| "How might my little Molly be?" He held out his cane to me, for I always loved to examine it. Its handle was blackest ebony -- a grinning demon, inlaid with ivory teeth and enchased with amber eyes. I took it from him and pulled the handle away from the shaft, uncovering a double edged blade, wavy as a kriss's. "Very well, y'honer," I answered, then shouted, "Mither, Mr. Birdsong....." She drifted in from the back room, already dressed for her night aprowl, adjusting her hat, wide brimmed and befeathered, to a jaunty rake. Mr. Birdsong cocked an ear. "Ah, Long Lucy. Y' look lovely tonight, me dear." "... 'N ye still look stone blind ah me, old charmer," she said, giving his cheek a pinch. "...did think to charm a few coppers away from ye..." "Jebediah," she said, "I've a proposition for you. Me little Molly's in need of a stout leash. I'll pay ye to tutor her -- I be well loaded with silver of late, what with all the ships in the bay. Yourself and Ockham Willie can live here in the house wi' us." He took off his hat, and Willie fluttered to his shoulder. "What say ye, Willie," he asked, inclining his head toward the parrot. "Bugger the Pope," growled Willie. "He seems well enough disposed -- though he believes young Molly's religious training had best be left to others more qualified. D'ye say -- silver?" Tears rolled down the bags beneath his eyes, then fell and splattered into his whiskers. |
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Copyright © Michael B.Stevens, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2005. All rights reserved. Format modified Aug. 2005