Beyond the pirate captain, along the port side, the pirates lit fuses on the cannons as they jabbered and hopped around like colorful crickets. In the near distance, the other ship climbed waves, guilt-driven and anxious to get away.
We watched, knowing what would befall the ship as soon as the pirate ship had a clear shot. The LeHanna ascended another wave and disappeared down the other side. As the tops of her masts sank lower, and still lower, the wave rose higher. Much higher than the sea conditions would suggest. Slowly, the wave crested and descended. The chattering of the pirates increased as they realized what had happened; the sea had swallowed the LeHanna; sails, crewmen, deceit, and all. As if she had never existed.
Curses in dozens of languages colored the deck as the pirates ran from bow to stern, looking for the other ship. Some scrambled up the masts and across the spars trying to see more. Captain Falkenburg grabbed a spyglass from Borodin and didn’t say a word as he scanned the area. Even without a glass, it appeared that not even a sliver of wood remained of the LeHanna.
Such a pity. Or not.
Captain Falkenburg lowered the glass and with deliberation gazed at us, one by one. Finally his eyes rested on me. I shrugged. It would be illogical to think anything but the sea claimed the LeHanna, would it not? The sea is mysterious; at best, it is a beautiful abyss capable of capricious treachery. Drowning is not the only thing that awaits the unwary.
The pirate captain turned toward his crew, who still squawked and chattered nervously. “Enough.” Without raising his voice, he restored order. “Silvestri, recalculate our course to the south. Get us moving, Borodin.” Then Captain Falkenburg returned his attention to Dr. Perideaux.
“Again, and for the last time, Doctor, where is it?” There was no mistaking the menace in his words; each one seemed to be a blow to the doctor, and he winced as the pirate took a step toward him.
A wave slammed the pirate ship broadside, heaving the doctor and pirate captain into the bulkhead. I held Mrs. Perideaux and Felicity steady. In seconds, the sun had disappeared as armies of clouds rolled over our heads, and the sea became a mass of whitecaps climbing as high as the deck. The wind whistled around the pirates, circled the salon and cabins, and whirled upward into the masts.
The rain began like a celestial sword had slit open the sky. With an eye on the growing squall, Borodin pulled Captain Falkenburg aside. They watched another wave as it rose level with the deck, and if they didn’t like that wave, hundreds more ascended upon each other as far as the eye could see. Only hours from rounding the Cape, and it seemed we had entered an exceedingly stormy sea. Someone with a more suspicious mind would remember that it had been so calm an hour ago.
Captain Falkenburg barked orders and then glanced back at us. “Put them into the salon. Hurry up, you bastards!”
As if we’d rehearsed it a thousand times, the doctor and I surrounded his family so that the pirates wouldn’t. When the woman and child had entered the salon, I hooked a finger at Perideaux, and he followed me back on deck. Through the heavy rain, we beheld a curious sight.
Half a dozen pirates stood around our trunks, cursing. One of them, a particularly hairy and primitive specimen, screamed and held his blackened hand in front of the others. The pirate nearest to my trunk reached for it and then bawled in pain. I patted a yawn: they seemed to be slow to learn from what they saw.
The other pirates hovered around the distressed pirate and conferred, as best they could, while casting worried glances at the bridge, where Captain Falkenburg paced and swilled wine. Another few moments and the largest pirate approached the doctor’s trunk. His hand flamed and the flesh melted away as his scream carried much farther than the bridge, riding the waves into the lowering darkness.
That should be enough of a demonstration. Perideaux followed me to the center of the deck to our trunks. The remaining pirates gave us a large berth. I grabbed my trunk by the handle and rested it against my hip. The doctor, with the barest hesitation, did the same with one of his trunks.
I bowed. “After you, Doctor.” We wasted no time carting the luggage back to the salon. After our last trip back to the salon, we stepped inside and the door slammed behind us, and I heard the sound of several hammers nailing wood across the opening.
