The Bookman - Lavie Tidhar [75]
"Welcome," Captain Wyvern said, and he raised his hands in the air, "to the Joker!"
And so it was that Orphan went on the account, and became a pirate.
There was a party that night, as the ship drifted across the warm Carib Sea; lanterns were hung high and on the open deck Aramis, formerly the boy-cook, formerly, also, from the Nautilus, was cooking fish on a bed of coals. Orphan sat on a coil of rope and played cards with Takanobu and Jaffery (who still looked a little shocked to be alive). Orphan swigged from a bottle of rum that burned his throat. He passed it back to Takanobu. He had wounds in his hand and on his shoulder, but they were shallow, and would heal. They were bound now, with alcohol-soaked cloth.
Orphan had two pairs, kings high. He raised, and Takanobu, studying him for a long time, finally called. Jaffery had already folded that round.
Takanobu had only one pair, jacks. As was customary on card decks, the aristocracy, jacks and over, were lizards, drawn in profile.
Takanobu shrugged and conceded the hand. Orphan collected his winnings, an assortment of odd coins.
Somewhere near the prow guitar music started, and it was joined moments later by a fiddle. The music rose over the deck. Orphan threw in his hand and stood up.
"Boy," said a voice behind him. He turned and saw Mr. Spoons.
"Sir?"
"Captain wants to see you."
He followed the pirate. Into the hold, through the dark corridor, finally, into the captain's private quarters. As he had left the deck he felt Aramis' gaze follow him. He wondered, then, how the man had managed – so effortlessly, it seemed – to become one of the Joker's crew. From one ship to the other, he moved with the same unchanged expression, the same easy grace. He didn't trust him, but then, he was a pirate now. Trust did not figure into it, not any more.
The captain's room turned out to be wide and spacious. Along one wall ran a long bar of dark mahogany, and two armchairs and a low table – like refugees from a far away private club – stood beside it. In another corner of the room stood a row of machines. Orphan recognised an Edison player and a Tesla set. Clearly, the pirate was not bereft of technology. Orphan wondered which ship had been plundered – and how many people had died – to furnish him with the devices.
Captain Wyvern was standing with his back to him, gazing out through the open porthole onto the dark sea.
Orphan and Mr. Spoons waited. Finally, not turning, the captain said, "Thank you," and Mr. Spoons nodded his head (though the captain couldn't see it) and departed, closing the doors behind him like a majordomo.
Orphan waited. Wyvern's tail was long and thick and muscled, looking more like a weapon than a body part. It looked like a cat-o'-nine-tails.
When he turned to him at last (the tail whooshing to the side) he glared at Orphan with his one eye. He looks like a pirate, Orphan thought, and wondered how he had lost his eye. He was dressed in fresh clothing, rough but clean, thousands of miles away from his elegant cousins back home.
"Orphan," Captain Wyvern said. He seemed to be tasting the name. His tongue hissed out, as quick as a whip.
"Sir."
The captain came towards him. He rested his hands on Orphan's shoulders and peered into his face. Close enough to Orphan so that he could smell his breath, which was – surprising Orphan – fresh and somewhat minty.
"Who are you, boy?"
"I…" He suddenly didn't know what to say, how to answer.
"You're no sailor. What were you doing on the Nautilus?"
"Passenger, sir."
Wyvern slapped him. It had such force that it knocked Orphan aside. "You and a fat man, I was told. Passengers to Xaymaco. Yes… but why was the Nautilus, of all ships, coming here in the first place? Do you know what the cargo