Captain Weatherdecker had drunk himself silly the previous night. He always did before a meeting with the Benefactor. The afterglow of a good night drinking put him in a better mood for their rendezvous. This time, he didn’t feel much different. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t agitated. There was nothing to be nervous about. Even if there had been, he had drowned his nerves last night. It was a simple meeting, same as always; it had been called a bit early, that was all.
The crew knew nothing about this. To them, Crownsmouth was simply another place where the captain liked to do business. He had gone there of his own free will to ply his wares and have wares plied to him. He always debarked at Crownsmouth, no exceptions. Must be good trading in town.
Mr. Airedale always followed, about an hour later. Never together. They never returned together, either, following the same pattern in which they’d left. The only other man on board to know where they were going was Mr. Vesco; even so, he knew nothing other than they were meeting with the Benefactor. He knew no address, no street, no name other than Benefactor, and he kept even that to himself.
Vesco was returning to his quarters that morning at the same time his captain was leaving for town. To his dismay, Weatherdecker made a sharp detour in his direction. The quartermaster paused with his key in the lock.
“Mornin’, Vesco,” said the captain. “How’s the day treatin’ ya?”
“Just fine, cap’n. Howzit with you?”
“Good,” insisted Weatherdecker. “Goin’ into town for a bit. See the sights.”
“Dandy,” said Vesco. The Benefactor’s name was rarely spoken between them, and never, ever on deck. Weatherdecker stuck his arm out straight, to lean against the wallboards of the officer’s cabins.
“Will you be gettin’ out today, Vesco? Good weather for it.”
“Certainly is, cap’n. With any luck, I’ll have time for a stroll.” His hand was still lingering on the key. He had made no move to unlock the door.
“Here’s hopin,” said the captain. “You been in your office an awful lot, lately. Hope yer paperwork isn’t gettin’ you down.”
Vesco kept up his polite smile as he met Weatherdecker’s eyes. Pointedly, deliberately, he twisted the key. The bolt cracked back with a metal squeak. The door, however, stayed closed.
“Been busy, yeah,” said Vesco. “But I’ll get some sunshine today, don’t you worry.”
“I won’t.”
The door stayed closed.
“Work to do, eh?” asked the captain. Mr. Vesco nodded.
“Got somewhere to be, don’t you?”
Weatherdecker’s smile curdled. He stood straight, pushing off from the wallboards.
“S’pose I do,” said the captain quietly.
“Wouldn’t want you to be late on my account, cap’n. Don’t lemme keep you.”
Vesco waited until the captain was out of sight down the plank. Once his footsteps had faded into the general murmur of the docks, he opened the door, and quickly locked it again behind him. He poked his head in his bedroom door without hesitation.
“Tiller and the boy’ll be by in a few minutes,” he told Susan. “Ready fer yer playdate?”
The town of Crownsmouth rimmed the edge of Crowns Bay, and ran haphazardly into the tall tropical hills beyond. It was one of the biggest and busiest towns in all the Moonfall Islands, a hub of commerce, culture, and who was anyone kidding, piracy.
There was one particular house in the hills, overlooking bay and town from the west. It was just a bit higher up than the other houses, just a bit larger, and just a bit more secluded by branch and vine.
On the veranda, a woman stood, enjoying the sights. She was not a woman that normally set aside time for such frivolities as leisure, but, today was special. She needed a moment to take in the sea air and the smell of tropical flowers, lest she commit a murder she was likely to regret.
Likely.
The Ship had docked not an hour ago. She could see it clearly, nestled among its fellows in the bay. In that hour, she had managed to find some peace, and not break any vases, of which she had her pick. But, no, that wouldn’t solve anything. She drew in a deep breath, and sighed slowly. The wind joined her, rustling her severe skirts with a gentle warm breeze.
She wondered what had compelled her, all those years ago. Why in the world had she trusted her business to Richard Weatherdecker? The man was crass, and rude, and dumb as a dog. Though, he was a dog with his own ship. She owned plenty of other ships, but they conducted business as commercial vessels flying the Bankshead banner. To carry anything less than legal aboard these would have been suicidal, but, to put her own name to The Ship would have been an unnecessary risk. That was why, she supposed, she had to keep him, no matter what stupid thing he did. Mr. Airedale was there to hold the leash, wasn’t he?
A faint smile touched her features. She heard the footsteps approaching from the veranda doors, though she waited to be properly summoned. Mr. McCrea was the one to open them.
“He’s here, mam,” said the footman.
Miss Bankshead turned and smiled pleasantly at him.
“Thank you, Michael.”
He bowed and stood aside, holding a door for her as she swept past. Though she had a walking stick in her possession, she carried it today rather than using it. Mr. McCrea closed the doors after her, and followed her dutifully to the parlour.
In truth, she had several parlours. There was no one parlour in which she met her beneficiaries. Some days, she preferred the one painted blue, or the one papered green, or the vaguely fuchsia one infested with lace trimmings that her grandmother had loved so much. Today, on such a bright breezy morning, she had chosen the yellow parlour. It, and the gold-trimmed furniture in it, glowed in the sunshine.