As we dragged the trunks into the center of the salon, Felicity and Mrs. Perideaux observed us with the kind of fascination that indicated they’d seen and heard the pirates’ attempts to touch the trunks. Felicity’s eyes held the same wonder as when she couldn’t believe her milk glass had magically been refilled. This time, she included her father in the assessment, certain he’d also been responsible for the pirates’ reaction.
Mrs. Perideaux’s gaze stayed on me, and she held her daughter close. She wet her lips.
“What just happened?” she pulled Felicity closer.
The wind howled around the ship like mythical demons chasing each other, bouncing against the walls, crashing into the spars overhead. The rain slashed at the portholes, first on one side, then the other side of the salon.
Our new quarters did not appear to be as much of a pigsty as I had expected. I deduced only the pirate captain used the salon, and he believed in displaying his treasures. Racks of wine, oil paintings, lace curtains, and a mahogany table surrounded us. Red velvet settees faced each other at the lee side of the room, and a polished oak bar took up the entire fore side.
I explored the bar, and magically, the pirate captain happened to have a jug of ice-cold milk and a carafe of sparkling water awaiting his guests. By the time I’d placed them on the table between the settees and poured, Felicity had broken free of her mother’s embrace and joined me on the facing settee.
“Felicity—” her mother exclaimed and pulled her back to the other side.
Dr. Perideaux remained by the bar, deep in thought, regarding me with a furrowed brow. “Would you be so kind as to bring more glasses, sir?” I asked him. The sound of my voice startled him, but he seemed glad of an opportunity to do something and not ponder too seriously our predicament. Or perhaps what had caused the pirates to abandon their attempts to touch our luggage weighed on his mind.
The pirate ship fell deeply into a trough. He waited for the ship to climb again before he retrieved the glasses and joined his wife on the sofa. Perideaux took his time pouring the water before looking up.
“I believe we have sailed into a hurricane, Doctor,” I said.
As if to confirm my observation, the wind shrilled, startling our little party. Felicity whimpered a response. The portholes rattled, and we held on to our refreshments as the pirate ship creaked loudly in protest. The Sibylline picked up speed. She shuddered from bow to stern, scattered the glasses on the bar, and then sailed faster yet.
Perideaux glanced left and then right, his anxious glance straight at me confirmed that something he deemed unexplainable had just happened. The speed of the ship could not be accounted for under the stormy circumstances. No longer did the vessel appear to be under the control of the pirates. Wind drove the ship, out of control, first one direction, and then much faster than man could change course, another direction. She raced ahead, bounded up the sides of the waves, and bottomed out again before climbing laboriously upward once more.
It was then that Dr. Perideaux noticed his wife’s pallor, as I had a few moments earlier. She was heavy with child, had been abducted by pirates, and was in the company of a man she feared. Perideaux put his arm around her and bowed his head.
The doctor’s wife paled again, dangerously so in my opinion. She had not yet lost the fear in her eyes when she glanced at me.
Perideaux said, “My dear, this is Mr. Celwyn. Mr. Celwyn, this is my wife, Mrs. Helen Perideaux.” He nodded toward me like he wasn’t sure of what I’d done, but he knew it had helped. “We are in your debt, sir.”
“Nonsense.” I winked at Felicity, and she did her best to wink back. “We will weather this storm.”
Mrs. Perideaux gripped her husband’s hand and studied me. I
returned the regard. Her chin quivered, and her eyes were hard. In a moment she said, “I still need to know what we’re going to do.” She left me to stare at her husband. “Our safety, Jonathan. Those men ...”
Dr. Perideaux held her, and before things got out of hand, I said, “I promise you, madame, they will not harm you. Or your family.”
She raised her head from her husband’s embrace and looked at him, then at me. “But what will we do?” she wailed. As she spoke, a spasm of pain crossed her face, and she paled. Instantly, Dr. Perideaux’s expression changed, and there was no one in the world more important than his wife.
“Is it the baby?” he asked her.
“No, no.” Mrs. Perideaux replied and patted his hand as she uttered the lie.
Felicity left her mother’s side and approached the trunks.
