Serialized Stories

Serialization: In Memory of the Sibylline (the beginning of Jonas Celwyn and the Celwyn series) Read Part 1 first

IN MEMORY OF THE SIBYLLINE

By Lou Kemp

                          The many men so beautiful
                           And they all dead did lie!
                           And a million million slimy things
                           Liv’d on–and so did I.

                                     ——The Rime of the Ancient Mariner – Coleridge

Part II

     The ship’s bell had sounded the next hour when boots thundered on the wooden deck. Voices raised the alarm. Above the commotion, Captain Hume’s oaths could be heard outside my door: “Damnation! Wiggins is dead! Get that doctor out here.”
     “What for?” It sounded like a sailor located in the rigging above me. He apparently had an excellent view of my newly departed guard. “His throat has been cut open like a pig’s.”
     Sounds of more of the curious arriving, then the extreme annoyance of Doctor Perideaux when he saw the body.
     “Captain!” Doctor Perideaux bellowed.
     “Yes, Doctor.”
     “This man is not sick. He has been murdered.” The doctor’s voice shook, and his words were measured. “You are responsible for every act upon this ship!”
     “I am aware of that,” Captain Hume replied with just as much control.
     “Did your prisoner do it?” Doctor Perideaux inquired.
     I noted a significant hesitation before the Captain answered, “That would be impossible.”
     Someone tried the handle on my door. It remained locked.
     “How do you know your prisoner is in there?” Doctor Perideaux demanded.
     “Because I am sure he is,” Captain Hume said. “Here…. is the key to the door. As you can see, it was still in the guard’s pocket. However, I will humor you.”
     I yawned and waited.
     As the door opened, the dying sun streamed into my cabin bringing warmth against the approaching evening. The Captain filled the doorway. From over his shoulder, the doctor peered inside.
     I put down my book and stood. “Come in. I’m afraid I can not offer you any refreshment but my company.”
     Doctor Perideaux’s curiosity won out. He pushed by Captain Hume and into the room. I had been correct. We were of the same height, well over six foot. Our builds were similar too; I could have traded waistcoats with him. Mine, however, would have been finer than the rather dated one the doctor wore.
     I bowed. “May I introduce myself? Jonas Celwyn, lately of Singapore and Madagascar.”
     Captain Hume kicked the door shut and advanced to stand between us. He removed his hat, revealing a glistening sheen on his balding dome. A bead of perspiration trickled onto his ear as he addressed Perideaux.
     “Doctor, this is not wise. As you can see, the prisoner is still here. He is in a locked room from which he could not have murdered the guard. Come along, please.”
     “What were you charged with, Sir?” Doctor Perideaux ignored the tug on his sleeve and addressed me.
     I shrugged. “If I were to list all of the nefarious crimes I’d been charged with, we would still be here long after the dinner bell.” A few minutes ago I’d caught the scent of roasting beef. Hopefully there would be a nice salad to go with the meal, and possibly a fine bottle of wine.
     “I repeat, what were you convicted of?” Doctor Perideaux’s tone sounded much colder than a Bavarian street in winter.
     Captain Hume gave up tugging on his sleeve and yanked open the cabin door. He gestured to one of his officers. “Johnson. Escort Doctor Perideaux back to his cabin. Now.”
     The doctor didn’t budge. He stood so close I could see the flecks of gold in his irises. The stubborn line of his lips indicated the crew would have to carry him out before he’d accede to the Captain’s order.
     “Get him out of here,” Captain Hume growled.
     Officer Johnson reached for Perideaux. The officer started to speak, but his words turned to a strangled gasp as his hand passed through the doctor’s forearm, not once, but twice.
     As Doctor Perideaux watched his sleeve in fascinated horror, I replied, “Something so ridiculous. Witchcraft.”
     Of course a supremely talented and creative magician would have been a more accurate portrayal.