Michael held the door for her once more, and closed it after her. He stood guard in the hall, leaving her utterly alone with Captain Weatherdecker.
The captain was seated on the end of a long chaise facing the door. Her stare riveted on him right away. He was dressed in a clean white shirt and dark trousers. She had relented long ago that he would not be required to wear the, quote, ‘faggy’ neckties she asked of her compatriots, as long as he remained presentable.
Miss Bankshead held his gaze for a moment, pausing at the door. He did not stand as she entered. Strike two.
“Why, Richard,” she sighed sweetly. “How good it is to see you!”
She perched herself ever so gracefully on the chesterfield opposite, her back straight, her hands resting on her walking stick. She smiled angelically. A smart man would have seen the storm brewing from a mile away. Richard Weatherdecker was not a smart man.
“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Good to be back, ma’am. Why’d you call us here, ma’am?”
“My goodness, you get right to the point, don’t you? Are you in a hurry, Richard? Somewhere to be?”
“I mean, we were on our way to Port Nichols, ma’am, ‘fore we came here.”
“As I am aware, Richard. Thank you for the information. And thank you for reassuring me that you actually understood my directions. The last I checked, you were quite content to dilly-dally, my dear captain.”
“Uh, ma’am?” he asked politely.
“Or, perhaps I was misled,” said Miss Bankshead. “Was your detour to Port Victor not a dilly-dally? Pressing business? Emergency repairs? Avoiding a line?”
She knew. Of course she knew. This was no bluff.
“It was a quick jaunt, ma’am. Just a day for the boys to have a little fun. Get some rest, y’know.”
“Well, if it was for the boys, how could I be angry? I’m sure you worked hard while they were off enjoying themselves, to make up for the delay to Coraqua.”
He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. He looked at the wall, scowling.
“Weren’t much of a delay,” he protested.
“Any avoidable delay is too much, Richard.” She tried to will him to look back at her, and failed. He stayed silent. “Have you nothing to say to me, dear captain? Any excuses to make? Apologies to give?”
“Won’t fuckin’ happen again,” he muttered.
Cussing. Strike three. She tilted her head slightly, and upped the smile.
“I’m glad,” she said sweetly. “While I have you here, Richard, would you care to tell me about the visitors you had in Charleston?”
The scowl faded slightly, his face going blank instead. He glanced back at her, brow furrowed.
“Uh…what d’you mean, ma’am?”
“I mean, the police that were on board my ship, Richard,” she said, her voice darkening with each syllable, her smile fading. “Would you care to explain?”
“How’d you find out about that?” growled the captain.
“My dear Michael was dropping off a parcel that night to Mr. Airedale. He witnessed two armed watchmen descending your plank. Why were they there, Richard? And what did they see?”
“Nothin’, ma’am, I swear,” insisted Weatherdecker. “They didn’t find anythin’ out of sorts. Just me and the crew, to them.”
“Good,” said Miss Bankshead, though it sounded anything but. “And why were they there?”
“Just, uh…just an inspection, ma’am.”
“Watchmen do not ‘just do inspections’, Richard. What stupid thing did your crewmen do to attract their attention?”
“Ma’am, it’s…it’s nothin’, it’s just, it’s…”
“One more stutter out of you and I will teach you the true meaning of ‘mutiny’, Richard. One more lie and I’ll be sure you’re promoted to the bilge. Am I understood?”
Weatherdecker sighed.
“It’s collateral, ma’am. On a hand in poker. The guy hasn’t paid me back yet so I’m just waitin’ ’til I get my money. After that, I swear, I’ll have no dealin’ with him. We’ll be in the clear. Won’t be long, now, I promise.”
She stared at him levelly.
“WHAT is collateral, Richard, for this stupid, stupid bet you’ve made?”
“His…kid, ma’am. His son. A lil’ baby.”
The stare dragged on, though the eyes were wider now.
“Richard, am I to understand that you have kidnapped a baby as collateral on a bet?”
“Well, yeah.”
She breathed in heavily through her nose.
“You have kidnapped a child. For collateral. On a bet.”
“Ma’am, really, there’s no need to worry,” insisted Weatherdecker. “It’s all under control—“
In one swift heartbeat, she had stood. In the next beat, the walking stick was brought down across the coffee table, making a noise like a cannon shot. It absorbed all other sound in the room, including Weatherdecker’s reply. She planted the walking stick firmly at her side, stabbing the carpet.
“It is under YOUR control,” she barked, “meaning it is one stupid decision away from a serious problem. If that child is on board the next time we meet, Richard, I will make certain you never have to worry about children ever again. If I hear about you in a police report, dearest captain, they will never find your body. If I hear about guardsmen aboard my ship once more there will not be a body to find. Has anything that I’ve told you today been unclear?”
Weatherdecker’s mouth wormed around, trying desperately to form a comeback. After a few seconds, he paused, and sighed.
