The Docks
A short climb down a webwork of ropes and Richard was grabbed aboard the bobbing boat by some rough and muscular fellows who no doubt would just as soon have tossed Richard over the other edge, but then they wouldn't have a reason to be going ashore for the day. The cable's length, or about a tenth of a mile, separating the skiff from the docks was a silent journey of only a few minutes, and then Richard found himself standing on a dock with perhaps as many as a hundred waghalters, a term of endearment pirates used of one another, taking a break from their various endeavours to stare at him. Although on closer inspection, the waghalters seemed to be of two types - the ones getting off ships to be about the day's mischief in town, and those working the docks. The latter seemed to be almost entirely boys. The very young were running about apparently delivering messages, the middling young were scraping things that needed scraping, washing others and fetching small loads. An army of older boys was engaged in the endless moving of large and impossibly heavy items, from there to here, and then, apparently, back again.
A gruff 'Ye'll do well to be here afore sundown or ye can swim.' was the boat crew's farewell to him, as they scampered off on some unholy errand. Richard had no doubt they would be as drunk as, well, sailors, at sundown. All about could be heard the various sounds of ships' rigging at rest; creaks and groans with the occasional bell and always a chorus of blasphemies. Overhead, gulls circled against a vibrant blue sky. One had landed on a post of some sort and was staring at Richard with baleful red eyes. It seemed to be wondering whether the effort of killing Richard would be worth the potential feast. Apparently not, for it took to the air with a mighty squark in search of more promising fare.
"Well as I live and breathe! Sir Richard!" came a friendly sounding voice from a round and hairy little fellow sauntering towards him. The saunter seemed to be taking the very life from the newcomer. He was turning a vibrant red, starting in his bulbous nose and extending throughout the rest of his enormously wide though squat frame, judging by the bits that could be seen. Name of Scrappers, might have been. Richard had been introduced to him previously. Something of a dockmaster, Richard recalled. Certainly nothing moved on or off or about the docks without him doing whatever it was that he did. And as the movement of goods was essentially what a dock was for, his was a crucial role. "You'll be wanting to clear up some of Captain Avery's markers I expect."
"Yes. You have one, I am guessing?"
"Not as such, no. Although, as the good Captain will no doubt tell you, it is considered good luck to give the dockmaster a small token of your appreciation. The loading and unloading of ships is more of an art than a science, one finds. One also finds the art to be both prettier and quicker if the dockmaster is well disposed towards one."
The evil little man smirked at his own wit. Richard did not. He didn't know enough of such things to know whether he was being had or not, but it was readily apparent that the dockmaster thought he could delay your sailing almost indefinitely. And it would be no surprise if he could and in fact did. Reluctantly, Richard counted out some coins that he presumed would make the imp go away. He would have to check with Avery later on the etiquette of this situation, though that blackguard of a Captain would no doubt inflate the stipend out of all proportion to what was correct and split the proceeds with this crook.
"I have a couple of other errands while I am about town. I need a dog and a ship's boy, and some barrels and sacks from the grocer's. Where should I go for such items?" Richard said, attempting to derive some use from the man.
"I heard. Rats. A terrible plague. And there's really no way of keeping them off your ship, as you would no doubt agree." The dockmaster swiveled his portly body around to face some of the young men stacking sacks of whatever on the dock. "Avast, ye sons of whores! And they be ha'penny whores too, mind ye. I be talkin' to thee, waghalter-Bob. And thee, Shiftless-Tim. They beans goes over there, by the Zafiro. All nineteen bags o'em."
"They be twenty bags, Scuppers."
"Be ye blind or simply daft, Tim? I clearly sees nineteen bags o' beans bought and paid for by the captain o' the Zafiro and one out o' me own storehouse that somehow or another you poxy bastards has gotten mixed in. Put the Zafiro's over yonder and return mine to me warehouse and see that you don't make that mistake again! Now step lively!"
Scuppers. That was his name, Richard now recalled. The dockmaster turned to resume talking to Richard.