                                                                    * * *
     My assessment of the good doctor had been correct. He was a persistent cuss. It couldn’t have been another hour before I became aware of the doctor in whispered conversation with my newest guard. I didn’t even have to lean against the door to hear them.
     “….. have items you’d like to buy when we reach port,” Doctor Perideaux said.
     The guard grunted. “’Course I do.”
     “Perhaps this would prove useful to you?”
     “Aye, it would. It sure would. For this much you can sniff around this bastard’s door for more than a moment.” The guard laughed. “I have to go to the head, and I’m sure I’ll be gone a while.”
     In a moment I heard a slight scratching sound outside the door. From the porthole I could make out the lower half of the doctor as he crouched beside my door. It appeared he was examining the door hinges.

                                                                     * * *
     By the next morning, the day brought stronger wind and vigorous waves. The LeHanna climbed them easily, bottoming out, and climbing again. On the western horizon purplish, opalesant clouds seemed to be gathering in a thickening haze. Interesting; I hoped we were not sailing into a storm.
     We passed Tila Dunmati a little after noon, and within the hour the fate of the ship changed. It began with a warning call from the crow’s nest. Another ship approached, sailing directly towards us.
     The general excitement aboard the LeHanna increased with the terse orders shouted from the bridge, bringing the ship to. The lad in the crow’s nest called down, “Dutch flag, Sir. Fully armed.”
     Most provocative information; I wondered what they wanted with the LeHanna?
     Nearly a half hour later, our ship slowed until she floated in the waves in an exaggerated rocking motion. If this kept up, I surely would be seasick.
     The other ship adjusted their course. They no longer rode the wind, but drifted off our leeward side about 500 feet away, edging closer with each swell of the waves.
     Our crew grew silent, as if our ship held its breath, waiting. At last, Captain Hume barked an order. But it was only to the crew to man their positions and await his orders. From my porthole, I spied him standing midships, near the railing. He said something to First Officer Greer at his side. Greer saluted and in seconds had marched to my cabin and accosted my guard.
     “Open the door,” Greer ordered him.
     The guard held the door open with one hand and trained his pistol on me with the other. After the murderous incident with my last warder, the procedure for guarding me had changed. Now, they brandished a pistol, not a musket.
     Greer entered my cabin and glanced around before saying,                 “Gather your things. You’re leaving.”
     “Where am I going?” I asked.
     “No questions. Either pack your things, or you’ll leave without them.”

