A Pen and A Pirate

 

The cartographer sat behind his table in the little room on top of the building. Fat raindrops crawled down the banks of windows that lined the north and south walls of the room and pattered peacefully on the roof. The cartographer had lit several lamps to compensate for the cloudy afternoon, and the room was a quiet cave of light.

The old man’s face, tense with concentration, was leathery and lined like a map itself, each wrinkle a mark made by the pen of a blazing tropical sun or the ink of a blistering cold sea wind. His hands were scarred and gnarled, but they moved with sureness and skill, caressing the parchment with the pen and ink. He concentrated on his work, remembering the places he mapped as he did.

Hours spent on a ship’s deck with sextant and compass, hours spent marking charts on tables bolted to a rolling ship’s floor, the smell of pitch and salt and gunpowder in his nostrils – each map he made now was a book of remembrances for the old man. Each one was treasured and cherished for the memories it brought before it was sent along with the person who had commissioned it.

With no warning, the door in the east wall slammed open, admitting a cold gust of rain and a young man in dripping oilskins. The man stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing around the room with a slight smile on his face.

“Don’t stand there letting in the rain. Shut the door and state your business,” the old man growled, glancing up from the piece of parchment before him.

The man in the entry stepped the rest of the way in and took off his dripping hat, shaking the water from it and saying, “Mr. Abel, I take it?”

“Aye, and what’s it to you?” the cartographer asked, examining the intruder. He was a well dressed young man, handsome and looking quite sure of himself.

“Mr. Abel, whose maps are the envy of cartographers everywhere and whose inks are legendary for their colors? Mr. Abel who is mapmaker for the wealthiest merchants and most particular clients?”

“You’ve a silver tongue in your head. I see that plain enough. What I don’t see is what your business is. State it or stop wasting my time!” Mr. Abel put down his pen and looked the man in the eyes.

The man moved forward a few steps, his gaze locked with the old man’s and the slight smile still on his face. “Mr. Abel who reputedly makes the maps for certain – shall we say – independent entrepreneurs of the sea? Maps that form a certain reminder as to where they have, um, invested their earnings?” The man’s smile became wolfish and his voice became harder. “In other words, treasure maps for certain pirates? For instance, a treasure map to where the late great pirate Ignatius Donatu buried his treasure?” The man glided up to the drawing table as he spoke, placing his hands on it and leaning forward.

“Now where would you get that idea?” the old man asked mildly, pulling back slightly. The young man’s breath smelled of stale ale and whiskey, with a few onions added in for good measure.

“A certain conversation overheard in a certain tavern led me to believe that the current captain of the good ship Goshawk – the grandson of that same Ignatius Donatu – might possibly be picking up that particular map first thing in the morning. I thought that I might make a counter offer – I am sure I can compensate you far better than he can.” The man’s wolfish smile became wider.

“Someone said that, did they? And was this person smoking gilly flower? Or did the bartender run out of the good ale and start serving the stuff they brewed with the moldy grain?” The old man snorted a laugh.

The young man shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve been asking around, and I know you sailed with Donatu in your youth. They say you can make a map of anyplace in the seven seas, just from memory, and some of them say that you helped Donatu bury that treasure.” He paused. “I want it.” The man stepped back and looked at the old man appraisingly. “I am sure that the map can do you no good here – you need a ship and a crew to get it. What did the captain of the Goshawk offer you? A share of the treasure? Whatever it is, I can better it.”

“Now what would an old man like me do with treasure? I’ve everything I want, right here. The captain of the Goshawk is a customer of mine, aye, that is true enough. He pays me a bit for maps, but better yet, he brings me the special ingredients I need for my inks. For me, those are priceless. These inks I make are what make my maps special. The colors, the intensity! And they don’t fade, at least not that I’ve seen in all of my years of using them. These inks will make sure that the world remembers Abel’s maps long after I’m gone.” The old man stared off into space, a bemused expression on his face.

A snarl brought him back from his reveries. “Old man, don’t toy with me. I know you have the map, and I want it. I’m willing to pay, if you cooperate. If you don’t, well, I’ll just have to find it for myself.” A knife appeared in the young man’s hand, slipping smoothly from his sleeve. He flipped it into the air and caught it again, the well-honed steel flashing in the lamplight, then with a flick of his wrist sent it to the wall of map drawers on the far end of the room. The knife slid into the wood of one of the flat drawers with a quiet thunk. “Perhaps it’s in this drawer.” He smiled at the old man. “Or maybe this one.” He repeated the move with a second knife that appeared in his other hand. The knives quivered in the wood.