"I'm dreadfully sorry. Those monkeys would simply walk off the docks and drown if you didn't see to them constantly. Now where were we... ah yes. You need some more supplies. Well, old man Hannigan could certainly sell you some molasses and beans and such, but I must say his prices are outrageous. Now if you want, I happen to have a bit of a store laid by for a rainy day, but I'm always willing to help out a friend in need. I can give you anything Hannigan is likely to have, for a modest consideration. Let us say, roughly a half of what the good Grocer would charge?"
Richard was nobody's fool. Likely enough some of the goods he could purchase from this morbidly overweight crook would already have the stamp of the Fancy on them, just under that of Hannigan's, as they would have been intercepted enroute. And even more likely, any provisions coming from his lair would come pre-loaded with rats. Richard would have to have a word with the authorities about this man. Although, as far as he could tell, this huge grape of a man was the authorities, at least on the docks. Perhaps it was best to ignore the man and move on.
"I'll have to see, but thank you, my good man. Our shipping outwards very much depends on my getting a dog and a boy I'm afraid. Until then I have no further need of provender for the crew, as if we continue with our rat problem we will be limping Home with what we have."
"Well, a boy should be no problem. The good reverend Macready up on the top of the hill has quite the charitable streak to him, and often has an orphan or two under his care." said Scuppers, in a voice designed to carry. Then in a much more subdued tone he continued, "Fairyland is quite the dangerous place and generates its own fair share of orphans, but Macready mainly has boys shipped here from back Home. Girls too. I don't want to think about what their stories might be, but whatever horrors they escaped back there they find themselves here in Macready's tender care, until such time as he can sell them as indentured servants at least. I'll have no truck with the man myself, and employ no boys as such. The young men I employ have worked off their servitude and then are left for the streets and the docks to care for them. Some find themselves onboard ships. Some find themselves working the docks. For the dockmaster. I need not tell you where the girls end up. So if you want an indentured boy then that is your affair and I'll be of no service to you." The fat man's voice raised an octave or two and could be plainly heard as he went on, "Yessir, if you want a boy then the good Reverend is who you should talk to. Now a dog, on the other hand, might be difficult. I myself had an excellent terrier that kept the docks clear of vermin. Had him for five years, but he suddenly disappeared about a week ago. Likely enough he's been 'pressed and finds himself at this very moment keeping the rats off the catch on some fishing boat. So I am in the market for a dog myself. As are a lot of people in these parts, in fact. You know, I think when I retire I'm going to have a farm of sorts, and produce rat terriers. There's quite the market here in Fairlyand."
Richard was a bit at sea, as it were, over what the florid man was saying. But mostly about his apparent venom. Of course the Reverend would acquire poor orphans from back Home and set them to good purpose. What else does one do with urchins? Richard himself had walked the streets of Home and been overwhelmed by a veritable plague of ragamuffins, always after handouts. If there were a need for them in places such as Fairyland then that is where they should be sent. Especially if one of them were to find his way onto the Fancy. No, Richard could not understand Scuppers' attitude towards charity, but had no doubt it arose from the man's low breeding. Nonetheless, he seemed know a great deal about Fairyland and might be of some use. The knowledge that the church had a store of ship's boys would certainly save Richard some time, and if this strange rotund fellow could point him in the direction of some form of ratter then the day's business would conclude satisfactorily and there may even be another stipend in it for the dockmaster before the Fancy shipped.
"Then do you know where I might come into the possession of a cat? Surely there's a plague of cats in a place such as this."
"Well there certainly was a plague of cats. But inexplicably, they all pretty much disappeared some years back." said Scuppers in his dockmaster voice. Then in his more private voice he continued, "Macready pays for the heads. Only the devil knows what he does with cats' heads. And if you're found with a live one there's trouble. I advise against looking for a cat, unless you're shortly to ship anchor."
Well that is odd, thought Richard. Why would anyone care enough about cats to buy their heads?
"Damnation! Is there nothing for it? If I can't be sure of keeping supplies safe in the hold then I can't proceed on my journey!"