Dr. Perideaux said, “Felicity—”
“It is all right. I assure you, sir,” I said.
Felicity peered at the myriad stickers that decorated my trunk like a garish Christmas present. “What is Mary Katch?” she asked.
“Marrakech,” her father corrected.
Night was falling. I arose and lit a lamp and then traveled the room discovering candles to light. In the cupboards I found some biscuits and then beckoned to the doctor. He made sure his wife was comfortable against a mound of pillows before joining me behind the bar.
I kept my voice low. “If it becomes necessary, there are clean blankets here. And a quantity of water.” There hadn’t been, but I’m a helpful soul.
“I sincerely hope we will not need them tonight,” he said with a glance at his wife. He looked at me, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it is time for a moment of candor? I mean, sir, we may be fighting for our lives at any moment.” He lowered his voice. “Or we may succumb to the storm. I’d like to know who is fighting with me. Or dying with us.” From outside the salon the heavy steps of the pirates tromped by.
“Well put,” I said. I placed both hands on the bar and then removed them. A plate of cheeses and savory meats sat before us. “Perhaps your wife or daughter is hungry.” I handed him the plate. It fell through his fingers and clattered to the bar surface. “Please take it to them.” I offered it to him again. “Eat. You will feel better.”
After another look at me, he dutifully delivered the plate to the settee. Perideaux nibbled a bit of cheese before presenting the plate to his wife. His expression indicated he approved. I do have excellent taste.
When his family was sufficiently distracted, he returned to stand behind the bar with me. “That was a most welcome and deliberate diversion, Mr. Celwyn.” He pointed to the plate as Felicity selected a sliver of ham. “Explain it.”
I yawned. This would require something stronger than water. It appeared that although the pirate captain seemed fond of wine, he also had stored a single bottle of malt below the bar.
“There’s so much to say and yet so little.” I poured two shots, and then poured one for the doctor. “What do you know of the black arts? Of magic?”
As I spoke, the Sibylline lurched to starboard. She slid down a wave on her side in a most sickening manner before gradually righting herself. The wind howled and screamed, competing with the pirates shouting from the deck. By now the sails would be shredded, and they’d try to steer by the rudder, if they tried at all.
When the doctor could speak again, he said, “Parlor tricks; that is all magic is. There is no basis of fact.” His attention rested upon his wife, but I could see him thinking as he tried to find an explanation for what he’d seen with the trunks and what his wife enjoyed nibbling only a few feet away from us. He probably did not consider the storm anything more than bad luck.
“Not exactly,” I said.
Perideaux seemed to have come to a deduction or perhaps a belated question he had wanted to ask. “Why did Captain Hume insist you be separated from his crew? Why were you locked up?” He licked his lips and glanced at his wife. “I’d prefer that Helen not know anything of this.”
I shrugged. “As you wish.” I poured more malt for both of us.
“And my questions?”
I regarded him a moment longer before speaking softly so that his wife would not hear.
“For hundreds of years, I’ve honed my skills to the point where I do not question the difficulty of what I attempt within the realm of magic. But I do consider what effect my magic may have on innocent persons. My personal sense of right and wrong has also evolved accordingly.”
Dr. Perideaux watched me over the top of his glass as he downed the rest of his whiskey. He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that I haven’t just lived for this time, in this century. His assessment was mirrored in his eyes: scientific speculation, not the wide-eyed terror some men expressed on the rare occasions when I have told them tidbits of my history.
“How I interpret my ideals, or morals if you will, are as personal as every man’s are.” I continued, “But for now, let us say that I had no compunction in killing my guard, but I will go to great lengths to save your family.”
The doctor swallowed nothing several times but kept his gaze neutral. Thinking.
After a moment he managed, “Exactly what did you do?”
The rain beat on the roof of the salon so loudly we could hear nothing else. The wind howled, furious at the ship. I told him, “I’d been arguing with a priest at the cathedral in Madagascar. To make a point, I appeared during the church service and levitated myself onto the altar. Then I made myself comfortable to enjoy the services. When the ushers would have laid hands on me, I simply disintegrated within their fingers. Like ice that has melted or water that evaporates.” I elbowed the doctor. “A miracle, would you not say?”
