Blackveil (25 page)

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Authors: Kristen Britain

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #fantasy, #Epic

BOOK: Blackveil
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Yap, however, did not vanish, but cleared his throat. “As long as I can remember, Cap’n Bonnet was gripped by the lure of sea king treasure. He’d listen to tales in every port about the fabulous stuff the sea kings had. Funny, but none of these tale tellers could show us any proof these stories were true, or tell us who might have a piece of treasure, but that didn’t stop the cap’n one bit. Oh no. Many was the time he’d pick out an island that might fit one of the stories, and he set us to digging, looking for treasure.
“Once we found something stuck in a beach. A gold torque with a dragon’s head. Not worth much when you spread its value around the crew, but it was enough to excite the cap’n and off we were again chasing some other old rumor. To be sure, we still took ships and their cargoes as any decent pirate must, otherwise the cap’n woulda had a mutiny on his hands for chasing ghosts and nothing to show for it.”
“How did rumor turn into treasure?”
“Why, it was a storm, sir. An autumn ripper as my old dad would have called it. We were in the Northern Sea and the storm was so bad it rammed us aground on a small island there. We spent weeks making repairs and poked about the island. That’s when we stumbled on the grave, sir. Well, that’d be Eardog who fell into it. He was always finding trouble, Eardog. Rigged wrong in the head if you take my meaning.” Yap thumped his forehead with his finger.
Amberhill had met Eardog, so he did take Yap’s meaning. “What was in the grave—besides the obvious, that is?”
“It wasn’t just any grave, sir. It was a cavern, a big one, with a whole, real ship in there. The entrance hole was big enough for a man, but not big enough to push a whole ship in. Makes me think they musta took the ship apart and carried it in, in pieces, and rebuilt it. A black ship with a dragon figurehead. That’s how they buried the king—in his ship with all his treasure. Aye, it was an amazing sight.” Yap paused, his gaze glassy as he remembered a scene long past.
“The old king, he was laid out on a byre on deck, he being nothing but bones covered in furs and rugs. And jewels. And all around him were chests of coins and more jewels. Weapons, too, and some other rubbish we didn’t care about—kettles of food and drink all long gone, or long gone bad. The treasure we loaded right quick into the hold of the
Mermaid.
”
“Your ship, I take it.”
“Aye, and bloated she was with our treasure when all was said and done.”
“And the ring?”
“Cap’n Bonnet took it right off the king’s bony finger. Saw him do it, too.”
Amberhill did not think it a good omen that the ring only seemed to come off the fingers of the dead. He suppressed a shudder and gazed at his ring anew, at how the ruby caught even the dimmest shreds of dawn leaking into the library.
“We mighta gotten away clean and good,” Yap said, “but for that ring.”
“How’s that?”
“Those islands, they were the dominion of witches I’m thinking. That’s what the stories say, anyway. And the one whose island we were on? She wasn’t too happy we took her treasure, and somehow she knew when the cap’n took the ring from the king. The air, it changed. Got thick. The wind keened with her voice, grief and anger in it. It was enough to skin ya. We ran back to the
Mermaid
right quick and pulled anchor. She tried to swamp us with huge waves, but Cap’n Bonnet, for all he was a bloody, murdering thief, he was a good seaman. When the storm settled, we laughed at our luck and cheered the cap’n’s prowess.
“And then ...” Yap squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered.
“Go on,” Amberhill encouraged in a quiet voice.
“You won’t believe it.”
“There is much in what you’ve already said that I
could
refuse to believe.”
“It’s true,” Yap said. “All of it.”
“I’m not disputing your words. I am simply stating that your story is of a rather incredible nature.” Amberhill had seen enough that was strange of late that he was not about to dismiss Yap’s tale. “Tell me what happened next.”
“You got drink, sir?”
Amberhill was quite sure he’d get nothing further from Yap without it, so he poured him some brandy. Likely Yap had never tasted anything so fine, unless he and his crew had stolen quality liquors off some ship and shared them out.
“None for yerself, sir?” Yap asked.
“It’s a little too early for me.”
Yap shrugged and threw the brandy down his throat as if it were some third-rate whiskey. Amberhill frowned, but said nothing for the drink appeared to bolster Yap’s courage to go on.
“We heard her voice, a mourning song for the old king it sounded like. Then she chanted the curse.”
“Who? What was the curse?”
“Why the witch, sir. Haven’t ya been listening? The curse, why that was a bunch of mumbo jumbo, though some of it we could understand. Something about being stuck in mist, out of time, no land to see until the bottle is broke.”
“Bottle?”
“Aye. Musta broke, cuz here I am. Why the ship ended up in a house, though, I can’t say.”
Then it resonated. Something Captain Bonnet had said about being “bottled up,” and then later, the Berry sisters mentioning that one of their father’s “things,” an arcane object, had broken, leading to a pirate ship emerging in their house.
“A ship in a bottle,” he murmured, and instantly he pictured one of those clever renderings craftsmen made to sell in shops. For many a sailor or shipwright it was winter’s work. But for a full size vessel to be bottled? He exhaled a long, deep breath. What he knew of the world had been deeply challenged since autumn. Best not to dwell on ships in bottles. Best just to accept the impossible and move forward.
