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It took Tiller a moment to find his legs. They were the easiest, as they were still attached. It took a longer moment to find his trousers. The longest moment was spent negotiating for his shirt, which one of the girls was still wearing. She insisted that it be wrestled off her.
...Previous
It took Tiller a moment to find his legs. They were the easiest, as they were still attached. It took a longer moment to find his trousers. The longest moment was spent negotiating for his shirt, which one of the girls was still wearing. She insisted that it be wrestled off her.
She didn’t leave him any time to look for his socks. He abandoned them to the wilds, pulling his boots on over bare feet.
He knocked on another door down the hall. A soft voice invited him in. One of the ladies of the house greeted him with a smile. She was sitting upright in a chair by the bed, and had been reading a book.
“Well,” said the woman. “Ahoy there, sailor.”
Tiller smiled at her coyly. “Trixxie said the little lad was in here…?”
The woman nodded at the bed. Tiller closed the door and crept forward to see the baby curled up in a pile of blankets, deeply and peacefully asleep.
“Ah,” he sighed. “Good. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Trouble? He’s the best patron we’ve had in a long time. Way more fun than the usual lot.”
Looking around the room, Tiller could see this was true. There were fingerpaintings drying on a table, done up in lipstick reds and eyeshadow blues. Balloon animals were all over the floor. Tiller picked one up, a dog, and studied it carefully.
“Weren’t used, was it?”
“Oh god no. We’re not THAT uncivilized,” said the woman, with a wink. Tiller smiled at this, and sat down on the bed next to the sleeping boy. He gently brushed a few curls off his face.
“Last night,” said the woman, “you said you weren’t the father. I’m havin’ a hard time believing that, the way you look at him.”
Tiller withdrew his hand, shying away from the both of them.
“No, no, its true. I never had kids. Too many o’ these things,” he said, bopping the balloon animal into the air. It rustled to the floor with a sad squeak.
“Why do you have a kid hanging around, then?”
“It’s…” began Tiller, and sighed. “It’s a long story. I’m just lookin’ after him until mum gets back.”
The woman stood, and came around the end of the bed where he sat. She leant in and kissed Tiller on the forehead, one hand on his shoulder.
“And a fine job you’re doing, it seems,” she said quietly. “This little monkey’s lucky to have you.” She stood straight, hands on hips. “You two are welcome back any time, y’hear?”
She paused in the doorway to blow him a kiss.
“Good sailing, you two.” Then she was gone.
Tiller took another moment, a very long moment, to sit with the boy, before gathering him up in his arms.
Tiller took another moment, a very long moment, to sit with the boy, before gathering him up in his arms.
Adam knew the trading routes across the Moonfall Sea. And, as always, the biggest cities had the most traffic; a fact unchanged since the first horse had pulled the first cart from one village to another. This led him to choose Charleston as their best chance to meet the ship.
By the time they reached the harbour, afternoon was already starting to fade into evening. Long rays of sunlight cut through the pilothouse windows. Squinting through them, Adam guided the tug around the edges of the bustle in the bay, skirting the docks entirely.
“What are you doing?” demanded Susan.
“Just checking,” said Adam. “No point paying dockage if they aren’t here.” He skimmed past a line of tall ships, all in a neat row off one branch of the docks. When he reached the very end, he tugged a lever and turned hard on the wheel; the SS Cartleblat rotated on a dime, bow pointing back into its wake.
“There,” he said. He brought the lever up, putting both engines back to work. They chugged forward, straight back in the direction they’d come. “At the end. That’s them. Let’s find a spot and get going.”
They got going to the nearest guardhouse. It was a small thing, just an outpost, though one of several in Charleston. Port Victor had only one outpost, that doubled as a post office. These fancy big city coppers didn’t have to share a front desk.
The officer on duty was taking an array of stamps to a pile of paperwork when Susan walked in, Adam close behind. The officer looked up at them, giving his full attention and a polite little smile.
“Good afternoon,” he said, “how may I help you?”
“We’re here to report a kidnapping,” said Susan.
The officer’s smile faded. His eyes widened. Most commonly, the response to his offer of help was news of a pickpocketing, a lost dog, a tab not paid.
“I see,” he said, noncommittally. “Of whom?”
“My son,” said Susan. “He was taken by pirates!”
The officer stood as he flicked through a stack of papers.
“Forgive my presumption; would you happen to be Ms. Carruthers?”