The old man swallowed and his eyes drifted to the side. The young man followed his gaze and stepped smoothly to where a cane was leaning under the windows. “Left your protection a little too far away, did you, old man? You’re slipping. You haven’t sailed with pirates in years, have you? You’ve gone soft, and that’s going to cost you.” The man picked up the cane and with a flourish, twisted it apart, exposing the deadly sword hidden inside it. “Nice piece of steel. Not as nice as this,” and he touched a cutlass at his side, “but nice, nevertheless.”

“I’ll have you know that that sword is the finest Damascus steel! Donatu gave it to me himself, when I retired from the sea. Your blade is bigger, yes, but not nearly so fine.” Mr. Abel spat indignantly.

“So you do admit to sailing with Donatu?” the young man jumped on that piece of information like a shark.

“I never said I didn’t, and it’s a well known fact that I did. So what?” Mr. Abel replied truculently.

The young man fitted the sword cane back together and tossed it to the back of the room and then pulled out his own cutlass. His voice grew soft and dangerous as he slid the edge of the cutlass under the old man’s chin. “I’ll have that map one way or another, old man. It would be a shame to get blood on that nice map you’re working on, now wouldn’t it?” he wheedled. The blade slid along an old scar on the old man’s neck, leaving a faint line of blood.

In one smooth movement, the old man pulled his head back, twisted his body around and jabbed his arm forward. The sharp steel nib of the pen in his hand rammed downward toward the hand on the hilt of the cutlass; the young man yanked away just in time to avoid being stabbed with the pen.

“What is this? A pen against my sword?” His eyes narrowed. “Was there poison on it?  I’d have your head off with my cutlass before your poison could even begin to work in my veins,” he hissed. “You’ve been at your drawing board too long, old man, and you’ve forgotten how the real world works.”

He spat on the floor. ” And poison is a woman’s weapon. You sailed with pirates. You should be ashamed to stoop to poison.” He slammed his cutlass into the wood of the drawing board, inches from the old man’s hand. “You’ll find it hard to make your maps without your hand.” Then he pulled the cutlass loose and looked closely at the old man.

The old man shrugged. “I guess you’ll never know if it was poison, will you?  Would it make you feel better if I used this instead?” He reached into an earthen jar on the top of the drawing board and took out a flexible quill pen. “Nothing here to stab a man with, now is there?” He smiled slightly and dipped it into a pot of intensely green ink.

“So, if I were to give you this map, what guarantee do I have that you would share the treasure with me? For that matter, how do I know that the crew of the Goshawk wouldn’t hunt you down and take it from you?” He added a few lines to the map, not looking at the young man.

“I really don’t think you have a choice about giving me the map. But I’ll throw you a bone, never fear. If you cooperate, we might even develop a little partnership…you remember things, make me maps, I bring you a share. And  maybe I’ll even bring you some of those special ingredients for your inks that are so important to you. As for the Goshawk, my ship is far faster than that old tub. I can sail rings around her on my worst days.” He smiled, a cocky look on his face.

Mr. Abel sighed and shook his head, dipping his pen in the ink again. Then in a movement so fast the young man barely saw it, he flicked the limber quill pen. A full load of the bright green ink flew through the air and splattered in the young man’s eyes. He screamed and dropped his cutlass, clawing at his face.

“Those inks of mine are made with truly special ingredients – and some of them are quite poisonous,” the old man said conversationally. “I have a great deal of resistance to them, after all these years, but you won’t. This one is rather nice – it turns a man’s muscles to water, so he can’t move at all. Easier to deal with a man who can’t move. And while you’re waiting for it to work, it burns the eyes and blinds a man so he can’t, oh, say, cut off your head with a cutlass. As for poison being a woman’s weapon, well, you can say what you will, but I’m an old man, and I have to protect myself somehow. By the way, the first pen just had plain ink on it, not poisonous ink.”

By now the young man was writhing on the floor. The old man dipped the pen back in the ink and went on working on his map. After a while, everything was still except for the scratching of the pen on the parchment.

Several hours later, the old man finally finished the map he was working on, and stood up and stretched, his joints popping and cracking. He stumped over to where the young man lay on the floor and reached into his pocket, bringing out a highly polished watch. He held the shiny metal under the young man’s nose and nodded when he saw a slight mist form on the surface.

