CANDLESTICKS
Amberhill 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.
Yap paused and said,
with his mouth full, “Will ya be joining me, sir?”
“Chew and swallow
before you speak, Mister Yap.” Amberhill was suddenly reminded of
his old nursemaid teaching him manners.
His cook, Mistress
Landen, evidently had not witnessed Yap in his more odoriferous
condition, and flittered and flustered to bring him fresh helpings
of eggs and ham and fried potatoes. She slathered his toasted bread
with butter and jam and placed it before him. She preened when he
requested fresh cups of kauv, and blushed and giggled when he
winked at her. Amberhill had never seen such behavior from his
matronly cook before. Just as well he gave Brigham the rest of the
day off. The man would be appalled.
Amberhill sat at the
head of the table and Mistress Landen was back with another plate
filled for him.
“Eat up, my lord,”
she said. “You should follow Mister Yap’s example. He has a fine
appetite.”
Yap grinned as he
chewed, and Amberhill thought he might lose his appetite
altogether.
“These here ...” Yap
paused, remembering to gulp down his food first, and started again.
“These here vittles are very good, sir. Land flesh! How I missed it
all those long years at sea.” He pushed another chunk of ham into
his mouth and chewed with vigor.
Amberhill picked at
his own breakfast, amazed at Yap’s capacity for food and kauv. Time
after time Mistress Landen bustled out of the kitchen with more
food and refills.
“I feel fresh as a
new baby,” Yap said. He passed his hand over what remained of his
hair. “Thought yer man Brigham was gonna scrape my hide right off
my bones. I wouldn’t wanna be on his bad side.”
“No, indeed,”
Amberhill murmured, sipping his kauv. Usually he took it with sugar
and cream, but somehow he required it rather stronger this morning.
“I have set aside some clothes for you to try on.”
“That is most
generous, sir. This has been a most wonderful morning. Keeler
wouldn’t believe it.”
Amberhill raised his
eyebrows. Certainly Keeler would not consider it a wonderful
morning considering his bones now rested in the Egg Street ossuary,
but Yap appeared entirely undismayed by the absence of his former
companion.
Once Yap filled
himself to capacity, leaving both Amberhill and Mistress Landen in
awe, Amberhill took him up to Morry’s room and helped him change
into the clothes he’d picked out. Before Yap pulled on the shirt,
Amberhill espied old lash marks on the pirate’s back; so many that
there were more scars than unmarred flesh. Yap might be a cheerful
fellow now, but it did not mean his life as a seaman had been easy
or lighthearted. Pirates could be particularly merciless in the
punishments they doled out.
The clothes were
close to bursting and too long in both sleeve and pant, but Yap was
undismayed. “These are very fine, sir,” he said. “I’ve worn none
finer.” He gazed at himself in Morry’s mirror from all
angles.
Amberhill rubbed his
chin. He could get this ensemble, and Morry’s other clothes, let
out and hemmed, and have Yap measured for new pieces.
When they were
downstairs in the entry hall once more, Yap whirled this way and
that to see how the cloak flowed around him. Amberhill narrowed his
eyes. There was more beneath the cloak than just Yap.
“Well, I’ll be
thanking ya for yer kindness, sir, but I ’spect you’ve had enough
of old Yap for now. I will take my payment and leave.”
“Where will you go?”
Amberhill asked, playing along with Yap’s intent for the
moment.
Yap shrugged. “Where
there be ships. I’m a seaman. I don’ know nothing else,
sir.”
Amberhill dropped
four silvers into Yap’s hand, and the pirate gasped. “That ... that
is very generous, sir. I thank ya. And now, good-bye.”
When Yap turned for
the door, there was a metallic flash from beneath his cloak that
was not the coins. Amberhill grabbed Yap’s arm, spinning him
around.
“Mister Yap, I have
been exceedingly generous with you, as you have noted more than
once. But now you insult me.”
“Eh?”
“What are you
concealing beneath the cloak?”
“What? Why... why
nothing, sir!” But Yap’s blush showed otherwise.
Amberhill struck
viper-fast, grabbing a pair of silver candlesticks from Yap’s
hands.
“These are nothing?”
Amberhill demanded. “Empty your pockets.” When Yap just gaped at
him, he said in a low threatening voice, “Empty your pockets.”
Yap gulped, then
started turning out his pockets, producing a spoon, an ornate
letter opener, and a pair of Morry’s gold cufflinks.
Amberhill swiped the
cufflinks from him. Anger grew in him like a fever. The
candlesticks and other trinkets were negligible, but the cufflinks,
that was a different matter. “You do not deserve the clothes you
now wear. They belonged to a good, honest man. A father he was to
me. You dishonor him.”
Yap backed away,
visibly trembling.
Amberhill paused,
breathing hard. The heat of anger turned to a sharp, cold razor.
“And if you are stupid enough to steal from a master thief, then
maybe I should turn you out in only the skin you were born
in.”
Yap’s eyes went wide
and were made grotesque by the cracked lenses of his
specs.
Amberhill suddenly
felt terribly exhausted. Exhausted and a hundred years old. Seeing
Yap in Morry’s old things had chafed a much too recent wound,
rubbed it raw and bleeding. He licked his lips. Forced himself to
calm. He straightened and passed his hand over his eyes. “You will
not be stealing from me again, will you Mister Yap.”
“You won’ kill me,
sir, will ya?” came the plaintive question.
Amberhill frowned.
By all the gods, the pirate was close to weeping. He’d been broken
at some point in his life. Amberhill almost pitied him. Almost, but
not enough to prevent him from taking advantage of the pirate’s
shattered spirit.
When Amberhill
failed to immediately provide an answer, Yap backed away, holding
out the items he had stolen, as well as the four silvers that were
his payment. “Please, sir, take ’em back. Please don’ kill me. I’ll
leave yer things and leave ya be.”
“The silvers are
yours,” Amberhill said. “Unlike the other items, I gave them to
you. You will assure me, however, they will not be spent on liquor.
I don’t need men in my employ to be drunk.”
“I don’ ... I don’
follow, sir. You won’ kill me?”
“You said you were
bound to go back to sea.”
“Aye,
but—”
“I, too, am going to
sea. On a voyage, Mister Yap. I need someone with your ...
expertise to go with me.”
Yap stood a little
straighter, then gazed down. Amberhill followed his gaze to his own
hand, to where the dragon ring resided on his finger. Was it his
imagination, or did the ruby pulse for just a moment? He thought he
felt the breath of the sea against his face.
“I don’ know, sir,”
Yap said.
“If you agree to
work for me, I certainly won’t kill you.”
Yap blanched at the
implication that if he walked out, Amberhill would indeed kill
him.
“You’ll be very
comfortable in my employ. Regular meals and good accommodations.
There will be a monthly payment, of course, so long as I am pleased
with your service.”
“Meals?” Yap asked,
brightening.
Amberhill
nodded.
“Land
flesh?”
Amberhill nodded
again.
“Well, sir, that is
worth a thought or two.”
Yap, Amberhill
reflected, had no choice in the matter, whether he realized it or
not. Nor did Amberhill. He could almost hear the breaking of waves,
the call of the gulls.
He had no choice but
to go to sea.