“Yes! Yes, that’s me.” Her hands tightened on the desktop. The officer selected a telegram from the stack and held it up to read.
“Yes, I see,” he said. “We’ve received several messages concerning your plight, Ms. Carruthers. This one came from Coraqua this morning. We received another originating at Port Victor a few days ago.”
Susan gasped and grabbed Adam by the arm.
“Mom!” she whispered.
“According to these, ma’am, your son was taken from Port Victor?”
“Yes, he was.”
The officer’s eyes ticked back and forth between Adam and Susan, studying them carefully.
“Several days’ sailing from here, if I recall. You’ve come a long way to report this in person.”
“We…we’ve been following the ship,” said Susan, after a pause. Neither she nor Adam could think of a better excuse than the truth. “We didn’t want to lose it.”
The officer gave them a perturbed look, though he kept his silence for now.
“I see,” he said curtly. “And do you know the persons that took your son?”
“His name’s Weatherdecker,” cut in Adam. “Richard Weatherdecker.”
The officer nodded; not in revelation, simply to confirm what the telegram had already told him.
“Fortunately for you two, he is already well known to the Guard.” The officer pulled a clean pad of paper towards him. “Would you be able to tell me, ma’am, when you last saw the ship in question?”
“It’s at the docks, right now,” said Susan. “We came straight from there.”
The officer looked up at her, pen in hand. He hadn’t written anything.
“Is it?” he said. “Did you note the name it bore?”
“It didn’t have one,” said Susan. She glanced up at Adam. “Did it?”
Adam shook his head. “Blank trailboard, as far as I could see.”
The officer’s eyebrow was peaked; a faint smile touched his lips.
“I see,” he said, intrigued. He turned to the open door behind him, through which the bars of a drunk tank could be seen. “Edison! Blaine!”
Two fresh-faced young constables appeared, hurrying to their Corporal’s side, eagerly awaiting his word.
“Get your coat, Edison. We have an errand to run.” As one ran off, the officer turned to the other. “Blaine, please see to Mr. and Ms. Carruthers, here. Tea, coffee, anything they’d like.”
“Oh, er, actually—“ said Susan, but the officer was already addressing her.
“If you’d be kind enough to wait here a few moments, ma’am, we wouldn’t mind asking after a chat with the Captain.”
Hope swelled in Susan’s chest. Her body prickled with excitement.
“Would you?” she breathed.
“I make no promises, ma’am, but Edison and I will see what we can see. Captain Weatherdecker is a tricky man to pin down; any chance we have to catch up is always much appreciated.”
There was one clothes iron aboard The Ship. Most would have won the bet, if asked to guess to whom it belonged. Its owner was the only person to ever touch it. Mr. Airedale would have happily lent it out; to his dismay, no one ever asked.
It was a task he was not willing to pass on to his subordinates. Trousers, perhaps. Shirts, perhaps. A bit of toasting on either of those would not spell his ruination. His jacket, however, stayed firmly in his care and his care alone. It was easier to see to the lot himself, while the iron was kept warm on his tiny cabin stove.
He carefully unpinned every badge and medal before taking the hot iron to his jacket. Easiest to do a proper job in port, with a minimum of waves to throw off his hand.
Mr. Airedale was just replacing the last medal on his tastefully smooth jacket when there was a knock at his cabin door.
“Yes?” he called.
“Uh, Mr. Airedale, sir, there’s…there’s a problem at the plank.”
He paused for a moment, to reflect on what these words might mean. Then he left the jacket be, careful to move the iron far from it, and strode to the door. He opened it on a single quivering crewman.
“A problem, Moulton? Whatever do you mean by that?”
“It’s the police, sir,” whispered Moulton, as if it were a terrible curse. “Two watchmen askin’ to speak to an officer. What should we do, sir?”
“Hm,” said Airedale thoughtfully. “You, Moulton, should return to your station, and think no more of this. Do not worry yourself or the men.” He crossed the little room, back to his desk, and pulled on his still-warm jacket. “Thank you very much for bringing this to my attention. I will see to it from here. You are dismissed.”
Moulton scampered away, still pale and shivery with fright. With calm hands, Mr. Airedale snatched his bicorne from the coathook by the door as he followed.
He was careful not to stop. Not to look over the railing, or hesitate. Anything but a bright, pleasant smile would arouse suspicion. If there was one man who exceeded at diminishing arousal, it was Timothy Airedale.
He met the pair of officers at the bottom of the plank, and bowed his head graciously.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am first officer Timothy Airedale. How may I assist you this afternoon?”
