The Fiddler's Gun

by A. S. Peterson

  They wandered up the street and found a theatre with doors open and a herald announcing the eminent commencement of the latest play by a local playwright, something dubiously hailed as Petticoats and Corn. Fin hadn’t seen anything of the sort before. She grabbed Knut by a peach-ladened arm and dragged him toward the door.

  “Captain Button!” called a thick voice from up the street.

  “Will you stop that?” Fin said and rolled her eyes at the title. Topper walked toward them swatting at his shirt as if he’d just discovered it was dirty. Small puffs of dust billowed away from him with each swat.

  “Fin, there’s a boxing ring, and listen here, these boys fighting, they got nary a knuckle to match the way I seen you throw them fists of yours. Come down yonder with me and pick a fight with a few of them old boys. We can lay down our money and collect gold on the dollar when you put ’em in the dirt! What do you say, Captain?” He grinned at her and rubbed his hands together as if he could already feel the money rolling in.

  “I don’t think so, Topper. I’m not in the mood to get my head knocked in—”

  “Come on, Fin. You can wallop these boys in no time, not even break a sweat.”

  The herald at the door of the theatre gave one last call for seating.

  “Maybe later. We’re going to see a play.” Topper’s face drooped. “Hey, why don’t you come with us? Might be good for you,” she offered. Topper raised his eyebrows and looked up at the building, then looked down at the playbill and scratched his ear in consideration.

  “A play, huh? Nah, you go on. I can’t read anyhow.” He looked disappointed and walked off in the direction he’d come from. Fin opened her mouth thinking to tell him that watching a play didn’t require that one know how to read but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. She grabbed Knut and pulled him through the door behind her.

  A snobbish usher with greasy hair escorted them to their seats and retreated with his nose in the air just as the curtain rose. The stage was set like a cornfield, and a woman in a preposterous yellow dress with half a dozen hoops and acres of petticoats was skipping through the rows and swinging a picnic basket. When she finally came to a stop and set down her basket, she bemoaned her lack of a desirable suitor and was then captured by a man dressed as an Indian who tried very hard but failed to be menacing. Despite the great promise shown by the opening scene, the dark theatre and far away voices put Fin directly to sleep.

  She awoke to find Knut poking her in the shoulder and calling her name. Fin rubbed her eyes and felt a rush of irritation that she’d slept through the play. Then she turned her mind to wondering who the man standing beside her with crossed arms might be. It turned out to be the snobbish, greasy-haired usher, and he was overtly vocal about the theatre’s policy on sleeping, not to mention snoring, during the performance. Fin also noticed that he seemed to quite despise anyone looking suspiciously vagrant; this qualified him in Fin’s regard as someone to be quite despised himself. He attempted to grab her arm to escort her out of the building, and she shook him off with a grumbled curse and explained that had the play been worth anything at all she’d not have been sleeping through it. She exited the theater with a satisfied sniff wondering what the play had been about in the first place. She remembered none of it.

  Fin picked a peach from one of Knut’s pockets and devoured it as she stomped off down the street in search of the boxing ring. Being kicked out of the playhouse had her worked into a furor, and she was ready to go blows with someone. If she could make some money doing it, then so much the better.

  There was a small multitude gathered around a roped-off corral where two unshirted men stood sweating in opposing corners. The cheers from the crowd, however, were not of delight. Someone was interrupting the boxing, and the onlookers were none too happy over the delay. Standing upon a box opposite Fin was a white-haired man dressed in black—the apparent focus of all the unrest. Fin pushed closer to discover what the disturbance was about.

  “Oy, Fin!” Topper called through the din. He was supporting Tan as he limped out of the crowd. Tan’s face was bloodied and bruised, and if Topper had let him be he’d have fallen over in a heap. “You’re too late, Fin,” grumbled Topper. “Tan put himself in the ring and the other fella put him right back out. Lost the last dollar in my pocket, and the parson aims to break up the fun a’fore Tan even has himself a chance to win it back. If anyone else is like to get boxed, it’s gonna be that preacher.”

