YAP’S STORY
The light in the library turned gray with the rising
sun. Yap looked like a figure of pewter as he sat unmoving in the
armchair. Would he vanish in a puff of light when full morning
broke? The pirates were not entirely mundane, and whether it was
the influence of some outside force that made them so, or an innate
quality of the pirates themselves, Amberhill did not know. He had
only to consider the treasure he’d collected from their quickly
rotting carcasses as proof there was something arcane at work. He
recalled Captain Bonnet mentioning a curse.
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.