Scuppers could see that the potential sale of a large amount of plunder was hanging in the balance. The fact of the matter was that Macready was insane, and he controlled the constabulary and the cannons. He would make a powerful enemy. Scuppers was always very careful to be useful enough to Fairyland and therefore Macready that his activities went officially unnoticed. But it was also a fact that Scuppers' private warehouse was getting full and it was time to unload some of his wares. Now as it happened, Scuppers was very much aware of a boy in need of employment who also had a pet cat. Being involved in either the private sale of a boy or the possession of a cat would make life difficult in Fairyland, so Scuppers could have no direct involvement. But if he could steer this bumbling buffoon in the right direction, and if the buffoon were then on his way quickly with the evidence, and a hold full of Scuppers' wares, why then everything would work out just fine. He slapped his forehead theatrically, as if a thought had just come to him. Then he continued in his most intimate voice, which made Richard's flesh crawl as he had to lean in towards the man to hear.
"Where is my head these days? I do in fact know where there is a boy that might work for you. And I believe he keeps a pet as well. An animal that may indeed help with your rat problem."
"Well out with it, man! Where can I find this boy and his beast?"
Scuppers looked around to see who might have overheard Richard's outburst. It was time to send this mark on his way.
"I believe you would be going there today in any event, Sir Richard. Your good Captain has left a marker there, as shorr as shite be foul smellin', as some of my associates would say. Miss Mayhew's, right at the end of the docks as you start up the hill."
"A bar is it?"
"You can get a drink there, of course. But they're mostly in the business of young women I'm afraid."
Richard wore a sour expression. A house of sin was not something he wished to be seen in.
"Alright. And where else might I find the good captain's markers?"
"Well I expect that they will find you, as soon as you start walking about town with some coin. And I might suggest you stay in the public areas and avoid any shortcuts, as you do your walk about town."
"Thank you, my good man. Now I must be about my errands. I will consider my supply problem once I can be certain of a solution to the rat plague. Good day to you, sir."
"And you as well, sir. And if your business concludes to your satisfaction and an outbound journey seems to be in the cards, as it were, why do come back and inspect my wares. I believe you'll find them every bit as good as Hannigan's. Fairly identical, one might say. And one more thing," he said, as the conspiratorial and above all quiet tone returned, "if you would be so good as to keep this one quite close to your chest. I may in fact be able to find some smudge for you."
Smudge. The holy grail of rat killing. A smoky tub of roughly equal parts wax, sawdust and arsenic. Quite illegal here, apparently.
"I will indeed keep that one close to my chest. Thank you, my good sir."
Richard nodded at, and walked away from, the strange man generally in an 'up' direction, away from the docks. True to the fat old crook's word, and likely enough due to his word, being gossiped about town in the manner of the seagulls squawking about a dead cod, a merchant approached Richard eager to settle one of the captain's markers. Hannigan of course. The grocer. A plump and oily old man, though not so plump nor so oily as Scuppers. No doubt he had seen Richard talking with the dockmaster and wished to set Richard straight.
"Sir Richard! Good to see you. Might I offer you a cup of tea, sir? I have just opened a bale of the very finest clear from the other side of the world. Most of it bound for the courts of kings but at least one bound for the court of Hannigan, eh what?"
The smile was oily, but Richard had not in fact had a good cup of tea in at least two weeks.
"Certainly, my good man. The other side of the world indeed. What a king's ransom it would be worth for someone to find the secret route those foreign traders use to get here."
"A king's ransom indeed, Sir Richard. Our King, in fact. He has made it generally known that anyone who can ferret the secret out of any of our beloved foreign captains will receive a knighthood and his unending favour."
Richard winced a bit at this news. Not totally unexpected, but unwelcome nonetheless. This added greatly to the urgency of Richard's undertaking.
"I would love some fresh tea. And might I be so bold as to suggest that you have a marker from the Fancy?"
"You may indeed, sir. And here it is."
He flourished a playing card: the jack of spades, with a menacing-looking signature on it, and a suspiciously large number written down beside it.
"My God, man, what on earth has the captain been buying from you?"
