Goblin Moon (39 page)

At length his mind cleared and his senses returned to
him. His appetite revived and with it came a raging thirst. As the
days passed, the water they gave him began to taste bad. And when
he wanted to eat a piece of the ship’s biscuit, he had to tap it
against one of the beams to encourage the black-headed weevil
maggots to crawl out.

Sometimes, he felt strong enough to speak to the
sailor who brought him his meals and emptied his chamber pot. It
was rarely the same man; two or three times it was the cabin boy, a
skinny, toothless lad, slightly more garrulous than his mates, who
told Skelbrooke about the other prisoners on board: two girls from
the country, very young, very pretty, and exceedingly frightened.
They were locked in a cabin up above, where the captain could keep
an eye on them and prevent the men from molesting them. “Though why
we shouldn’t have our chance at ‘em before the black men gets ‘em .
. . it don’t seem right to me,” said the boy.

“Merchandise,” said Skelbrooke wearily. “The ladies
are valuable merchandise, but you, my lad, are nothing. If it is
any comfort to you, those poor girls would undoubtedly prefer to be
in your place now, rather than their own.”

The boy grinned toothlessly. “Guess
you’d
like to trade places, right enough. I may be
nothing now, yet I’ll grow to be a man. But you—“

“As you say,” said Skelbrooke, leaning back on his
bed of straw and closing his eyes.

It was the cabin boy, too, who told him the name of
the ship. She was a small bark, the
Black
Bear,
and the captain was Troilus Diamond. “A hard man, the
Captain,” said the boy, and Skelbrooke believed him. The youth was
emaciated and bore marks of ill treatment: bruises and cuts and
scars. He also dropped mysterious hints as to the fates of his
predecessors.

His lordship had better hopes of the First Mate, a
quiet man who had come in to speak with him once. His name was
Kassien, formerly an honest trader and the captain of his own sloop
(said the cabin boy), fallen on hard times due to an overfondness
for the bottle and the machinations of enemies in “high places.”
Mr. Kassien, Skelbrooke decided, was a man to whose principles he
might possibly appeal—supposing he could find a way to make it
worth the Mate’s while to act on them.

It was on this Mr. Kassien’s authority that
Skelbrooke finaIIy left the hold, escorted by two sailors. His
boots and his stockings had not been returned to him, but another
pair of boots, split at the toes and much too large, were provided.
As his left foot was still bandaged, he donned only the right boot
and rose shakily to his feet. The ceiling was low, not more than
five feet under the beams, so he bent his head as he limped toward
the ladder. He went up through the crew’s quarters on the lower
deck, past hammocks and sea-chests, and a group of sailors gambling
by lanthorn light. He climbed a steep staircase and finally emerged
into the sunlight and salt air.

For the first time—after how many days or weeks?—he
was introduced to the Captain. Troilus Diamond glanced over him
briefly. Skelbrooke had an idea that his appearance was not
prepossessing; he was dirty and unkempt, he stank like a horse, and
he still wore the costume he had affected in the persona of Captain
Melville, expensive but somewhat gaudy: a blue coat and a crimson
waistcoat, and a pair of striped trousers, all very wrinkled.
Perhaps the bright colors served to enhance his pallor. “You look a
mite peaky. Don’t know if you’re worth your keep. Even gelded,
you’re not like to fetch much.”

“The crewmen who brought him in assure me that he is
considerably stronger than he appears,” said Mr. Kassien. “And in
any case, Jagst made it quite clear that he expects this man to be
delivered to his eastern clients exactly as arranged.”

The Captain, after a little more thought, agreed that
a healthful turn around the deck, every day or two, was probably in
order.

Skelbrooke limped over to the rail and gazed out
across the water. There was no land in sight, but this was scarcely
surprising. A ship carrying contraband, a ship that did not wish to
make contact with official vessels, would not hug the
coastline.

He left the rail and sat down on a barrel by the
mainmast. Captain Diamond, grinning broadly, reached into his
waistcoat and withdrew a pocket watch: a very pretty affair, shaped
like an egg and covered with a shell of painted white porcelain.
Skelbrooke recognized it as his own. The Captain flipped open the
lid and glanced at the watch face. “Real pretty, ain’t it?” he said
archly.

“Indeed,” said Skelbrooke. “But if you will listen to
a word of advice, the mechanism is rather delicate. You might wish
to handle it with extreme care.”

Captain Diamond snapped the watch shut and thrust it
back into his pocket. Skelbrooke opened his mouth to warn him. This
watch had been especially designed; it had a hidden chamber in the
upper half, which contained an explosive based on picric acid,
many, many times more powerful than gunpowder; there was also a
percussive device, to detonate the charge.

But then he changed his mind. So long as the device
had not been set, it would take more than a bump to cause an
explosion. And though the day must certainly come when some
careless action on the part of Captain Diamond caused the charge to
go off, it seemed unlikely that Skelbrooke himself would be on hand
to share the consequences. That being so, there was really no
reason for him to speak.

His lordship leaned back against the mast, closed his
eyes, and contemplated, with great satisfaction, the Captain’s
explosive demise.

It was the cold hour before dawn. In Jenk’s
laboratory behind the bookshop, the two old men were nearing the
limits of their strength after a long, sleepless night spent in
fruitless experimentation.

The appearance of the laboratory had changed during
the last several weeks; indeed it had become quite cluttered, for
Jenk had been spending heavily to acquire new equipment. There was
a second and more elaborate still, a number of vats in graduated
sizes, a new set of scales with precisely measured brass weights,
and all manner of funnels, flasks, tongs, irons, and crucibles
recently purchased. Yet Jenk was no closer to compounding the Stone
than he had been two seasons past.

The bookseller sighed and seated himself on one of
the stools. He was keenly aware of his years, of late. He felt old
and heavy and bent, weighed down by disappointment. The fact he was
exhausted almost to the point of illness did nothing to lighten the
load.

“Our funds are dwindling,” he said. “Soon, the Duke’s
gold will all be spent. The Duke’s gold . . . and all my
savings.”

“Write another letter, asking for more,” said Caleb,
who was busy stoking the furnace. “Seems to me that’s simple
enough.”

But Jenk shook his head. “If I were to write and beg
the Duke’s indulgence, he would insist that we receive his man and
allow him to observe Eirena. That I am not prepared to do. I must
confess that I am disappointed with her lack of progress.”

Caleb slammed the door of the furnace shut. “Lack of
progress? How do you mean her lack of
progress!”
he asked indignantly. “Don’t she dress
herself, and feed herself, and tend to her own private needs? Don’t
she walk about as easy and natural as you and I? And ain’t she
entertained us, time and again, with all her pretty little gestures
and her dainty little ways?”

“Yes, yes,” said Jenk, beginning to fuss impatiently
with the equipment on the table. “In some areas her progress has
been amazing. A natural child of the same age could not do any of
the things that you mention. But it is all mimicry. She has only to
see a thing done once or twice, in order to copy it exactly. It is
the
quality
of her intelligence that I
question. She does nothing that an ape or a hobgoblin could not do
fully as well—given the time for proper training—and still she
refuses to speak.

“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.