“After the witch spoke the curse,” Yap continued, “the wind, it got real calm, too calm. It never picked up again. Never ever. We were dead becalmed, like the Listless Ways of the southern seas. But at least the Listless Ways will pick up now and again and ya can eventually find the trade winds. No trade winds here. We got all twitchy. Some thought mutiny. We’d soon run out of food and drink, and in time we did. It was somethin’ terrible. We had all that treasure, but we were stuck someplace where the stars made no sense. By day sea smoke hung on the horizon, surrounded us like a wall. We were trapped there on that patch of sea for a long, long time. It wasn’t regular, and only a curse would do that. Nope, that witch was not happy we stole from her island.”
“Do you remember,” Amberhill asked, “where the island was?”
“That was long ago, sir,” Yap said, “and I was no navigator, just a lowly hand. All I know is that it was in the Northern Sea archipelago.”
Which contained hundreds of isles.
“Do you think you’d recognize the island if you saw it again?”
“I dunno. Maybe. But ...” The pirate shuddered. “I’d never want to see it again. Curses and bad luck.”
“Hmm.”
At that moment, a flicker of golden light illuminated the library. Amberhill whirled to find his manservant, Brigham, standing in the doorway with a lamp in hand. Even in his sleeping clothes and robe, the man was impeccable.
“My lord? Is all well? I heard voices.” Then he sniffed and frowned with distaste, his gaze falling upon Yap. He blinked and his frown deepened.
“Good morning, Brigham,” Amberhill said. “All is well.”
“Then shall I rouse Mistress Landen to make breakfast for you and your ... companion?”
Amberhill glanced at Yap, and the additional light revealed just how squalid the pirate appeared in his rags, with dirt imbedded in pores and wrinkles, and what looked like seaweed tangled in his hair.
Something
tiny scurried beneath the snarled mats. Something with little claws and antennae.
“First I should like Mister Yap to have a very thorough scouring in a hot bath. We’ll burn his clothes and in the meantime he can don one of my robes.”
Brigham, whom he’d known only to be efficient and unflappable, looked more than mildly horrified at the prospect of bathing Yap. Then he squared his shoulders. “Very well, my lord. As you wish. I shall heat up water for a bath.”
“Good, and a basin for me, as well,” Amberhill said. It would be a relief to wash the remnant gore of Keeler from his hands.
Brigham nodded, turned on his heel, and left the room, taking his light with him.
“What’s that ya said about a bath, sir?” Yap asked, a note of anxiety in his voice.
“You are going to take one.”
Even in the dim light, Amberhill could make out the mortified expression on Yap’s face. “B-but I gave ya the story. You said it would be worth my while.”
“And it will be. After your bath. I do not conduct business or eat breakfast with anyone who has not bathed in months.”
“Years,”
Yap corrected, with no small amount of pride.
“Indeed,” Amberhill replied. He’d have to give Brigham a bonus when he was through with Yap. He wondered how much of the pirate would remain after the grime was scrubbed away.
In any case, he did not think his business with Yap would be concluded even after the pirate bathed and ate a hearty breakfast.
No, he did not. He had plans.
CANDLESTICKS
A
mberhill rummaged through Morry’s wardrobe looking for anything that might fit Yap. He’d not had the heart to go through Morry’s things. Even now, it caught in his throat when he saw a familiar frock coat and remembered Morry in it, or a favorite waistcoat or shirt, and felt the texture of velvet, wool, and tweed, with a remnant of the musky scent of the old gentleman still hanging in the air.
I should give all this away to people who can use it,
Amberhill thought, but every time he considered doing so, the idea hit resistance. He felt as if giving away Morry’s clothing was like losing a piece of the man who had been like a father to him. It was difficult enough to think of clothing Yap in it.
So he focused on pieces that might simply fit the pirate. Trouble was, Morry had been trim throughout his life, and Yap was rather round.
He withdrew a pair of trousers that might do. A pair that might be worn at a country gentleman’s hunting estate. They were looser in style than the others, though it would still be a close thing as to whether or not they fit. He found a hearty broadcloth shirt, too, and a waistcoat to match the trousers. Finally, Amberhill took out an old gray cloak that was voluminous enough to fit Yap.
As he removed the items from the wardrobe and placed them on Morry’s old bed, Brigham appeared in the doorway. The sun was well up, and in the light that flowed into the room, he saw how wan his manservant appeared. He looked as though he wanted to be ill. He stood there in his shirt sleeves and apron, with a scrub brush in one hand and something else in the other.
“You are done with Mister Yap’s bath?” Amberhill asked.
Brigham nodded. “My lord, it was most unspeakable. The filth!” He shuddered. “I took this from his hair. Among other things.” He exhibited a hermit crab, antennae twitching, on his palm—it still had some of Yap’s gray hairs clinging to it. “The tub, when we finished—no! I cannot speak of it.”
Brigham paled so much Amberhill feared he might faint. “Where is Mister Yap now?”
“At breakfast.”
“You’ve done well,” Amberhill said. “Take the rest of the day for yourself.”
Brigham whimpered and now Amberhill thought he might cry. “Thank you, my lord.” With that, Brigham turned slowly away, as though dazed, and walked down the corridor with his scrub brush and hermit crab. Amberhill hoped he wouldn’t have to find another new manservant after this.
After pulling out pairs of stockings and shoes that might fit Yap, he went downstairs to the dining room. It took moments for him to realize that the man he observed sitting there sawing into a ham steak was the same man he’d brought home. Gone was Yap’s straggly, matted hair. It was cropped close to his scalp, and gleamed more white than gray. Without the dirt and rags, and freshly shaved, wearing one of Amberhill’s old bathing robes, he appeared more a gentleman than a pirate sitting there amid the oak paneling of the dining room.

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