"Why, the necessaries of a voyage at sea of course. Tobacco and rum mostly. Some black powder. A few hundredweight of lead. That sort of thing."
"I require a detailed accounting, sir. The captain goes too far!"
"Certainly, sir. If you would simply step into my humble warehouse I'll have the boy fetch the ledger. Boy!" he bellowed, entering a dilapidated shack at the edge of the docks. It, along with all of its neighbours, wouldn't survive a storm of any sort, and in fact had the appearance of being recently resurrected from a fallen predecessor.
"Boy!" he continued. "Fetch the accounts of the Fancy and make us a pot of tea. Quick! There's a gentleman waiting."
A boy of probably ten stumbled to the back of the structure, in order to obey his master. And avoid the whip.
"It's so hard to find a good boy these days." he lamented. "This one I've had for only a few months and already I can tell he won't work out. I think I may broker a deal through the Reverend to saddle him on some captain or another as a ship's boy and get a new one."
Richard couldn't imagine why the Reverend would be involved in something so mundane as the sale of a boy, and the lad didn't appear to be all that bad. Improper discipline it appeared. More judicious use of the whip would likely bring him around.
"As it happens, the Fancy needs a ship's boy." he said, before noting the obvious. The boy was not using his left hand. He was lame.
"Well you'll find none finer than young Bartholomew there. A very able young lad. And smart as a whip." Hannigan's poker-straight face slowly cracked at the edges. He could not maintain a straight face through this bald-faced lie, and unintentional bon mot. He laughed with the gusto of a thunderstorm, and it was so infectious that even Richard cracked a smile.
"No, I've brought it on myself. A perfectly good boy when he arrived from the Reverend, but perhaps a bit too heavy a hand with the discipline and now he's only half a boy. No doubt he'll heal in time. But seriously," he continued when the boy returned, carrying some paperwork in his right hand, "here is your account. Detailed to the ha'penny."
Richard scrutinized the bill. It seemed in order, though for wares that were hardly of value to this voyage. Richard would have to speak to the Captain, but he could find no fault with the merchant. Except for the last entry.
"What is this at the bottom? SR?"
"Sack of rats. My boy catches some of the finest, and might I say, meanest of the little buggers as ever there were. You won't find any better, or more reasonably priced, in all of Fairyland."
"Why in the name of all that's holy would a sailor wish to purchase rats?!" thundered Richard, who did not like where this conversation was headed.
Hannigan paled a bit at this outburst. He was in the presence of a man with a great deal of money and ignorance but also anger. It was easy enough to separate money from ignorance, but anger complicated matters.
"Well, it's fairly common around here. You must understand that we see ships from all the known world and more than a few from the rest of it. And all of these ships are in competition with one another. It starts out friendly enough, the odd murder, the odd fire, that sort of thing. But over time grudges build up and fester away. The only reason Fairyland isn't a daily bloodbath is the reassuring presence of the cannons on battery hill. So the murders and the fires continue, but also the rats. We don't allow the burning or even the possession of smudge in Fairyland, you see. The arms of the hill would ensure that the entire town would sicken with even the hint of an easterly breeze. So any ship coming here in a rat-free state can be assured of leaving with an infestation, compliments of a launch rowing by in the middle of the night, and the heaving of a sack onboard by someone with a grudge or merely an interest in levelling the field."
Richard was gobsmacked. Could that old pirate Avery have engineered a rat problem simply to abort the journey and still receive full pay? Could anyone be that underhanded? Yes, Avery certainly could. Or it could be that Avery's SR found its way onto one of the other ships in harbour, who then returned the favour. He could not tell what was making him angrier: the suspicion that his own captain had caused the plague, or the possibility that it was a complete stranger who had done it. In either event, he did not enjoy the feeling. And the good merchant was not to blame, at least directly, and should not see him in such a state.
"But if you have indeed found yourself the victim of an SR, you may at least rest easy in the knowledge that it was a friendly gesture, and no real harm was meant." offered the merchant, in an attempt to cool off his volatile customer.