“Well, you’re a strong one, I’ll give you that. That much poison has killed larger men than you.” He put the watch back in his pocket and reached down to grab the young man’s arms. With surprising strength, he dragged the unmoving man to the door.

He chatted as he dragged the young man. “Now, if you recover your movement before morning, I’d advise that you be careful feeling your way down the stairs – the railing isn’t any too steady and it will take a while to get used to doing without your sight. And if you don’t recover by then, well, I’m sure that the captain of the Goshawk will be happy to give you a hand out of here.” The old man chuckled as he rolled the unmoving form out into the cold rain on the rickety wooden platform at the top of the stairs. “In fact, I know he’d be happy to take out the trash for me!” He paused, then added, “You might want to remember, just for future reference, that the pen can indeed be mightier than the sword if there’s the right sort of poison on it.”

Then he closed and locked the door, putting a heavy steel bar across it for the night. He blew out the lamps, and then Ignatius Abel Donatu went down the spiral staircase to bed. His grandson would arrive bright and early for the map that was drying on the drawing table.

-She Wolf © 2008

Once Upon a Window, Part 6

Kevin and Kate helped Great-grandmother for quite a while the next afternoon, but neither of them could figure out what to say to her or whether to say anything at all. They cleaned windows (but not the front window), washed the kitchen floor (they were both drenched by the time they were done with that job) and finally dusted the front room while Great-grandmother sat and mended some clothes for the children’s mother. (Most of them belonged to Kevin and Kate.)

Finally they finished the last of the chores Great-grandmother needed them to do, and she sent them downstairs to play. As soon as they were down in the playroom, they started whispering to each other.

” Well, were you going to ask her about the window?” Kate demanded.

“I don’t know. I thought we were going to wait,” Kevin replied.

“Yeah, I guess we were, but we aren’t going to learn anything that way. And as long as Great-grandmother can’t go out and work in the yard, we probably won’t get a chance to look out the window ourselves either.” Kate sighed.

“Maybe we could take up one of those scrapbooks of hers and see if we can get her talking about Great-grandfather or something and just kind of slip into talking about the window,” Kevin suggested.

“That’s a good idea, but that made me think of an even better one. There’s a scrapbook around here with pictures of their old house, and that same stained glass window that Great-grandmother brought here when they moved.” Kate ran into the next room and began rummaging in a storage closet.

A few minutes later and little bit dusty, the children came up the stairs with the scrapbook.

But when they got to the top of the steps, they stopped and stared. Great-grandmother, who was always very much in control of herself, stood at the window looking through the blue pane and crying. She was very quiet, but the children could see the shaking of her shoulders and the track of a tear sliding down her cheek from under her glasses.

Kate dropped the scrapbook and the children ran to the old woman.

“Great-grandmother, what’s wrong?” Kate asked as they both hugged her, one on each side.

“What are you seeing out of that blue pane that’s making you cry?” asked Kevin.

Great-grandmother sniffled and gave a little laugh, wiping her eyes with her lacy handkerchief.

“I thought you two had found out about the window.” She hugged the pair of children. “I was seeing Great-grandfather, and remembering, and missing him. I do miss him very much sometimes. Come and let’s sit down and talk. Great-grandmother led the way to the couch.

“How did you know we figured out about the window?” Kevin asked.

“That wasn’t hard, Kevin. You two aren’t nearly as sneaky as you think you are.” Great-grandmother was smiling as she said this, so they knew she wasn’t angry. “The way you insisted on playing in the front, some of the strange remarks I got from the neighbors, and the step-ladder you insisted on storing under this very couch,” Great-grandmother prodded backwards with her foot, “were all very good clues.”

“And,” she continued, “while you two can be a handful at times, you usually don’t bicker quite so much or get into quite as much trouble as you have lately. Really, Kevin, dangling by your tie!” To the children’s surprise, Great-grandmother laughed.

Kevin and Kate looked at each other. They hadn’t realized they were so easy to see through.

“But how does the window work, Great-grandmother? I mean, we saw the future the way things might be if people made other choices, but then the other day we saw Great-grandfather from when he was sick – and you see him in the window, too.” Kate was puzzled.

“And where did it come from?” added Kevin.”

“Let’s start with where it came from. A long time ago,” Great-grandmother began, “when my grandfather was a young man, he worked as a glass maker. He blew glass into wonderful shapes, and molded useful items out of it, and sometimes he would get an order for sheets of colored glass. He got one of these orders – and it was a very large one – from a man who lived in a huge mansion. People said that the man was a wizard, or a magician of some sort. Now my grandfather didn’t know whether this was so or not, but the man was willing to pay a lot of money for some very fancy sheets of glass to make into a stained glass window, so my grandfather agreed to fill the order.

