the more appropriate wine-colored watered silk, more than an hour remained before the meal would be served. She turned around and followed the tutor down the stairs and into the library.
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