“It is all right. I assure you, sir,” I said.
Felicity peered at the myriad stickers that decorated my trunk like a garish Christmas present. “What is Mary Katch?” she asked.
“Marrakech,” her father corrected.
Night was falling. I arose and lit a lamp and then traveled the room discovering candles to light. In the cupboards I found some biscuits and then beckoned to the doctor. He made sure his wife was comfortable against a mound of pillows before joining me behind the bar.
I kept my voice low. “If it becomes necessary, there are clean blankets here. And a quantity of water.” There hadn’t been, but I’m a helpful soul.
“I sincerely hope we will not need them tonight,” he said with a glance at his wife. He looked at me, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it is time for a moment of candor? I mean, sir, we may be fighting for our lives at any moment.” He lowered his voice. “Or we may succumb to the storm. I’d like to know who is fighting with me. Or dying with us.” From outside the salon the heavy steps of the pirates tromped by.
“Well put,” I said. I placed both hands on the bar and then removed them. A plate of cheeses and savory meats sat before us. “Perhaps your wife or daughter is hungry.” I handed him the plate. It fell through his fingers and clattered to the bar surface. “Please take it to them.” I offered it to him again. “Eat. You will feel better.”
After another look at me, he dutifully delivered the plate to the settee. Perideaux nibbled a bit of cheese before presenting the plate to his wife. His expression indicated he approved. I do have excellent taste.
When his family was sufficiently distracted, he returned to stand behind the bar with me. “That was a most welcome and deliberate diversion, Mr. Celwyn.” He pointed to the plate as Felicity selected a sliver of ham. “Explain it.”
I yawned. This would require something stronger than water. It appeared that although the pirate captain seemed fond of wine, he also had stored a single bottle of malt below the bar.
“There’s so much to say and yet so little.” I poured two shots, and then poured one for the doctor. “What do you know of the black arts? Of magic?”
As I spoke, the Sibylline lurched to starboard. She slid down a wave on her side in a most sickening manner before gradually righting herself. The wind howled and screamed, competing with the pirates shouting from the deck. By now the sails would be shredded, and they’d try to steer by the rudder, if they tried at all.
When the doctor could speak again, he said, “Parlor tricks; that is all magic is. There is no basis of fact.” His attention rested upon his wife, but I could see him thinking as he tried to find an explanation for what he’d seen with the trunks and what his wife enjoyed nibbling only a few feet away from us. He probably did not consider the storm anything more than bad luck.
“Not exactly,” I said.
Perideaux seemed to have come to a deduction or perhaps a belated question he had wanted to ask. “Why did Captain Hume insist you be separated from his crew? Why were you locked up?” He licked his lips and glanced at his wife. “I’d prefer that Helen not know anything of this.”
I shrugged. “As you wish.” I poured more malt for both of us.
“And my questions?”
I regarded him a moment longer before speaking softly so that his wife would not hear.
“For hundreds of years, I’ve honed my skills to the point where I do not question the difficulty of what I attempt within the realm of magic. But I do consider what effect my magic may have on innocent persons. My personal sense of right and wrong has also evolved accordingly.”
Dr. Perideaux watched me over the top of his glass as he downed the rest of his whiskey. He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that I haven’t just lived for this time, in this century. His assessment was mirrored in his eyes: scientific speculation, not the wide-eyed terror some men expressed on the rare occasions when I have told them tidbits of my history.
“How I interpret my ideals, or morals if you will, are as personal as every man’s are.” I continued, “But for now, let us say that I had no compunction in killing my guard, but I will go to great lengths to save your family.”
The doctor swallowed nothing several times but kept his gaze neutral. Thinking.
After a moment he managed, “Exactly what did you do?”
The rain beat on the roof of the salon so loudly we could hear nothing else. The wind howled, furious at the ship. I told him, “I’d been arguing with a priest at the cathedral in Madagascar. To make a point, I appeared during the church service and levitated myself onto the altar. Then I made myself comfortable to enjoy the services. When the ushers would have laid hands on me, I simply disintegrated within their fingers. Like ice that has melted or water that evaporates.” I elbowed the doctor. “A miracle, would you not say?”
If he’d had any morsel of humor left from his stern upbringing, he’d allow a small smile to escape. But no.
“Later, when the authorities tried to arrest me, a few of the officers were injured.” I had dispatched them with mercy and alacrity. “My temper can only be maintained so long when provoked.”
The doctor slammed his glass down. “But what did you do to make them so afraid? There must be more.”
For a moment I contemplated him. When he finally met my gaze, I locked the contact and said, “I have the ability to climb inside another man’s mind, Doctor. Once there, I can wander anywhere and learn a man’s darkest secrets and enjoy his most pleasant memories.” I flipped a hand. “While there, I sometimes plant new thoughts. Of all sorts.”
After pouring more whisky, I wrapped his limp fingers around his glass. “Thoughts are powerful, are they not, Doctor?” I asked him without speaking.
THE storm intensified as the day bled into the night. It appeared so dark and turbulent outside it seemed hard to tell when the night actually became complete. As I looked out the porthole, a pirate fell against the rail near us. A hungry wave tried to pry his hands from the rail, but he held on tightly. The wave crested and receded, leaving behind another pirate rolled into a ball. The pirate that the wave delivered lay against the bulkhead. When he didn’t move, the first pirate kicked him. Another wave broke over the rail, sweeping them both to the stern.
From behind me, the wails of childbirth filled the salon. For the last hour, Mrs. Perideaux’s cries had been growing more frequent and prolonged. The hurricane seemed to strengthen with each of her screams. The doctor had given Felicity a weak sedative to calm her, and she slept on the other settee. After our talk, he hadn’t said much but appeared deep in thought, until his wife’s condition changed and he devoted his attention to her.
As dawn broke, the baby’s first cry could be heard, stark and sweet against the ugliness of the world. The Sibylline rocked in an exaggerated motion in the aftermath of the hurricane, but the wind no longer howled, and the rain fell in a gentle veil.
The wood across the salon door fell away as I walked outside, stepping over the pieces of debris, including dead pirates. A glassy sea of blue stretched to the horizon.
The pirates addressed me as Captain, most courteously, as they went about their duties, unfurling new canvases and getting the ship under way. I swept a hand, and all of the debris disappeared. The broken main mast stood whole once again. Midships, I stopped and admired myself in a polished brass dial, adjusting the buccaneer’s hat that sat upon my head at a most jaunty angle. My waistcoat had given way to a silken shirt of crimson. The shoes I wore had become boots of the finest and softest leather.
My crew was freshly bathed and shaven. The ship shone from top to bottom and appeared to be in pristine condition. It would be most appropriate to honor the late Captain Falkenburg in some manner. I tapped my fingers on the rail and thought. Perhaps I shall rechristen the ship the Flying Dutchman. I imagined that he did go flying out with the wind, whirling far away into the sea. Yes, a most excellent idea. I called back inside the salon.