PEARLS AND BONES
Amberhill maintained his vigil into the early
morning, listening as the city bells struck the hours. Patrons of
the Cock and Hen came and went in varying degrees of drunkenness.
He yawned, thinking he’d misheard the rumors and that maybe he’d do
better to call it a night and go to bed, but just then two men
staggered up the street toward the inn.
They were lumpy
forms beneath the light of streetlamps, and Amberhill’s nostrils
flared much like his stallion’s when he caught a disagreeable scent
on the air. The stench of rotten fish, pickled livers, and years of
unwashed grime. It was familiar. Very familiar.
The two reeled back
and forth, arm in arm, as though on board a ship on a rolling sea.
They sang, if it could be called such, their words slurred and
their rough voices off-key. They were bound for the Cock and Hen
and Amberhill wondered if even that establishment would welcome
these two into its premises.
He did not have to
see them up close to know he had not killed all of Captain Bonnet’s
pirates that fall morning in a clearing of the Green Cloak Forest.
The rumors told how these two tottered from tavern to tavern each
night drinking, alledgedly, gallons of rum and ale, and how they
attempted to go whoring, but how no woman would have them. Seldom
did pirates find their way this far inland, and the particular
vileness of the duo—not to mention their ragged clothing and bare
feet—left Amberhill in little doubt of who they were.
He was drawn to them
like an ant to honey. He had questions ...
He stepped from the
shadows and strode into their path before they reached the inn’s
door. They staggered to a halt, one still singing in wretched
strains until his companion jabbed him in the ribs.
“Whaaa?” the singer
asked. He was short and round. The dim light from the inn glanced
off the cracked lenses of his specs.
“Someone in our
way,” the other replied. This one was tall and skinny and carried,
Amberhill noted, a cutlass on his hip.
“What does he want?”
the singer asked.
“Dunno.”
“I want to know,”
Amberhill said quietly, “if you recognize this.” He held his hand
before him so they could see the dragon ring. The ruby caught in a
glimmer of light and turned to red fire on his finger. The two
pirates stilled.
“That’s Cap’n
Bonnet’s,” tall and skinny said.
“That means ...”
short and round began. Both gazed at Amberhill. “The cap’n. Where
is he? We got separated in them woods.”
“Dead,” Amberhill
said. “Very dead. As is the crew with him.”
The two pirates
glanced at one another with wide eyes. Then, “You kilt them!” tall
and skinny cried.
“I had little choice
at the time. It was me or—”
But the pirate did
not want to hear an explanation. He whipped out his
cutlass.
“No,” Amberhill
said, “I have questions!”
The other pirate
caught at his companion’s arm. “Don’t!”
“Git off, Yap! Lemme
kill ’im!” He shook free of the other’s grasp and swung his cutlass
at Amberhill.
Amberhill danced
away. This was ridiculous. The pirate was so drunk he could hardly
walk much less engage in combat. His companion, Yap, moved out of
range of the flailing cutlass and pressed his back against the wall
of the inn.
“I just want to—”
Amberhill began, but he needed to duck as the cutlass scythed for
his neck. The momentum made the pirate spin all the way around
before coming to a staggering halt. Amberhill thought he could hear
the rum sloshing in the pirate’s gut.
“I’ll flay yer skin
and wear it as a shirt,” the pirate declared. “I’ll ...” He
stumbled and wove about the street. “I’ll ...” He swayed one way,
then the other, as if unable to control his feet. He swung the
cutlass like a blind man and it flew from his grip through the air
and clattered onto the street somewhere in the dark.
“Oops,” the pirate
said.
He started to run
after it, but his toes caught on a loose cobblestone and he tripped
and fell hard, his head striking a hitching post with a crack and
snap as he went down. After he hit the street, he did not
move.
“Keeler!” Yap cried,
and he raced to his companion’s side.
Amberhill joined him
and immediately saw that the pirate had not only gashed his head
open, but had broken his neck as well. Already the reek of decay
drifted up from the pirate’s body and Amberhill grimaced. Like the
other pirates he had slain, Keeler’s corpse decomposed rapidly
before him, flesh sinking into ribs, his face turning into a
grinning skull.
Amberhill drew his
parrying knife and cut away the pirate’s shirt.
“What are ya doing?”
Yap demanded, balling his fists.
“Checking for
treasure,” Amberhill replied.
Yap backed away.
Evidently he knew to what treasure Amberhill referred.
Amberhill turned
back to the corpse, feeling like a grave robber preparing to
practice his skills. That was another rumor he heard in the night,
of menders paying fees to grave robbers to bring fresh corpses to
them so they might cut open the bodies and learn what they could of
their inner workings. But this was no fresh corpse. He pulled out a
handkerchief, covered his nose and mouth, cut into the
parchmentlike skin of the pirate, and peeled it away from the
bones.
Amid the gore within
were glints of gold, and globules he at first took to be the eggs
of some creature. Some parasite? He nudged one with the tip of his
knife, then dug it out. He held it pinched between thumb and index
finger to better see it in the lamplight.
Yap had overcome his
fear or revulsion or whatever to peer at what Amberhill had found.
Amberhill wondered briefly why the fellow did not simply run off.
Curiosity? It appeared he did not perceive Amberhill as a threat,
and why should he when Amberhill hadn’t even drawn his rapier to
defend himself against the drunken Keeler? Nor did he detect any
great sense of loyalty in Yap for his dead friend.
Something rumbled in
the pirate’s chest. “Keeler was fond of oysters,” he
said.
Amberhill smiled.