                                                                      * * *

     When I emerged on the deck, two more guards gripped my arms, and another lugged my trunk. As I walked, I reveled in the sun and drank the fresh air like a new born calf.
     During the time it took to pack my belongings, a boat had been launched from the other ship. It contained six crewmen and a man who was obviously their captain. He sat at the rear of the boat, examining the LeHanna with an air of ownership. Between the bulkheads and in the rigging of the other ship, dozens of muskets were trained on the deck of our ship. Why hadn’t the crew of our ship reacted? The crew numbered less than fifty and they were lined up at attention, not at battle stations.
     With his officers flanking him, Captain Hume stood in front of the bridge, arms folded, feet apart. His officers maintained a stern stance, but their eyes bounced everywhere. The tension in Hume’s men increased as those in row boat clambered out and scampered up the rope ladder. They attained the deck and walked toward Captain Hume. I strode over to the bridge and joined them.
     “No restraints? I no longer frighten you?” I held up my naked wrists to Captain Hume.
     He didn’t quite look at me, but said, “Be quiet, you ruffian. If necessary, Greer will knock you out to insure your silence.”
     I had a good idea of what Captain Hume was up to. And an even better idea of what he deserved.
     As the crewmen swaggered toward us, I studied their captain. Perhaps forty years of age, with strict bearing and well tended whiskers, he was a barrel of a man. Solid muscles and ape-like arms swung at his side. He shoved one of the LeHanna crewmen out of his way, and the rest parted with out chancing contact with him.
     Up close, the most innocent blue eyes swept over Captain Hume and his officers. Taking his time assessing the ship, the man noted each doorway, the bulkheads, the shining brass fixtures and other evidence of care in the ship’s maintenance. He’d assume the ship had a good larder, and even more profitable machinery stored below. Finally, he addressed us in a baritone with the faintest of Dutch accents.
     “I am Captain Falkenburg of the Sibylline.”
     A simple statement, but out of the corner of my eye, I spied Captain Hume wetting his lips. A bead of sweat trickled from under his hat and ran down his collar. If it hadn’t occurred to the rest of the crew it should have: this appeared to be a pirate ship flying under the innocence of a legitimate flag.
     Captain Falkenburg turned on his counterpart. “What are you carrying?”
     Sweat poured down Captain Hume’s pudgy cheeks. Beyond him, the deck of the Sibylline swarmed with dozens of pirates who had not been visible before. They watched the LeHanna silently, in evidence of strict discipline. Captain Hume flicked a quick glance at them, and then addressed the pirate captain.
     “Spices and sugarcane. Nothing more.”
     “Nothing, Hume?” The pirate smiled broadly and I could see he’d been opening wine bottles with his teeth. More of interest; I wondered who else noted that we’d had a chance encounter with a buccaneer who happened to know Captain Hume’s name?
     Several of the LeHanna’s officers shot swift and speculative looks at their captain. He didn’t return them, but swallowed several times without speaking.
     Captain Falkenburg laughed, and the sound seemed to chill the crew of the LeHanna. Wide- eyed, every one of them stared at their Captain. With Hume’s next words, some jaws dropped, too.
     “Our agreement is still good. I have what you want.” Captain Hume blurted. He looked at me, nearly in the eye, and added, “I also have another token of good faith. A prize of sorts.”
     “Eh?” The pirate captain picked his teeth with the sharp point of a blade, spit, and then regarded Captain Hume with his brows up.
     Undeterred, Captain Hume explained, “Mr. Celwyn here is the cousin of the British Ambassador to Portugal. Surely, you can ransom him. He was to have stopped off for a short time on Victoria to assess conditions there. They won’t miss him for several extra days. Perhaps weeks.”
     I turned on the bastard. He wouldn’t look at me. Ah. Plainly dear Captain Hume was letting me know that I could have my freedom if I went with the Sibylline, or be dumped on the penal colony on schedule–—-if the LeHanna survived this meeting.
     Captain Falkenburg didn’t seem impressed. He glance rested on the cabins below the bridge. “This can’t be all you have, Hume.”
     Most anxious to please, Captain Hume nearly curtseyed like a matron in front of a queen. He assured the pirate, “Oh, no! You will receive what I promised you. One moment, please.”
     He turned to his First Officer. I caught parts of his whispered instructions, enough to know that the crew of the LeHanna would trade Doctor Perideaux’s family in exchange for their lives. Apparently, the doctor had something the pirates wanted.
First Officer Greer wasted no time gathering a contingent of crewmen and marching to Doctor Perideaux’s cabin. It was then that I decided to allow myself to be transported aboard the other ship; I must protect my new apprentice, after all.

                                                                     * * *

     More than an hour later, the doctor, his family, and I were transported to the Sibylline. I did my best to reassure Felicity and carried her aboard the pirate ship while the doctor helped his wife. In a billowing dress of pale blue, Mrs. Perideaux appeared angelic and as fragile as a porcelain figurine. She maintained a white-knuckled grip on her husband’s shoulders as he steadied her on deck.
     We huddled together and watched as the pirates used ropes to bring our trunks up to the deck. With hungry eyes divided between the woman, and the trunks before them, the pirates hovered close by. Their stench competed with the foulness of the ship. Mrs. Perideaux clung to her husband, and the child buried herself in her mother’s skirts and whimpered.
     I squatted beside her and tapped Felicity on the shoulder.
     “Poppet, we must be brave. And quiet.”
     One tear-stained eye chanced looking at me, and then she buried her face in her mother’s skirts again.
     I said, “Remember the crystal frogs?” Without turning around, Felicity nodded. I placed a hand on her shoulder and her whimpers subsided. “Just wait,” I added softly before standing once more.