  Topper turned away and half-carried Tan down the street while Fin pushed closer to the ring.

  “Throw him in the ring, I says!” shouted a man from the crowd.

  “Aye, let’s see him turn his other cheek!” called another. As she got closer, she was able to separate the parson’s voice from the shouts of the angry crowd.

  “Turn every one of you from your evil course. Amend your ways. So says the Lord. But men, they say: ‘We will live as we choose, and follow, every one of us our own evil, stubborn minds!’ And the Lord declares: ‘I know your countless crimes. There will be wailing in all the streets and cries of anguish in every public square when I pass through your midst.’”

  The crowd hurled jeers at the parson from all directions, but he would neither flinch nor cease nor speak with anger. He reminded Fin of Hilde and how so often she’d towered over her, and waggled her nose about Fin’s fighting with the boys. Fin had rolled her eyes then and all but sworn hate for Hilde in times since, but now she felt a pang of shame that she’d treated her with such disrespect, and was ashamed now that she stood doing nothing to stop the mob from abusing the parson.

  Tan had roused and shaken himself away from Topper to come wobbling back toward the ring. The crowd parted and cheered him on. He was clearly in no state to be fighting, though, and Fin intercepted him. She detoured him safely back out of the crowd and away from the boxing ring despite his protests. When they got to the corner, Tan had regained some of his senses and suggested they cure themselves of the parson’s sermon by finding a tavern to drain. Fin agreed with a glance back at the parson and then set out with Knut and Tan to secure a table at the nearest establishment and exorcize whatever local spirits might haunt the place.

  The tavern they happened upon was the Merry Barrel and Sconce. The shingle over the door depicted a barrel of rum overlit by a candled sconce—though neither appeared terribly merry. It seemed rather a nice outfit, set a few blocks landward of the waterfront. If nothing else, it stank less than the surrounding buildings. Fin ventured to think it might be cleaner as well, but in the torchlight of the evening, she couldn’t be certain. At the very least, they found the haunt to be full of all manner of spirits, from Kentucky whiskey to Spanish rum, and no sooner had they knocked back the first round than Tan erupted in an awfully bad sailor’s song, and the entire room joined him while Fin sipped her cup in quiet delight. Knut studied the end of his nose, pressing on it now and again as if to test its solidity.

  Hours later, after Tan had led the establishment in more choral derangements than Fin was wont to count, Jack stepped through the door and looked over the room. He spotted Fin and dropped into the seat opposite her.

  “Seen Tan?” he asked. Fin laughed and kicked at something under the table. A drunken moan answered, and Jack leaned back to look beneath the table. There lay Tan in a happy ale-induced slumber, looking as peaceful as a babe in a cradle. Jack rolled his eyes in irritation and turned back to Fin. He noted Knut’s presence with a grunt.

  “We got a problem,” he said quietly.

  Fin set down her mug and leaned in. “What sort?”

  “I just come from the dock master’s office. They keep a list up of known pirate ships so’s they can seize ’em if they sees ’em—reward money and what all.”

  “What’s that got to do with us?”

  “Sitting right on top of the list is the ’Snake,” Jack said with a nervous look around.

  “We’re not pirates!” Certainly, the British Navy had bounties out for them, but those would
carry no weight in a port held by the Continentals.

  Jack wrinkled his brow at her and shook his head.

  “The list says, ‘Rattlesnake: Crew wanted for Mutiny and Piracy.’” Fin felt the blood drain out of her face. “He’s alive. Don’t know how, but the bastard’s alive and he’s turned us in for pirates. The ’Snake will be wanted in every lawful port on both sides of the Atlantic. Pass the word to any of the boys you see to get back to the ’Snake quick as they can and without making a fuss. We’ll slip out just as soft as we slipped in.”

  Fin nodded.

  “I’m going to track down the rest of the boys. Get Tan to the docks. I got a boat waiting to ferry us out to the ’Snake. Keep quiet and keep your wits. I’ll see you there.”

  Jack stood up, kicked Tan once, and shook his head at the answering groan as he walked out the door.