The officers hesitated a moment, taken aback by the eloquence from this supposed pirate.
“Good afternoon,” said one. “I’m Corporal Dunwhaite of the Charleston City Watch.” He pulled a wallet from within his heavy wool coat and opened it for Airedale to examine; it contained a gold shield badge with the arms of Charleston engraved in it. He replaced it before he’d finished his preamble. “This is Constable Edison. We are investigating the disappearance of a small child, and we have reason to believe he may be aboard this vessel.”
“My goodness,” sighed Airedale, adding a touch of softness to his voice, “how tragic. I assure you we will do everything we can to assist your inquiries.”
“Good to hear,” said Dunwhaite. “You can start by letting us on to have a look around, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Certainly, it is not,” said Mr. Airedale. “It would be my pleasure to let you aboard…however, I am but a lowly first officer. It is my Captain’s permission you require to grace our decks.” Dunwhaite opened his mouth to ask after just such a thing when Mr. Airedale continued: “May I retrieve him for you, sirs?”
The two guardsmen exchanged a curious look.
“Certainly, Mr. Airedale. Thank you.”
Mr. Airedale nodded graciously once more, and headed up the plank.
Whilst Airedale had been busy at ironing, his captain and crewmen had been keeping themselves otherwise occupied. They had pulled several barrels from the kitchen stores, forming them into a ring in the centre of the mess hall after freeing the tables and sliding them to the walls. From the animal pens, just off the kitchens, they had also stolen two healthy roosters.
When Mr. Airedale walked in, the fowl were still locked in combat. There appeared to be no clear champion, as yet. Men from all sides were still shouting encouragement at both birds. One man had a book open on top of a barrel marked SARDINES, and was scratching in some final bets as other men shook coins at him. Across the ring, leaning against PICKLES, was Captain Weatherdecker, laughing and sloshing grog around on the makeshift tabletop. Airedale joined the other men jostling against him. He leaned in to whisper.
“Policemen at the plank.”
It was meant only for the Captain’s ears, and it succeeded in that; only Weatherdecker heard. It was also meant for his brain, but it took a few more moments to travel that distance. After a horrible pause, he turned to frown at his first mate.
“What’d you say?” he demanded.
“There are policemen at the plank, Richard. They wish to come aboard.”
“What?” he spat. “Here? Now?”
“Yes, here, now,” agreed Airedale. “Thoughts?”
The captain’s distress had become obvious to the other men; some of the shouting died down. The curses and yells got quieter. The clucks and screeches of the roosters, however, remained in full ear-bursting force.
“Can’t you just tell ‘em to fuck off?” said the captain.
“I could not. In fact, I could not even ask them to leave politely.”
“We got rights to do that, y’know. They can’t search nothin’ if they ain’t got a warrant.”
Mr. Airedale leaned in, speaking in a lowered voice. Most of the fightgoers were focused on him, now.
“While you are correct, Richard, I urge you to think about what will happen if we deny them. If we send them off now, they will simply come back with a warrant later. We will not be able to turn them away indefinitely, and the less contact we have with them, the better. It will go harder for us every time they return. Let them on, now. Let them see nothing is out of the ordinary, and let thema go on their way thinking we are sweet little angels.”
The captain thought for a moment, staring into Airedale’s eyes; then he shoved his grog aside with a growl.
“The fuck they want with our goods, anyway?” He grabbed Airedale by the arm, to everyone’s surprise, most of all the first mate’s. Weatherdecker pulled him a few feet towards the stairs so nobody, but nobody, could overhear. “Did someone let slip on the smuggle?” he hissed. “Do they know about our Benefactor?”
“They mentioned nothing of the sort, Richard,” said Airedale, pulling his arm gently out of the offending hand. “They are here for the child.”
The captain’s eyes grew wide. He stood straighter, spoke louder.
“You fuckin’ kidding me?” he snapped. “That bitch is sendin’ cops to my boat, now? The fuckin’ nerve!” With a grunt, he whirled on the assorted crewmen, still clinging to the barrels. “Clear this away! Right now! All of it back to the kitchens and not a word out of any’you, y’hear?”
They did as commanded, rolling away barrels, scraping tables back along the floor and securing them in place, and, for an unfortunate few, prying the thrashing animals apart, still gobbling and clawing at eachother. Feathers flew as Mr. Airedale led his captain up the stairs, to the sunlit deck.
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