                                                                   * * *

     As the last of our trunks were brought aboard the pirate ship, the LeHanna made sail, looking to gain yards swiftly in the growing wind. We watched her for moments before Captain Falkenburg turned his attention to his captives.
     Standing at Captain Falkenburg’s elbow, and surveying the rest of the pirates with distain, stood a scarecrow of a man as pale and cold as death. When I saw his eyes, I inserted myself between him and the family.
     “Well,” Captain Falkenburg said as he circled the trunks at his feet. As the wind whipped around us, seeming to grow stronger by the moment, the pirates straddled the yardarms and unfurled sails. The boom swung to the left, creaking with the weight of the masts.
     The scarecrow murmured something in Falkenburg’s ear. The Captain smiled with approval. “Excellent, Borodin. Blast her.” Borodin crossed to the pirates by the cannons, gave orders, and in a moment rejoined our party.
     Captain Falkenburg’s expression caused the doctor to step back. “Tell me. Where is it, Doctor? Save time, save your family, and just tell me.”
     Doctor Perideaux grew paler and the stubborn set of his jaw weakened, but he didn’t speak.
      Along the port side, the pirates lit fuses on the cannons as they jabbered and hopped around like colorful crickets. In the near distance, the other ship climbed waves, guilt-driven and anxious to get away.
     We watched, knowing deep in our souls what would befall the ship as soon as the pirate ship had a clear shot. The LeHanna ascended another wave and disappeared down the other side. As the tops of her masts sank lower, and still lower, the wave rose higher. Much higher than the sea conditions would suggest. Slowly, the wave crested and descended. The chattering of the pirates increased as they realized what had happened; the sea had swallowed the LeHanna; sails, crewmen, deceit and all. It seemed as if she had never existed at all.
     Curses in dozens of languages colored the deck as the pirates ran from bow to stern, looking for the other ship. Men at sea were a highly superstitious lot. Some scrambled up the masts and across the spars trying to see more. Captain Falkenburg grabbed a spy glass from Borodin, and scanned the area. Even without a glass, it appeared that not even a sliver of wood remained of the LeHanna.
     Such a pity. Or not.
     Captain Falkenburg lowered the glass, and with deliberation gazed at us, one by one. Finally his eyes rested on me. I shrugged. It would be illogical to think that anything but the sea claimed the LeHanna, would it not? The sea is mysterious; at best, it is a beautiful abyss capable of capricious treachery. Drowning is not the only thing that awaits the unwary.
     The pirate captain turned toward his crew who still squawked and chattered nervously. “Enough.” Without raising his voice, he restored order. “Silvestri, recalculate our course to the south. Get us moving, Borodin.” Then Captain Falkenburg returned his attention to Doctor Perideaux.
     “Again, and for the last time, Doctor, where is it?” There was no mistaking the menace in his words; each one seemed to be a blow to the doctor and he winced as the pirate took a step towards him.

     A wave slammed the pirate ship broadside, tossing the doctor and pirate captain into a bulkhead. I held Mrs. Perideaux and Felicity steady. In seconds, the sun had disappeared as armies of clouds rolled over our heads and the sea became a mass of white caps climbing as high as the deck. The wind whistled around the pirates, circled the salon and cabins, and whirled upward into the masts.

     The rain began like a celestial sword had slit open the sky. With an eye on the growing squall, Borodin pulled Captain Falkenburg aside. They watched another wave as it rose level with the deck, and if they didn’t like that wave, hundreds more ascended upon each other as far as the eye could see. Only hours from rounding the Cape, and it seemed we had entered an exceedingly stormy sea. Someone with a more suspicious mind would remember that it had been so calm not long ago.

     Captain Falkenburg barked orders and then glanced back at us. “Put them into the salon. Hurry up, you bastards!”

     As if we’d rehearsed it a thousand times, the doctor and I surrounded his family so that the pirates wouldn’t. When the woman and child had entered the salon, I hooked a finger at Perideaux and he followed me back on deck. Through the heavy rain, we beheld a curious sight.

     Half a dozen pirates stood around our trunks, cursing. One of them, a particularly hairy and primitive specimen, screamed and held his blackened hand in front of the others. The pirate nearest to my trunk reached for it, and then bawled in pain. I patted a yawn: they seemed to be slow to learn.

     The other pirates hovered around the distressed pirate and conferred, as best they could, while casting worried glances at the bridge where Captain Falkenburg paced and swilled wine. Another few moments and the largest pirate approached the doctor’s trunk. His hand flamed and the flesh melted away as his scream carried much further than the bridge, riding the waves into the lowering darkness.