  Fin and Knut spent the next twenty minutes trying to goad Tan back into the world of sobriety. He moaned and snored and protested until, finally, they’d kicked, yelled, and slapped at him enough and he managed to find his feet. With a little help from Knut, he staggered out of the Merry Barrel and Sconce.

  The evening had grown full into night, and the dimly lit streets provided them cover enough that Fin’s fears were hidden in the darkness. The closer they got to the docks, the more a feeling of rising anxiety grew. Images of dead pirates loomed out at her from alleyways and shadows. More than once, Tan, in his state, would take to shouting at some threatening shadow or just as often laugh at a merry one, and Fin felt sure his noise would give them away to some official stalking them in the darkness. Only a few hours ago, they’d been about town without a worry in the world and no one had known them. But now, with the threat of the law looming over her, she felt that hidden eyes were spying on them every step of the way. When they chanced to meet strangers along the street, Fin bowed her head and held her breath. They were looking at her suspiciously. Surely they knew her. Ridiculous, she reminded herself and forced her eyes up to meet the passersby, smiling a polite hello.

  “Ho there!” shouted a voice from the dark. Fin’s face went cold. Out of the shadows trotted Topper and she breathed a sigh of relief. What she thought were shadows cloaking his face revealed themselves, upon closer inspection, to be patches of dirt.

  “You scared me half out of my wits, Topper!” she whispered.

  “You talk to Jack?”

  “Aye, we’re headed for the docks. You seen the rest of the crew?”

  “Yeah, I pointed Jack to ’em, they’ll be along. Never thought I’d find myself running from a pirate’s bounty, I tell you.” He winced that he’d spoken so loudly and looked around to see if anyone had heard. Satisfied they were still alone, he lowered his voice and continued, “I don’t deserve this Fin, never did naught but honest sailorin’, and damn the blood in Creache’s veins if his treachery swings me on a gallows’ pole.”

  In silent haste, they made their way to the docks. When they arrived, they found others of the crew waiting on them in the shadows. Few spoke, but the subject at hand was heavy in their midst. Knut was quiet as ever but clearly addled by the tense atmosphere. He nervously hopped from one foot to the other.

  A rowboat emerged from the darkness and slipped up beside the dock. Art Thomasson sat inside and guided it toward them. When the boat bumped along the dock, he threw a rope up to Topper and motioned them to come aboard. Topper flipped a coin to Art and proclaimed the dockside service to be a travesty. Art rolled his eyes as he caught the mock tip. Fin felt a cold chill rattle down her spine. The boatman was paid, and they pushed off into the dark.

  “What about Jack and the rest?” she asked.

  “He’ll be along,” said Art. “Soon as you’re aboard, I’ll head back for the others.”

  Fin turned away from the dim city and looked out at the darkness of the bay, straining her eyes for the first glimpse of the Rattlesnake. Apart from the shore and yet distant from the ship, they floated in a hinterland of shadow and nothingness as if light and earth had been swallowed away. Only the lap of the waves and the splash of the oars gave any assurance that they were still in the corporeal world. The darkness made Fin dizzy. Her mind groped for up and down, for direction, but found only uncertainty in the cloak of night.

  At last, against the black sky, a dark hole appeared in the stars: the silhouette of the ship. They were nearly there. The great shadow grew as they approached it, and when they were within a few strokes of the oar, a lantern flickered to life. Art brought the boat along the side and they climbed up.

  As Fin clambered onto the deck, she heard a heavy thump against the hull. At first, she thought it was the rowboat, but when the knock came again it felt too heavy for the small craft. It sounded like a larger boat, like the sound the Rattlesnake made when it pulled up alongside another ship. The sound came again and she was certain it wasn’t the rowboat. She ran across the deck to the starboard side and there, tethered to the railing, was a small frigate, bumping gently against the Rattlesnake.

  A shout rang out behind her. She turned and her stomach dropped. Coming from every hatchway on the ship were British soldiers. It was a trap. Swords flashed and muskets came to bear. The crew, drunken and unawares, scarcely put up a fight. Fin ran for the captain’s cabin to fetch her sword and Betsy. Several soldiers started after her, but she danced around them. When she reached the cabin door it swung open before she could touch it. She took a step backward. Out of the shadows within stepped a tall figure with curly, white hair and murderous eyes. The man’s hand held a wrinkled parchment—her map.