"What in God's name can you mean by that? We are ruined!"
"Not completely. If this were a hostile move by some other captain, then the rats would have been dipped in lantern oil and set ablaze before being thrown onto your deck."
"My God, man, that is barbaric!"
"I am certain that many of the rats would agree with you, sir. But stay, I hear the kettle. Tea will be here shortly."
Richard could suddenly not countenance the company of this man, who sold flaming rats and beat boys until they were lame.
"Sadly, I must be about my business. I'll share your tea another day perhaps. Here is sufficient to cover this marker." he said, clinking some coins down on the table and taking his leave. "By the way; I may be needing rather a lot of supplies in a hurry. Would you accept a bill of exchange?"
"Drawn upon which bank, might I ask?"
"Indeed you may. Upon your very own bank further up the hill. I have in my possession a circular letter of credit from Home bank, and I propose to establish credit with your bank today in order to procure funds to see me on my journey."
"Of course I will accept your bill! We do business on credit all the time. Do you have an idea what it is you will require? I'll have it ready."
"Nothing right at the moment. I need to clear up a couple of other items first. Once I have them squared away then I'll be back with an order. But broadly speaking, if a rat can ruin it, then we need it."
The grocer nodded his understanding. Word of the Fancy's rat problem had spread.
"Certainly, sir. Well I'll just have some necessaries ready to hand in case you come back, then, sir."
"I thank you." Richard leaned in close, and attempted a conspiratory tone, which totally failed to work for him. "And is there any chance that some smudge might be a part of the order?"
The look on the grocer's face was answer enough. "Do not speak of such a thing!" he said, glancing around to see who might be listening, which was strange behaviour within the confines of his warehouse. "Anyone found with it will have a date with the Reverend and then shortly with the gibbet. I beg of you to not mention it again."
Odd, thought Richard. Banning an airborne poison made perfect sense in Fairyland's partially enclosed space, but why would it be a hanging offence, and why in God's name would the Reverend be involved? This was a strange place indeed. But best not to dwell too much on it.
"And so I shall not. But one further service: where might I find Miss Mayhew's establishment?"
"Mayhem's? She's at the end of the alleyway to your right, sir." Hannigan smiled his oily smile, seemingly recovered from his recent outburst. "I would be careful in the alleyways if I were you. If I were me then there is not a man on this rock who does not like the taste of his rum, so I enjoy a level of safety that you do not. And the dregs of an otherwise unsavoury lot frequent Mayhem's 'establishment' as you call it. God speed, sir!"
Richard stumbled a bit getting out of his chair. His cavalry sabre was fine on horseback or in an open field but was a bit over-large for the close quarters of the merchant's establishment. He tipped his hat at the oily smile on Hannigan's face and left the ramshackle building, heading further up, away from the docks. The alley was indeed a dangerous place. Richard did not hear his pursuer until he spoke.
"Now what would a toff such as yerself be doing in this here alleyway, I wonders. And headed t'w'rds Mayhem's too. Could it be that yer longplum is over ripe?"
Richard spun about at the sound and found himself facing a rough, hairy looking man who held a short, curved cutlass in a not quite threatening manner. The man continued:
"I sees ye be admirin' me cutlass, sir. And it is a beaut'. A good friend gave it to me. After I killed him. It is as sharp as a whore's tongue. And if'n it had a tongue, sir, it would be sayin' that you should hand over that bag o' coins, the clinking of which can be heard for miles around."
"I shall not! Be off with you, man, or I shall give you a thrashing!"
Richard drew his sabre and held it uncertainly in front of him.
"And what a pretty thing it is you have there too, sir. Of limited use in a fight, I am saddened to say. It be too long by half. Otherwise I would be takin' it too. Yer shirt be right pretty at the nonce though sadly it is about to get covered in blood and so I shall leave it to ye as well. But there is one further service you can do for me, sir, afore I takes your money and your life. I hear tell of a nob from Home, a proper gent, who is sailing aboard the Fancy. And apparently he has a map of some sort that he values. And so, therefore, do I. Where is it?"
