Crimes by Moonlight

“I believe we have sailed into a hurricane, Doctor,” I said.

As if to confirm my observation, the wind shrilled, startling our little party. Felicity whimpered a response. The portholes rattled, and we held on to our refreshments as the pirate ship creaked loudly in protest. The Sibylline picked up speed. She shuddered from bow to stern, scattered the glasses on the bar, and then sailed faster yet.

Perideaux glanced left and then right, his anxious glance straight at me confirmed that something he deemed unexplainable had just happened. The speed of the ship could not be accounted for under the stormy circumstances. No longer did the vessel appear to be under the control of the pirates. Wind drove the ship, out of control, first one direction, and then much faster than man could change course, another direction. She raced ahead, bounded up the sides of the waves, and bottomed out again before climbing laboriously upward once more.

It was then that Dr. Perideaux noticed his wife’s pallor, as I had a few moments earlier. She was heavy with child, had been abducted by pirates, and was in the company of a man she feared. Perideaux put his arm around her and bowed his head.

The doctor’s wife paled again, dangerously so in my opinion. She had not yet lost the fear in her eyes when she glanced at me.

Perideaux said, “My dear, this is Mr. Celwyn. Mr. Celwyn, this is my wife, Mrs. Helen Perideaux.” He nodded toward me like he wasn’t sure of what I’d done, but he knew it had helped. “We are in your debt, sir.”

“Nonsense.” I winked at Felicity, and she did her best to wink back. “We will weather this storm.”

Mrs. Perideaux gripped her husband’s hand and studied me. I returned the regard. Her chin quivered, and her eyes were hard. In a moment she said, “I still need to know what we’re going to do.” She left me to stare at her husband. “Our safety, Jonathan. Those men…”

Dr. Perideaux held her, and before things got out of hand, I said, “I promise you, madame, they will not harm you. Or your family.”

She raised her head from her husband’s embrace and looked at him, then at me. “But what will we do?” she wailed. As she spoke, a spasm of pain crossed her face, and she paled. Instantly, Dr. Perideaux’s expression changed, and there was no one in the world more important than his wife.

“Is it the baby?” he asked her.

“No, no.” Mrs. Perideaux replied and patted his hand as she uttered the lie.

Felicity left her mother’s side and approached the trunks.

Dr. Perideaux said, “Felicity-”

“It is all right. I assure you, sir,” I said.

Felicity peered at the myriad stickers that decorated my trunk like a garish Christmas present. “What is Mary Katch?” she asked.

“Marrakech,” her father corrected.

Night was falling. I arose and lit a lamp and then traveled the room discovering candles to light. In the cupboards I found some biscuits and then beckoned to the doctor. He made sure his wife was comfortable against a mound of pillows before joining me behind the bar.

I kept my voice low. “If it becomes necessary, there are clean blankets here. And a quantity of water.” There hadn’t been, but I’m a helpful soul.

“I sincerely hope we will not need them tonight,” he said with a glance at his wife. He looked at me, and his gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t you think it is time for a moment of candor? I mean, sir, we may be fighting for our lives at any moment.” He lowered his voice. “Or we may succumb to the storm. I’d like to know who is fighting with me. Or dying with us.” From outside the salon the heavy steps of the pirates tromped by.

“Well put,” I said. I placed both hands on the bar and then removed them. A plate of cheeses and savory meats sat before us. “Perhaps your wife or daughter is hungry.” I handed him the plate. It fell through his fingers and clattered to the bar surface. “Please take it to them.” I offered it to him again. “Eat. You will feel better.”

After another look at me, he dutifully delivered the plate to the settee. Perideaux nibbled a bit of cheese before presenting the plate to his wife. His expression indicated he approved. I do have excellent taste.

When his family was sufficiently distracted, he returned to stand behind the bar with me. “That was a most welcome and deliberate diversion, Mr. Celwyn.” He pointed to the plate as Felicity selected a sliver of ham. “Explain it.”

I yawned. This would require something stronger than water. It appeared that although the pirate captain seemed fond of wine, he also had stored a single bottle of malt below the bar.

“There’s so much to say and yet so little.” I poured two shots, and then poured one for the doctor. “What do you know of the black arts? Of magic?”

As I spoke, the Sibylline lurched to starboard. She slid down a wave on her side in a most sickening ma

When the doctor could speak again, he said, “Parlor tricks; that is all magic is. There is no basis of fact.” His attention rested upon his wife, but I could see him thinking as he tried to find an explanation for what he’d seen with the trunks and what his wife enjoyed nibbling only a few feet away from us. He probably did not consider the storm anything more than bad luck.

“Not exactly,” I said.

Perideaux seemed to have come to a deduction or perhaps a belated question he had wanted to ask. “Why did Captain Hume insist you be separated from his crew? Why were you locked up?” He licked his lips and glanced at his wife. “I’d prefer that Helen not know anything of this.”

I shrugged. “As you wish.” I poured more malt for both of us.

“And my questions?”

I regarded him a moment longer before speaking softly so that his wife would not hear.

“For hundreds of years, I’ve honed my skills to the point where I do not question the difficulty of what I attempt within the realm of magic. But I do consider what effect my magic may have on i

Dr. Perideaux watched me over the top of his glass as he downed the rest of his whiskey. He didn’t even blink when I mentioned that I haven’t just lived for this time, in this century. His assessment was mirrored in his eyes: scientific speculation, not the wide-eyed terror some men expressed on the rare occasions when I have told them tidbits of my history.

“How I interpret my ideals, or morals if you will, are as personal as every man’s are.” I continued, “But for now, let us say that I had no compunction in killing my guard, but I will go to great lengths to save your family.”

The doctor swallowed nothing several times but kept his gaze neutral. Thinking.

After a moment he managed, “Exactly what did you do?”

The rain beat on the roof of the salon so loudly we could hear nothing else. The wind howled, furious at the ship. I told him, “I’d been arguing with a priest at the cathedral in Madagascar. To make a point, I appeared during the church service and levitated myself onto the altar. Then I made myself comfortable to enjoy the services. When the ushers would have laid hands on me, I simply disintegrated within their fingers. Like ice that has melted or water that evaporates.” I elbowed the doctor. “A miracle, would you not say?”

If he’d had any morsel of humor left from his stern upbringing, he’d allow a small smile to escape. But no.

“Later, when the authorities tried to arrest me, a few of the officers were injured.” I had dispatched them with mercy and alacrity. “My temper can only be maintained so long when provoked.”

The doctor slammed his glass down. “But what did you do to make them so afraid? There must be more.”