  “It seems your lies are boundless, Miss Button,” he said as he flourished the map in his hand. It was Tiberius Creache. He was sneering.

  “You bastard,” she seethed.

  “Indeed. But save your insults and your breath. I daresay you’ll require both when the British have you. And I’ll be certain to enjoy the thought as I spend the bounty for your capture.” He motioned to a group of soldiers, and they came forward and seized her. Fin fought against them and received only bruises and ill treatment for her trouble. They clapped chains about her wrists and ankles and kicked her to the ground. Creache stood over her smiling.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Button, you’ll have that beastly Mr. Wagon to keep you company in hell just as soon as they stretch his mutinous neck. I expect Mr. Thomasson will be bringing him to me shortly.” Fin cursed under her breath. Art had betrayed them. “So refreshing to find good sailors these days. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll be clearing the deck to await the next catch.” He turned away and addressed a British officer, “She’s all yours. Get her out of my sight.”

  As the soldiers dragged her across the deck by her chains, she cried out once, hoping to warn Jack, praying he’d be within earshot. A soldier brought his boot down on the back of her head and the world went dark.

  CHAPTER XX

  Fin stirred to the sound of guttural voices.

  “Let’s have a look at her!”

  Her head throbbed with pain, and the voices stabbed into her mind like needles. She drew in a sharp breath and nearly gagged. The air was thick and foul; it smelled of a mouldy bilge. Water sloshed across the floor, ankle-deep and choked with filth.

  At least a half dozen men surrounded her. They were scarred, filthy, and in various states of hairy nakedness. The whites of their eyes bulged out at her in the gloom of a single lantern. Only their capacity for language betrayed that they were men at all. Had Fin not heard them speak, she’d have taken them for the apes of an African menagerie.

  “Move out, ye dog. We wants a better sniff of her.”

  “You’d bloody well better move back, mate. Come a shuffle closer and you’ll rue it.” Tan’s voice. She turned her head and looked up. He was standing over her, light on his feet, fists out.

  “Boy, ye don’t understand. This the rotten belly of the British Empire, the stinking hell where good sailors go to suffer.” He paused and grinned. “Well maybe not good sailors, mind ye, but goo
d enough for me, says I. We been here, you ain’t; forgot how long, forgot how come, but this is our world, boy. You’re in it, and we’ll eat ye as soon as beat ye.”

  The pack of wretched men snarled and whooped and bared their teeth.

  “I says move out so’s we can get a little taste of your lass, and you’ll do it if you know what’s good fer.”

  Tan didn’t budge.

  “If’n you’re worried we’ll have all our fun with the lass, then don’t ye mind. We’ll be having our fun with ye as well.” The man let out a sickening laugh and the faces around him broke into unwholesome smiles.

  Tan looked down at Fin as she stirred. “Morning, Fin. Might have us a ruckus here. Hope you got your robber-knockers running.”

  Fin climbed to her feet. She heard a whimper and peered through the dim light to see Knut huddled against the wall hugging his knees. Bruises or dirt covered most of him; she couldn’t tell which and would be surprised at neither. Next to Knut lay Topper in an unconscious heap.

  “Oh looky, she’s up and about,” chattered a filthy man, naked to the waist. Fin grimaced in disgust.

  “Where are we?” Fin asked as she appraised the room. It was obviously a ship, but no respectable seagoing vessel would allow such filth and disrepair. The wood all around, from floor to ceiling, was rotten and ridden with wormholes. The black, slimy water sloshing about the room was full of a filth Fin didn’t care to consider. She was amazed that the ship was even afloat in its state. Men lay all around the room, some living, some apparently dead, some quickly becoming so by the look of them. A few were shackled to the bulkhead, and most had a cannonball chained to one ankle. At the far end of the room, a small stair led up to an iron door. The doorframe was the only wood in the room not decayed to the point of falling apart.