     That should be enough of a demonstration. Perideaux followed me across the deck to our trunks. The remaining pirates gave us a large berth. I grabbed my trunk by the handle and rested it against my hip. The doctor, with the barest hesitation, did the same with one of his trunks.

     I bowed. “After you, Doctor.” We wasted no time carting the luggage back to the salon. After our last trip back, we stepped inside the salon. The door slammed behind us and I heard the sound of several hammers nailing wood across the opening.

Part III will appear in the March newsletter

Crimes by Moonlight is still available and there are some great stories in it. The link appears below.

Serialization: In Memory of the Sibylline (the beginning of Jonas Celwyn and the Celwyn series)

IN MEMORY OF THE SIBYLLINE

By Lou Kemp

                          The many men so beautiful
                           And they all dead did lie!
                           And a million million slimy things
                           Liv’d on–and so did I.

                                     ——The Rime of the Ancient Mariner – Coleridge

Like a shower of fairy dust on fire, the embers from Townsend’s pipe blew across the railing and into the night; lost long before they fell into the waves.

He cupped his pipe to protect the remaining embers and to keep his hands warm. It seemed like only hours ago when the Christianna had sailed out of Cascais under a warm Portuguese sun.

A pregnant moon hung low over the sea. The waves reflected moonlight on iridescent crests that rolled by the Christianna as frothy and lacy as underskirts. Townsend gazed upward. The conflagration of stars seemed endless. Somewhere beyond them lay places the sailors of the future would travel. He’d be content to reach Alexandria and with a wee bit of luck it would be more temperate than his last visit in 1812. He nearly froze before he reached Cairo.

Although he did not hear footsteps, Townsend became aware of another presence at the rail. Townsend looked closer and saw that it was an older academic he’d met as he boarded the ship. A deep and pervading sadness seemed to weigh upon his shoulders.

“Good evening, Mr. Perideaux,” Townsend said.

“A beautiful night, no?” Perideaux’s cigarette flickered in the darkness, revealing a faint sheen of perspiration decorating his brow.

Although his words seemed calm enough, it appeared that Perideaux needed to be reassured in some manner, perhaps only to hear another voice in the vastness of the night. Townsend could sympathize with that thought. The undercurrent of fear existed most tangibly when a lone ship rode the waves in the dead of night. It was long after eleven bells and the crewmen in the rigging above were only a suggestion of movement. Or life.

“Yes, a beautiful night,” Townsend agreed.

Perideaux made no response. The man’s attention seemed transfixed some distance off the port bow as his gaze swept the sea from side to side, as if searching for something.

Under their feet, the Christianna creaked and groaned as she climbed a wave. Townsend relit his pipe. The damned thing could never stay lit for more than a few minutes. He wondered if Perideaux expected to see another ship cross their wake.

If Townsend hadn’t been watching his companion closely he wouldn’t have seen the delicate shudder that traveled down the man. Perideaux whispered, “Felicity, oh Felicity.” and he grabbed hold of the railing.

At first Townsend could perceive nothing except the inky night and the roiling waves. Then he saw the outline of a ship. Within seconds, the vessel seemed to glow and solidify. Three masts pointed to the sky and brass rails glimmered underneath canvasses that billowed, tickled by the wind. Shadows walked the deck. She floated nearly a league in the distance, without lights, without substance.

A gurgling sound came from Perideaux’s throat and he whispered, “The Dutchman.”

Townsend heard him, but couldn’t stop watching the phantom ship that appeared to fade away until the moonlight pierced through her and then she became distinct once again.

                                                                   * * *

From a porthole I watched as Madagascar slipped away into the distance. Already, a hot sun reflected the sea, obscuring the city with so much brightness that the smoke-shrouded shacks and fishing boats blended to gray, leaving just a suggestion of civilization behind the foam-capped waves.

My cabin was on the leeward deck, only a few paces from the Captain’s quarters and those of the passengers. Through the portholes blew a fragrant breeze, bringing the suggestion of frying sausages and the calls of the sailors as they worked high above in the rigging and swung from spar to spar. The LeHanna was a barkentine and considered of good size.