“It took my grandfather and his apprentices a long time to get the order done, because the colors had to be just so and it was hard to get the large sheets of glass just right without fancy modern machinery. When they finally finished the order and delivered it, the man told my grandfather that he had had what  he called a ‘reversal of fortunes’, meaning that he wasn’t wealthy anymore, and he couldn’t pay for the glass. So he offered a trade, instead.

“The man said that if my grandfather would let him keep the glass, he would make a magic window for my grandfather out of part of the glass. Moreover, he would make it a stained glass window, for that was something he was skilled at. The artistry of the window itself would be worth quite a bit, the man told him, and the magic in it would make it worth even more.

“Since my grandfather would be stuck with the special order otherwise, he reluctantly agreed. He thought that if nothing else, he could sell the stained glass window and get back some of his money.”

Kevin and Kate were listening as hard as they could as Great-grandmother continued.

“A few weeks later, the man sent word that my grandfather was to come and pick up his window. I remember my grandfather telling me that when he first laid eyes on it, he knew he had made the right decision. It was truly a thing of beauty, he said, whether it was magic or not.

“Then the man showed him the magic in the window. ‘Each pane will show you a different time or place,’ the man said. ‘If you want to see the past, for instance, think about when you want to see and look through here,’ and he pointed to a certain pane, ‘And if you want to see a city far away, think about the place and then look through here,’ and he pointed to another pane. Each of the panes had a certain magic in it, and he explained each one. ‘Last of all, if you want to see the future, look here.’ Again he pointed out a particular pane. ‘It will only go a very short time into the future, though, for the future is too uncertain.’

“My grandfather tried out each pane as he was directed to, and was amazed. ‘This is worth far more than the glass I made for you, sir!’ he told the man. But the man told him that the glass had been made and delivered in good faith, and that payment was due. This was the best payment he could manage since he no longer had the money.

“My grandfather took the window and put it in his house and kept it. He couldn’t even think of selling it. He and all of his children enjoyed it for many years. Then, one day, the neighbor’s house caught on fire and the fire spread to my grandfather’s house. The house was destroyed, and the window was, too. When my grandfather and his family went back to see what they could salvage from the fire, they found that most of the window had shattered into pieces too small to save. The one exception was a piece of blue glass.

“My grandfather made the blue piece part of a new window and soon discovered that although it was the only piece of glass left, it seemed to have the properties of all of the pieces of the window combined. He said that he thought the fire must have fused all the magic into that one piece.”

Kate and Kevin looked wide-eyed at the blue pane of the window. “So it’s really magic!” Kate breathed.

Kevin said, “How many people know about it? I mean, besides us.”

“My grandfather always let people find out about the window on their own. I don’t know why; probably because it was such an unlikely thing that he didn’t want people trying to steal it. His children, including my father, knew of course, but beyond that, not everyone found out about it. I did, and one of my brothers, a few of our cousins, and so on. Your father figured it out, too, but you two are the only ones since him to know about the window.” Great-grandmother looked at them and smiled. “I should have known that you two would figure it out.”

“So tell me,” she asked, ” what have you seen through the window?”

Kevin and Kate told her about seeing the future as it might have been, and trying first to help others and then to help themselves with it. Great-grandmother burst out laughing several times as Kevin and Kate turned red remembering their mistakes and accidents.

“That really does explain some of the comments I’ve received from people,” she chuckled. “And I think you two get the prize for the most creative use of the window of anyone in the history of the thing!”

“How come it always went wrong, Great-grandmother?” Kevin asked.

“Yeah, I mean even when we were trying to help other people, it went wrong,” Kate added.

“That’s probably because, like the man who made the window said, the future is such a changeable thing. Any action you take can make the future you saw change. The window is good for amusement, for making you thoughtful, for remembering things, but it won’t really change things in a desired way.”

Kate and Kevin looked thoughtful and nodded. “I think I get it,” Kevin said. “We tried to make the future go the way we wanted it to by using the window instead of thinking about what we were doing.”

“Yeah, and we were trying to change things we didn’t have any control over sometimes, too, instead of changing our own actions,” Kate agreed.

Great-grandmother hugged them again and said, “I think the window taught you something very valuable, children. Now let me tell you about some of the trouble your father got into with that window the time he used it to study history instead of using his history book…”

She Wolf © 2008