The globule was a pearl. There were many inside Keeler. He dropped
the one into the cavity he’d created, stood, and swept off his
cloak. He laid it flat on the street beside the corpse. “Help me,
will you?” he asked Yap.
When the pirate saw
what he was about, he helped transfer Keeler’s remains onto the
cloak—not that Keeler had much bulk left to him anymore. Amberhill
folded the cloak to help conceal the corpse, then took up the head
end. Yap, catching on, took the feet.
“Where we taking
him?” Yap inquired.
“Where all bones
must go.”
Amberhill felt even
more like a grave robber as he and Yap stole through Sacor City’s
deepest shadows with their burden between them. They might find
concealment in the dark, but, unfortunately, little could be done
about the stench. Fortunately, most citizens were abed at this
hour. Just so long as they didn’t run into a constable
...
Yap kept up as best
he could, his breathing harsh and his bare feet slapping the
cobbles of the street behind Amberhill. His steps were sometimes
clumsy, but he asked no questions, did not try to murder Amberhill,
did not run off.
Fortunately,
Amberhill’s destination was not terribly far. It was a small,
unkempt cemetery off Egg Street—one of many tiny cemeteries located
throughout the city. Because space was limited, it was common
practice in Sacor City to bury the dead for a time, then remove
their bones to an ossuary. Some wealthy citizens had permanent
graves or mausoleums, but ordinary citizens usually accepted the
community ossuary as their final resting place. Some were so packed
with bones that they had to be closed, and the remains therein
moved elsewhere.
The gate to the
cemetery off Egg Street was broken, hanging from one hinge only.
Amberhill and Yap slipped in with their burden. Among the weeds
were wooden markers protruding at irregular angles. They followed a
worn path toward the back corner of the cemetery where the stone
vault that served as the ossuary stood. It did not take much to
break the lock. The door groaned inward, and the building exhaled a
fetid, musty breath. It was actually preferable to the stench
Amberhill had been carrying in his cloak.
“What,” he asked
Yap, “do you suppose is the opposite of a grave
robber?”
Yap scratched his
head. “A grave returner?”
Amberhill did not
enter the vault, but stood in the doorway and pitched Keeler’s
bones inside, crumbs of flesh falling from them. As undignified as
his treatment of the bones might be, it was probably better than
Keeler deserved. Yap certainly made no protest.
When he finished, he
brushed his hands off, then closed the door to the vault. He
gathered up his cloak, carefully folding into it whatever tiny bits
remained of Keeler and the treasure that had been contained in the
pirate’s corpse.
“What now?” Yap
asked.
The moon was setting
and daybreak would soon be upon them. It was time to return
home.
“I have questions,”
Amberhill said. “Will you come with me someplace where we can talk?
Voluntarily?”
A look of
astonishment overtook Yap’s face. “Voluntarily ...” he murmured, as
though the concept had never occurred to him. “Aye. I think I
should like to.”
By the time they
reached the noble quarter and Amberhill’s house, birds were awake
and chattering in the trees. Dawn was shifting the world from night
to morning dusk.
Again, Yap had
followed without asking questions and seemed to absorb his
surroundings with interest. Amberhill led him to the back of the
house and stashed his bundled cloak beneath a shrub bordering the
foundation. The groundskeeper was not due today, and it was well
concealed, so it ought to be safe for the time being.
He opened a window
he kept well greased for his stealthy comings and goings and jumped
up onto the sill and swung his legs inside.
“So,” Yap said from
outside, “are we robbing the house, or returning
something?”
Amberhill smiled,
pleased the pirate had a sense of humor. “What was here is mostly
gone, and all of it mine.” He could’ve entered through the front
door, but old habits died hard. He preferred no one espied his late
night entrances and exits, regardless. He supposed he could use the
back entrance, but where was the fun in that?
He assisted Yap
through the window, pulling on rough, cracked hands. The rotund
pirate scrabbled frantically over the windowsill and pretty much
rolled into the house, landing on the floor with a hefty thump.
Vacant as the room was of many of its original furnishings and
objects, the noise seemed excruciatingly loud to Amberhill’s ears
and he hoped it did not awaken any of his servants.
Yap clambered to his
feet and glanced warily around in the dim light of the library. The
shelves were mostly empty. There were a few chests and packing
crates on the floor.
“Have a seat,”
Amberhill said, indicating one of the few remaining
chairs.
Yap did so
tentatively at first, but then with an expression of delight, he
allowed himself to sink into the plush upholstery, exhaling with
contentment. Amberhill hoped the stink of pirate would not adhere
to the fabric.
He remained standing
with arms folded and regarded his guest, but could discern nothing
beyond his rags, stubbled cheeks, and straggly gray
hair.
“You must be very
rich, sir,” Yap said.
“More so than many,”
Amberhill replied, “with the help of pirate treasure.” If his words
had any effect on Yap, he could not see it in the pale dawn light.
“What can you tell me about the dragon ring?”
“Is that what ya
brought me here for, sir?”
“I said I had
questions.”
“What if I don’t
have answers.”
“I shall send you on
your way.”
Yap gasped. “Ya
won’t kill me then? Not even for ... not even for ...” He patted
his chest to indicate the treasure within.
“Only if you give me
cause shall I kill you.”
Silence fell as Yap
considered his words. “That is fair spoken. And if my answers
please ya? I have no ship no more. Old Yap’s nowhere to
go.”
Amberhill was not
surprised Yap angled for some small reward. He was, after all,
first and foremost a pirate.
“I am sure I can
make it worth your while. If your
information is good.”
Yap took another
moment to consider his words, then said, “Fair. I will tell ya what
I know of the ring. It starts with the sea kings.”