An original story I just made up as I sat here in front of the microphone. I was hoping to get some Halloween spooky stuff done (on or by Halloween) but life happened.
This idea had been milling about in my head and it came out ok. I used the name Alan Rickman and then realized it was a real person. O well…it took me half an hour to render and I’m sure Professor Snape won’t mind being fictionalized as an institutionalized salesman.
The music is awesome and free domain as far as I know. If you have similar needs or just want some atmosphere check out this link:
As we proceeded topside Harris chuckled.
“That was a mighty fine speech you gave. You should have taken on the cloth.”
“I do not fancy my fathers profession.”
“A nice parish in the country? That is not favorable to scurvy and the sword?”
“The parish is worms and dust. It is stifling to both mind and spirit. There are such vistas both mortal and metaphysic…that to burrow ones nose in the narrow confines of Saxon renderings of oriental myths is a crime against God.”
“You call the Bible a myth? I’m sure the senior Halstead would make one out of your hide for that.”
“He already has.” I said musing on the steady application of physical discipline by that tall, thin, ascetic thing I called father. I owed him much in the way of education but was very glad on the day that I put distance between myself and that holy terror.
“So that’s why you took so warmly to those diabolists in Boston.”
It was my turn to chuckle.
“Diabolists?”
“They have quite the reputation.”
“Yes, I’m sure that all the superstitious babblers fancy us the new Salem. But to imagine George as a diabolist…well that is some devilry indeed.”
“Is that the portly fellow?”
“Yes, portlier and jollier than you, more patient then a saint….more generous than the Samaritan.”
“So what is it that you do there?”
“That’s the thing I’ve told you and we’ve told the whole town a million times over. We collect books, curiosities, and entertain ideas…that’s all besides a good bit of mutton and beer. Perhaps some take to whoring more often than is proper but how uncommon is that in a port city? Does not the governor himself that pious picture of Protestant virtue…. not entertain more beauties than the king of France?”
“Tis true.”
“So why do you keep asking?”
“It’s just there’s so much seen round that Inn, so many odd folks, and lights, and voices.”
“Well what do you expect from a party if not folks, and lights, and voices.”
“Well…some have said they’ve seen fairies….” Harris said sheepishly.
“You are a fairy you great port barrel fool.” I said gripping his neck and rubbing my knuckles into his bald head. I also had my father’s height to thank for this capacity to molest the crowns of my fellows. I suppose that’s one more thing I could thank him for.
“Alright, alright! hands off you spindly monstrosity, before I sit on you.”
“Ooooff…” I exploded. “That is certain death!” And released him.
“So what do you think old Death will make of this Canaries business?”
“I rather think he will agree.”
“Really!”
“Yes, you noted yourself, the change in him. He is no longer as keen on politics and service as he is on the Contemplation of God.”
“He has gone a bit queer hasn’t he.”
“Shhh….” I said putting my finger to my lips. “We just passed his new lodging.”
“Ah! I always forget he gave up his quarters to that magician. Besides aren’t we about to meet him topside.”
“You can never be certain and…Magician?”
“Yes, that’s how I’ve come to think of him…you know like from the Bible…the magi…”
This statement threw me into a heady flurry of thought that was as brisk as the salt air that kissed my face as we emerged topside onto the deck.
The Berber sat as silent as the grave. He raised his turbaned head and regarded me with a detached curiosity.
Our guest had gotten the best accommodation. Death was reluctantly indebted to the Mohammedans. It was the galley of some Suleiman fellow that had pulled him from the English channel. It seems the Ottomans still had designs on Rome and there were yet parties in England to accommodate them despite the wane of the Hapsburgs.
“Ah! Halstead, a most peculiar matter…one I trust you’ll find very much to your liking…”
“I’ve seen my share of slavers…”
“Why do you implicate him in this sin…besides do we not ourselves trade in lives…”
“I am not speaking from a pulpit Harris…I’ve seen my share of Berbers…”
“Yes, well this fellow is a scholar…a wiseman…you see and he had something on him when we pulled him from that Spaniards grip…”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I know that you are most keen on all those Indian tales and dusty tapestries…”
My eye had already found the object he was about to reveal. There on the oaken desk, beside the captains log sat an odd powder blue box, with oriental patterns inscribed along the sides, and a great pearl sat atop.
I cocked my head. “My Mary would likely never raise her voice if I were to bring her such a gaudy trinket.”
“You’re the fool that married the prettiest girl in Norwich…Jane is just happy that she has a husband at all, which is why I am so well-kept!” He said petting his paunchy gut.
It was true…Harris was probably right…his wife was plain but I’d never known a warmer woman or a better cook. We both laughed.
“Well, anyway there is more than jewels to that little wonder.”
I cocked an eyebrow.
“Why don’t you bring it to me?” Harris said in an odd sort of way.
I shook my head in confusion but complied. I walked over in two strides and grasped the thing in my right hand.
I couldn’t move it. It wasn’t much bigger than a midsize snuffbox and I couldn’t so much as budge it.
I chuckled. “What manner of trick is this?”
“Frankly, I haven’t the faintest idea and was hoping you could supply the answer.”
“Me?”
“Well, yes you are the foremost expert on such things…you and your little club in Boston…”
“Hmm…well I’d love to help but a heavy box is just a heavy box…”
“You still don’t see…I suppose I am a terrible presenter…look…”
He strode beside me and tried to move the box. Nothing in his attempts seemed like an act. He was as limited as I in his capacity to budge the pretty little thing.
“Now..Timurhan…” He said motioning with his head for the Turk to join us.
Our guest wordlessly complied picking up the box with ease. He showed us a strange flowing scrip inscribed all on the bottom in neat rows of paragraphs.
“It’s a trick of some sort…”
“I thought you’d say that…” Harris replied and whistled.
The whole ship trooped through the Captain included. Each earnestly trying and failing to lift the box from where Timurhan had place it on the floor.
I stared in wonder.
To be continued .
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