Drawn Up From Deep Places

“No more nor less than any man o’ him complexion, little half-me-blood. Yet in the matter of pure foolishness I reckon ya still ahead, if you was wonderin’.”

A true barb: Parry muffled a species of smile while Rusk huffed, and Collyer crossed his arms. “Miss Rusk is our source for magical advisements, ‘tis true enough,” he confirmed, “leaving us not entirely unprepared to face whatever sort of attack you might care to levy, be it by arms alone or elsewise. Yet as I said, I come first and foremost bringing not a sword, but the ideal of peace. You have suffered much, I think—both of you—and the king would have that hurt balmed, as far as it may be . . . ”

“Oh, aye,” Rusk broke in, face split once more by his customary ferocious grin. “Very good of His Majesty, to think on Master Parry and me’s comfort! The damage we’ve done to his shipping of late, though—that’s got nothin’ at all t’do with anything, I’m sure.”

Collyer flushed. “It has . . . some bearing, yes. But if you would only—”

Now it was Parry’s turn to intervene, head-shaking, an imperious gesture of dismissal splashing blue-green light like thrown water to mark a clear line between factions. “Enough. You have some hand to play, madam, I don’t doubt—so do so, or prepare to be boarded. Neither Captain Rusk nor myself has any great pressing need the King of England can meet, nor any problem he can solve, considering how many different times and ways we’ve so ably proven unable to do so ourselves.”

Tante Ankolee nodded. “True ‘nough. Cap’n Collyer an’ him charge aside, however, ‘tis nah the wish of any earthly sovereign counts most, in this. Fah both of you been long self-deceived, in this matter; your quarrel wit’ each other is secondary entire, whether birthed in lust, hate, or some sad mixture o’ the two, t’ the true, deep, an’ terrible love a third creature still bear ya both. Thus ‘tis to she we should address our arguments, wit’ the help of yet two ladies more . . . ”

And before any of the three men (let alone poor Mister Mipps, cowering in Captain Rusk’s blind spot while simultaneously trying to make obeisance towards Captain Parry, though Tante Ankolee was fairly sure they neither w

ere looking anywhere near him) could think to object, she had already turned the hex-bag she’d so long labored over inside-out, letting its contents fall free: the eye, the hair, both caught up on what appeared to be a boiling haze of mist, quick-ablaze as phosphor. As the others watched, she spun her hands like she was carding wool, separating one from the other—the eye floated right and up, folding itself inside a tight-wound ghost-peak that resolved, by slow degrees, into the image of a tall, grave woman boarded as severely in front as she was laced tight in back, her panniers broad and her gray-streaked hair combed high in the fashion of twenty years past. Rusk made a noise deep in his throat at the sight.

“Ma—m’lady mother,” he almost mumbled, to himself.

To Tante Ankolee’s left, meanwhile, the hair arranged itself to drape the small, sleek head of an only slightly see-through woman built like a bird, her fine bones due less to an aristocrat’s elegance than simple lifelong privation, with a pair of red-fringed eyes that same fatal shade of silver as Captain Parry’s own.

Morwennol, sea-sparrow, she had murmured when Tante Ankolee first conjured her, the night before, after Collyer was safely abed. That was my true name. But most called me Arranz, for the color of my eyes.

“Aye, and beautiful them eyes be too, madam. I have seen them before, in your son’s face.”

So he lives yet, my Jerusalem? Ah, but no—I see th’answer ye fear to give me. Do not keep silence, lady; we are never long for this world, those of my blood, no matter how we scheme otherwise.

“Well, sorry I am t’ wake you from ya slumber. But I have certain business with that boy o’ yours, an’ him nah all too like t’listen to wit’out you stand beside me, when I tell it ‘im.”

I will do what I can, sister.

“Much thanks, then. As for yourself, Aphra-Maîtresse . . . ”

I am glad to see you once more, Ankolee, but you know as well as any—I am no witch, never was. ‘Tis not through me Solomon gained his power, much though I might’ve wished it, if only to deny him that burden.

“‘Course not, Madame. Yet y’are the only one he’d ever stand still for, when he’d taken a mind t’ nah be turned.”

I . . . will do what I can, Ankolee. You have my word.

“An’ you mine, that I will release ya both soon’s I have what I need, to go whither ya will—accompanied, or un—”

In the here and now, Tante Ankolee waved these ghost-ladies on, ushering them to eddy towards their respective sons. With Rusk, his mother’s disapproving stare caused him to bow that black lion’s head, if only a little bit. But Captain Parry stood transfixed, fingers guttering dark, as his own dam’s shade put up a ghostly hand to feeling soft along his fearsome clean-cut jawline, a stroke he palpably longed to fold into, like some great child. Crooning, as she did: How tall you’ve grown, Jerusalem, mabyn mine. And how you do shine . . .

Staring at her with a rigid face, instead, his pale eyes all further a-gleam, wet, and accusatory. Saying, to Tante Ankolee, over this phantom’s shoulder—

“I had not expected such tricks from you, madam; that you should make sport of my weakness, even in your brother’s defense . . . oh, it is vile, and crass. And disappointing, also.”

“Little choice ya left me, fah how else might I gain your attention—who always know best, or so ya think—’cept to conjure the one creature you will listen to?”

Parry simply shook his head, apparently baffled to silence beneath that gentling touch. And Tante Ankolee took advantage of the opportunity, addressing him and Rusk both, while she yet could—

“Seein’ such a great time elapsed already in ya confusion, me two fine fools, I come t’ the point directly: Though both o’ you long to see each other’s back, it seem all things conspire t’keep ya bound together, doomed ta forever sail this ship ya both lay claim to. Yet in all ya wrestlin’ ‘tween yourselves, have ya never thought t’ wonder why?”

“You sound as though you have an answer,” Parry said.

“Aye, thus I believe. In alchemy, the qualities o’ one substance may be rearrange ta create another—and just so, by a different process, two t’ings whah seem exact opposites may be shown t’have innate commonality by th’ admixture o’ a third t’ing, altogether.” Here she caught sight of Collyer frankly goggling at her, and observed, acerbic: “Ah, put ya tongue back inside ya head! I learn me letters at the same knee as this great oaf, here—learn ‘em better by far, too, truth be told. An’ fah all me craft spring mostly from the natural world, a book do sometime pass m’way, if only now an’ then.”

Rusk nodded. “I’ll not deny it. So . . . tell it through, big sis: What third thing have we forgot, in all our temper and muddle?”

“Why, whah indeed been the primest bone o’ ya contention, savin’ the obvious? This ship ya both lay claim to, ‘long wit’ the bond she help ya forge, since she love ya both so exceedin’ well.”