If he’d had any morsel of humor left from his stern upbringing, he’d allow a small smile to escape. But no.
“Later, when the authorities tried to arrest me, a few of the officers were injured.” I had dispatched them with mercy and alacrity. “My temper can only be maintained so long when provoked.”
The doctor slammed his glass down. “But what did you do to make them so afraid? There must be more.”
For a moment I contemplated him. When he finally met my gaze, I locked the contact and said, “I have the ability to climb inside another man’s mind, Doctor. Once there, I can wander anywhere and learn a man’s darkest secrets and enjoy his most pleasant memories.” I flipped a hand. “While there, I sometimes plant new thoughts. Of all sorts.”
After pouring more whisky, I wrapped his limp fingers around his glass. “Thoughts are powerful, are they not, Doctor?” I asked him without speaking.
THE storm intensified as the day bled into the night. It appeared so dark and turbulent outside it seemed hard to tell when the night actually became complete. As I looked out the porthole, a pirate fell against the rail near us. A hungry wave tried to pry his hands from the rail, but he held on tightly. The wave crested and receded, leaving behind another pirate rolled into a ball. The pirate that the wave delivered lay against the bulkhead. When he didn’t move, the first pirate kicked him. Another wave broke over the rail, sweeping them both to the stern.
From behind me, the wails of childbirth filled the salon. For the last hour, Mrs. Perideaux’s cries had been growing more frequent and prolonged. The hurricane seemed to strengthen with each of her screams. The doctor had given Felicity a weak sedative to calm her, and she slept on the other settee. After our talk, he hadn’t said much but appeared deep in thought, until his wife’s condition changed and he devoted his attention to her.
As dawn broke, the baby’s first cry could be heard, stark and sweet against the ugliness of the world. The Sibylline rocked in an exaggerated motion in the aftermath of the hurricane, but the wind no longer howled, and the rain fell in a gentle veil.
The wood across the salon door fell away as I walked outside, stepping over the pieces of debris, including dead pirates. A glassy sea of blue stretched to the horizon.
The pirates addr
essed me as Captain, most courteously, as they went about their duties, unfurling new canvases and getting the ship under way. I swept a hand, and all of the debris disappeared. The broken main mast stood whole once again. Midships, I stopped and admired myself in a polished brass dial, adjusting the buccaneer’s hat that sat upon my head at a most jaunty angle. My waistcoat had given way to a silken shirt of crimson. The shoes I wore had become boots of the finest and softest leather.
My crew was freshly bathed and shaven. The ship shone from top to bottom and appeared to be in pristine condition. It would be most appropriate to honor the late Captain Falkenburg in some manner. I tapped my fingers on the rail and thought. Perhaps I shall rechristen the ship the Flying Dutchman. I imagined that he did go flying out with the wind, whirling far away into the sea. Yes, a most excellent idea. I called back inside the salon.
“Doctor, we shall arrive in Seville on schedule.”
The newborn’s plaintive cries could be heard: life has been renewed. The game renewed also.
Is it possible they’ll name the baby after me? I must wait and see.
Some gestures should be natural, gifts of gratitude.
Or memory.
The Bloodflower
By MARTIN MEYERS
I
He was waiting to cross the street to the subway.
The truck rounded the corner.
It was a glazier’s truck with slanted racks on the outside to carry glass. This one carried a mirror on the side facing him.
Rusty saw Hope and a man in the mirror. They were both naked and bloody. It was an obscene tableau framed on one side by a black wolf and on the other by a behemoth, three-headed silver dog.
Rusty thought he recognized the man writhing on the ground. The animals, eager to pounce on the dying man, lapped at the dark, wet ground. Hope knelt beside him, licking the blood that dripped from her lips.
The man’s blood.
In the mirror Rusty saw the head of a snake-haired crone floating in midair.
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