I’d determined that my cabin door would not open. Presumably because it was locked. However, I had no trouble hearing footsteps on the wooden deck approach and stop just outside.

Through the porthole, I could see most of my guard in profile. The newcomer confronting him was a tall man, nearly my height, scholarly and pale.

“We’re pleased to have you aboard, Doctor Perideaux,” said the guard.

The trick to observing someone without staring and causing them to turn and stare back is to look a bit off to the side. In this instance, I watched the sky just beyond Doctor Perideaux’s large ears. There was no mistaking the steel in his voice.

“Are you? Is that why you feel it necessary to brandish a musket around my family?”

The guard replied, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Sir. But I have my orders.”

“What orders? What do you have to guard? I just sent Felicity back to the cabin for her safety.”

“I’m sure your daughter will find something to do there,” the guard said.

Doctor Perideaux pointed at the cabin door. “I demand to know what is in there.”

“No one is to enter this cabin. And no one will.”

With a clatter of boots, Captain Hume arrived wearing a wide smile and insincere eyes. Perhaps Doctor Perideaux noted the Captain’s eyes, for his tone did not change.

“Captain, what is in there?”

Although a short man, the Captain did not shrink from the doctor’s aggressive stance, nor did he raise his voice.

“Please calm yourself. I’m sure you do not want to upset your wife.” The ship’s bell rang thirteen times for the hour, drowning out his next words, “…simple matter. We have charge of a prisoner. He is to be dropped off at Victoria Island tomorrow.”

“Why is he up here with the passengers?” Doctor Perideaux demanded. “Why is he not kept below with the crew?”

I enjoyed Captain Hume’s slight hesitation. How would he put it? Would he tell the truth, or prevaricate?

“Doctor, I have specific orders that the prisoner is not to have contact with a living soul. He has to be separated from the crew.”

The doctor stared at the Captain. “Why?”

“I can not tell you.” Captain Hume placed a hand on the Perideaux’s shoulder. “Please. Keep your family away from this area. Entertain them. I believe your wife is not well?”

Doctor Perideaux rubbed his chin and frowned. “No, she is not. The baby is due shortly.”

“All the more reason for you to join her. Perhaps with a cup of tea?”

                                                                      * * *

A rain shower visited the ship with the lightest touch. The LeHanna climbed the waves rhythmically, descending and rising as lovers do, hesitating to savor the moment slowly.

The last few days had marked the end of summer in Madagascar, and I’d grown tired of the food and lack of good lager. On balance, the muggy nights were warm with scents made more pungent with the heat and promise of whatever I could find in the bohemian quarters. When we reached Seville, it would be autumn and the bougainvillea would still bloom in veils of brilliant color. I had no intention of being dumped on Victoria Island like a rancid bag of potatoes.

The penal colony on Victoria Island offered little besides hard labor and the most notorious criminals for company. The sharks that circled the island did so knowing that there would always be another convict swimming towards the sun, tiring…and then succumbing. I shuddered delicately and resumed my reading.

                                                                      * * *

The dulcet sound of snoring filtered through my cabin door. I arose and moved to the porthole to watch my guard as he slept. The full sun, a satisfied belly, and the repetitive motion of the waves had lulled him to sleep against the wall of the cabin. Or it could have been something else. Perhaps dropped into his plate of stew.

A young girl approached from the stern. She wore her red curls tied in a ribbon that matched her dress of robin’s egg blue. She was probably eight years of age, but checked over her shoulder with the furtiveness of a well-seasoned Singapore pickpocket. If I interpreted her smile correctly, she seemed content with what she saw.

As she passed by, I said “Hello, Poppet.”

Innocent eyes widened, searching for my voice.

“Up here, my dear.” I unlocked the door. It would be a simple matter to lock it again if the guard awoke and became curious.

She stood under the porthole and squinted. “I can’t see you. Who are you?”

Such a sweet little lamb. Where was her nanny, or her father, or whoever keeps the unsuspecting from characters like me?

“My name is Celwyn. Would you like to come inside?”

The child hesitated but a moment before stepping over the legs of the sleeping guard.