"It is quite safe sir."
"Ah, now I be thinkin' one of two things be true. Either ye are as daft as ye looks, and the map be aboard the Fancy in yer sea locker and under the warchful eye of cap'n Avery, or ye be twice't as daft as ye looks and ye has it aboard yer person even now. I'm guessing the latter, sir. Hand it over."
"I'll have you know, sir, that I was twice fencing champion in my university!"
"And I, sir, has not had the honour of attending an institution of higher learning, and, as a result, has never fenced in me life." He spat a wad of brownish liquid. "But I has killed me at least a dozen men, sir, all of them quite accomplished fencers."
The pirate swung his cutlas backwards and jumped into a rather messy attempt at a flunge, which Richard parried neatly with a well timed passata sotto followed by a riposte into a blistering remise. A clever deuxième intention on Richard's part lured his assailant into an ill-advised attempt at a straight-in lunge. Richard simply stepped inside the arc of the man's weapon, parrying the lunge with the blade edge of his sabre while laying the back edge against the man's neck. He drew the merest trace of blood. The pirate was quite surprised to find that the topmost bit of the back of a cavalry sabre had a very keen edge. Cutlasses were blunt along the back, and meant mostly for hacking.
"Yield, sir." said Richard, victory in hand.
"Wot?"
"I have beaten you, sir. I have drawn first blood. You must yield."
The pirate withdrew slowly, sheathing his sword.
"Now the funny thing, is, sir. The funny thing about first blood is..." he said as he unhurriedly drew an evil looking pistol from his belt, "that it matters neither more nor less than a dog's fart on a windy day." He aimed the pistol at a flabbergasted Richard. "It be the last blood what matters." The man slowly cocked his pistol and winked at Richard. "This be at least thirteen men, now, sir. All of them quite accomplished fencers."
The roar of the pistol was deafening in the narrow alleyway. Richard felt something blunt hit him in the chest and bounce away down the alley. He looked down, still in disbelief at winning the duel only to have this happen. His expensive silk shirt, ordinarily a respectable and sombre French Green, was now mostly crimson. In front of him, the pirate clutched at his own chest and the recent hole in it, before slumping to the ground. Behind him stood Captain Avery, holding a smoking pistol.
"Good God, man. You shot him in the back!"
"Aye, sorr. And he was about t'do fer ye in the front. Would that have been more to yer likin', sorr?"
"But you've killed him!" said Richard, suffering a bit of shock.
"That so?" answered Avery. He kicked the prostrate pirate, who moaned. "Billy, be ye dead?"
"No, Long Ben, ...ye wandought ceorl..." came the agonized response.
"Well that be a'right then. N'harm done."
"You know this man?" Richard didn't know quite what was happening. He had won the duel, but what came after was just simply wrong.
"Aye, me and Billy be like brothers. Known him fer years an' years."
"God in heaven, man. The only thing that could possibly be worse than shooting a man in the back is to shoot a friend in the back!"
"Well, 'friend' be a stretch ye might say. More like business associates. Ain't that right, Billy?"
Billy bubbled some frothy blood in response.
"Now thee knows how this goes, Willum. One of two ways. I seen you do it yersel' to at least a couple o' men. So be it the hard way or be it the easy way?"
"Easy..." came the bubbly answer.
"Now that be the correct answer, Willum. Sorr Richard, me good friend Billy be in a turrible way and is in need of absolution should anything unfortunate happen to him. A man's last confession be a mighty private matter, betwixt him an' his confessor, as it were. It be best if you were pushin' off, perhaps in that direction there, t'w'rds mistress Mayhem's."
Richard's face was a mask, registering a complete lack of emotion, somewhere between shock and disbelief.
"And when ye returns to the ship, why, we must catch up on old times. Discuss matters of a mutual interest as it were. Maps, mayhaps."
"And rats." said Richard as he stumbled up the alley.
"Aye, and rats." agreed the captain. "Now Willum, ye'll be tellin' me what thee and thy shite of a capt'in be doin' in these waters."