“No, ma’am,” he grunted. “All clear.”
“WHAT is all clear, Richard?”
“Gonna get rid o’the kid soon as I can.”
“As soon as I can…?” she prompted. Weatherdecker sighed again.
“Ma’am,” he muttered.
“My word,” she breathed, in mock astonishment, “it’s almost as if it understands me!” Her face changed in an instant, darkening, hardening. “Get out of here, Richard. Get out of my sight. Get back to your ship and to your duties and pray to all the gods you know that I don’t find out about another of your schemes.”
Scowling, he stormed past her without another word. She didn’t look at him as he wrenched the door open and disappeared down the hall. As the sound of his boots faded, the sound of Michael’s voice rose.
“Good timing, mam,” said the footman from the doorway. “Mr. Airedale’s just arrived.”
Miss Bankshead sighed with relief.
“My dearest Michael, show him up right away.”
Mr. Airedale, now…he liked the faggy neckties. He liked the sharp waistcoats and pressed trousers, and she liked them, as well.
The smile she gave him as Michael showed him through the door was much, much different than the one she’d given Weatherdecker. She sat on the chaise lounge this time, leaving the chesterfield free for Mr. Airedale.
“Why, Timothy,” she sighed, “don’t you look handsome, today!”
He nodded slightly as he sat down facing her, though remained stone-faced.
“Thank you,” said the first mate. “You look lovely.”
“Oh, pish,” she chided. “I do apologize for making you come all this way, Timothy. I’m afraid I required an urgent audience with Captain Weatherdecker.”
He immediately won a theoretical gold star by sighing in exasperation.
“Yes, I can imagine you did.”
“What part did you have to play in this nonsense?”
“I didn’t,” said Airedale. “This is entirely on Richard.”
“The visit to Port Victor, or his luck at poker?”
“Both,” said the first mate. “When I confronted him on our course to Victor, I told him you would not be happy. He did not care. And the child; I had no say in that. I wasn’t with him at the time. I only found out when we were under sail, and I wasn’t about to spend more precious time turning back.”
“Oh, I knew there was a reason I kept you around, Timothy. Such a reasonable gent you are. Tell me - how was business at the Mermaid’s Corset?”
He presented her with the dictionary-sized package in his hands. She accepted it with a graceful nod.
“Thank you, my dear sweet postman. Not merely on time, but early. What service!”
She undid the string with a quick pull, letting it drape over her knees. The parcel paper was unfolded without a single rip. It was indeed a book, a black leatherbound volume with gold print on the cover. It read: ADVANCED TAXATION FOR MODERN ACCOUNTANCY IN COMMERCE. It was the title she preferred; easily explainable as a gift for the bearer’s boring nephew, should it be unwrapped in the wrong hands. It had never been, thus far.
She turned to page one hundred seventy six, took it between thumb and forefinger, and pulled. There was a leathery snap as the spine of the book popped inward. Carefully holding the book at arm’s length over the coffee table, she pulled the pages out further, drawing the inner panels away from the cover. As it happened, the space between them was not cardboard, but paper. Dozens of bundled bills slithered out onto the table. She gave it a good shake, dislodging a few more thousand dollars.
“I apologize,” said Mr. Airedale. “I am afraid it slipped my mind to check the sum while we remained in Port Angel. There was an abundance of other business to see to.”
“Heavens, Timothy, not to worry - though you are sweet to do so.” She gave him a quick smile and a bat of the eyelashes. “Dear Frances would never try to be cheap with me.”
With the speed and swiftness of a blackjack dealer, she flicked through the mountain of money, making a neat pile to one side as she counted.
“Just as promised,” she assured, once all the bills had been stacked. She picked one of the bundles and flicked through it, splitting it in half and neatly squaring off the two resulting piles. She set one back on the stack and leaned forward with the other in hand, across the table, and hooked her fingers into Airedale’s breast pocket. She gave the bills a few little tucks out of sight.
“Buy something nice, my dear pirate. You’ve earned it.” Her hand lingered flat, over the pocket, over his heart, for a brief moment. Smiling, she sat back straight.
“Anything more to report, then?” she asked.
“Nothing of interest, no,” said Mr. Airedale. “Shall I presume we will be resuming our course to Port Nichols?”
“You shall.” He had been expecting her to stand, the signal for dismissal, but she did not. “Though, there is no need to rush on such a beautiful day. Have you plans this afternoon?”
Mr. Airedale’s expression remained blank. Miss Bankshead circled the tip of her finger around the jewelled head of her walking stick, over and over, awaiting his reply.
“Well,” sighed the first mate, “none that are particularly pressing…”
“You look positively parched for a cup of tea, Timothy. It’s getting to be that time, isn’t it? Would you care to join me on the veranda to quench yourself?”
He looked from her, to the walking stick, to the window. She watched as, ever so slightly, his fists tightened atop his knees. When he looked back at her, she was smiling that particular smile that he utterly despised and could not refuse.