By the time she’d opened the door, I’d moved to the far corner of the stateroom and sat behind the petite drop table common to all sea cabins. It had been a while since I’d been around a tiny person, but she would most likely be less intimidated if I was closer to her level. The child poked her head inside the door, noting my traveling trunk with its mysterious contents visible to a curious eye, and finally myself. I must have passed a child-like test, for she came inside, leaving the door ajar. Perhaps she felt more afraid of her parents finding her than she was of me.

If you wonder why I did not venture forth from my unlocked cabin; it wasn’t time yet to do so. Crafting a perfect situation from raw elements is so much more entertaining than being tossed about by random acts of fate. Or shot at by pistols.

“Please sit down,” I said to my new friend.

She took several steps and then flounced into the chair across from me. Up close, I could see some of her father in the intelligent eyes, but her beauty would come from her mother.

“Who are you? Why are you alone in here?” she asked.

“May I call you Felicity?”

A miniature jaw dropped open. “How did you know my name?”

I gestured toward the deck outside. “Your father mentioned you.” How many other children named Felicity would there be on a cargo ship on its way to the Cape?

“Oh.” She studied me for a moment like her mother would peruse a menu. “I suppose that would be all right.”

Rather verbose for a little one. She eyed me with the inquisitiveness of a young cat. To her, I would appear similar to any other gentleman she would encounter; strong of face, whiskered, and dressed in a linen suit and brocade waistcoat. Not as many men would wear a ruby on his finger such as I wore, nor savor the aroma of a particularly obscure and fine tobacco that I’d stashed in my trunk. Very few men were as feared as I, which was a pity; I am misunderstood most of the time.

“Would you like something to drink? Milk?”

Felicity nodded assent, and then frowned. “I don’t see any milk.”

“Look around. I’m sure you will,” I said.

Her eyes traveled the rather small room and when they returned to the table, a glass of milk sat before her. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Help yourself,” I said.

Felicity touched the glass with a fingertip and then drew it closer until she could sniff the contents. With a lingering look of doubt upon me, she drank. Half of the milk remained when she licked her lips and asked, “Where did you get this?” She looked under the table. When she sat up, the glass was full again.

The girl blinked rapidly, and then her eyes darted from object to object in confusion. She asked, “How did you do that?”

I smiled. “Do you always believe only what you can see? Or do you believe in things you can not see?”

Her eyebrows nearly touched as she thought. “Only what I can see is real,” she answered.

I pointed to the glass. “Is the milk real?”

“Of course it is, silly.” To prove it, she drank more milk, all the while keeping her eyes on me. My, my, such suspicion. When she replaced the glass on the table, it was once more full to the brim.

For several moments she stared at the glass before daring to look at me. “How did you do that?”

I shrugged and asked, “What is in that pouch?”

She had placed a velvet pouch on the table when she joined me. At the mention of it she didn’t hesitate to open the strings that closed it and dump the contents on the table between us.

“These are my jacks. This is the ball you play jacks with,” Felicity said.

She tossed the ball, which was about the size and color of an apricot, into the air, and caught it again. On the second toss, she deftly picked up several of the tiny metal stars scattered on the table. “Do you know how to play?” she asked and without waiting for a reply added, “Of course, you have to pick up all the stars and not lose the ball.”

With that admonition, Felicity threw the ball into the air again. It hung, suspended between us, above her head. Her eyes grew as wide as her little face. Before she could cry, the ball descended again. Slowly.

Her hand automatically reached for the metal stars. Felicity squeaked and stood up. The stars had become tiny frogs made of the finest crystal. Even in the muted daylight, they reflected light delightfully.

“Oh, my!” the child exclaimed and gathered them into her hands. The ball bounced off the table and into my trunk.

I ushered Felicity to the door. The pouch of crystal frogs was clutched in both of her hands. As I reached for the door handle she asked, “May I come visit you again?”

“Certainly. But only if the guard is asleep. This is our secret.” I placed a finger to my lips. By the time we reached Seville, I might even have a young apprentice to teach some less sinister magic tricks to.

Felicity put a finger to her lips and then slipped out the door with a giggle.

Part 2 of 3 will appear in February’s newsletter

Crimes by Moonlight is still available and there are some great stories in it.