The Fancy (2 page)

on the matters of slavery, peddling human beings for

financial gain and power. Quinton kept his views light

– polite and neutral. He struggled through dinner,

especial y with Clarice eyeing him throughout, – he

simply wasn't looking for a wife at that time

considering what he did with his time, there was little

room to woo and court - then make a place in his

lifestyle for a woman who may end up needing too

much of his attention.

After dinner, the men retired to the smoking

room, where discussions of things indecent were

kept from the delicate ears of women. Puffing pipes

and cigars, sipping scotch and old brandy helped to

bring Quinton closer to the end of his endurance.

Final y, Henry decided to cal the evening to a

close, realizing how the doctor was struggling to stay

alert, he encouraged him to stay behind after seeing

his guests to the door. Bancmen, not wishing to drag

things out any further, informed his wife that he and

Quinton were setting out. Retrieving their cloaks, he

went on to share the extent of his gratitude, "My

mother's life is obviously of great value to me..." he

began, as they made their exit from his home. Due

to the weather, they wore their ful wraps, hats,

scarves and gloves. They went to the waiting

carriage and climbed in. Bancmen cal ed to his

driver, "To the docks, my ship, the Hawkers Bay." He

turned back to Quinton, continuing. "...now, as I was

saying, what you've done, cannot be properly

compensated for, however, I shal do my best to

repay you. You are young yet, with much to see. 'Tis

not an easy matter to settle when one is off to the

welfare of others. I trust that every man has his

moments when his needs must be attended, yours I

am certain can be no less."

Quinton was fighting to focus on his words, "I

beg your forgiveness - my needs are simple, for now

- a welcoming bed, quiet, a few hours undisturbed -

that sir, I assure you would fit the bil ."

"Ah, I would not doubt it. However, something

extra wil see you off even better, I've no doubt, you

wil be pleased. This gift, wil serve you in many ways

- you deserve it - and you shal have her. Come,

we've arrived, fol ow me."

Quinton was now instantly alert as the coach

pul ed to a halt with both men alighting from it.

Quinton was unsure of what had just transpired.
Did

he say, her?
He couldn't be sure of what was

happening as they crossed the docks on route to

board his ship. Quinton fol owed close on Henry’s

heels, his mind unsure - trying to sort through it.

"Evenin' sa' - i'ta'be a chil y night sa' - was

hopin' you'd be back soon, like t'get a brew down'me

I would, 'fore th'hour stops me, sa'." One of the

crewmen forced to stay on board, went on, eagerly

wringing his hands at the thought of final y being let

off for the night; he grabbed the lantern rushing

before them with it held high.

"At our conclusion you may carry on." Henry

returned.

The man nodded, he was nervous, having

much to explain, "T’was a bit of trouble sa'..."

Quinton heard the man rambling on, inasmuch as

Quinton would have liked to halt his host, there was a

certain curiosity within him to see where was

leading; instead of questioning the matter on such a

dreadful night, he lacked the ability to explain even to

himself why he fol owed without complaint.

Foremost, that moment, was to watch his steps upon

the docks, wet as they were, a slip could land him in

the frigid waters lapping against the ship's hul

beneath the gang plank; winds blew in and about

them, chil ing the night further, hastening their steps

onto the ship and then below.

"What trouble?" Henry asked, also treading

careful y.

"... the crewmen, some returned fil ed with

mead - ale - seekin' the fancy..."

"What are you saying?!" Henry paused to

demand.

"Al is wel - she - she is safe," the slave keeper

assured his boss, wishing to digress, he carried on

saying, "tis a night not fit fo'man'o'beast, I say -

mead, a fire, bit o'stew's me plan." He chattered

away, to fil the silence as both men fol owed him

down one deck, then another, heading for the bowels

of the ship.

"Aye, sounds a night wel spent." Henry

commented, although leery of where they were being

led.

Quinton remained silent, noticing a shift in the

smel s assailing him - smel s that made him pause,

asking, "Our destination wil find me where, exactly?"

"Come along, you shal see - not much farther."

Henry continued, a chuckle in his tone, "...cover your

nose if you must." Henry was slightly nervous, unsure

of how things were since his leaving, but trusted al

was wel . Quinton sighed and resumed his onward

progress as final y they stopped before a bolted

door, which was quickly opened and swung wide for

them to enter onto steps leading into a dark room,

"Why are we here? Why is there no light?" Henry

snapped his displeasure clear. "Was sir, blew out

I'm thinkin'."

"Blew out?! This is not where I left her! Have

you not checked on her? What is going on?"

The man shrugged and stammered trying to

find his words, he was tired after al , he’d been

guarding her for over a day; he turned to the dark,

held the lantern high; the odor almost made Quinton

turn to flee; he did not because he realized they were

speaking of a possible person, and yet, he stil could

not be certain of what he was about to encounter.

The cavern stank of rottenness and excrement.

"Here wench! Show yer'self!" The man shouted

into the darkness. When nothing happened Henry

snapped at him, "She had better be as I left her, you

fool! I'l have answers for this! Find the other lantern!"

He ordered.

Right away the man went down the steps,

holding his lantern high to find the other when his foot

stepped on something soft, yet firm, whatever it was

– it squished and mashed beneath his feet, making

the most awful sound, gasping, he stepped away,

lowering the light to see a slew of dead rats.

"My God!" Quinton gasped out loud. Neither

man could believe his eyes; quickly the man found

the other lantern and lit it to shed more light within,

only to see a quarter of circle spread of dead rats;

various ones with blood stains about their heads.

There were blood stains dotted along the wal -

splats and blotches of it from them as if they'd been

thrown against it with great force, the impact causing

them to fal where they lay, dead or dying, some stil

twitching, a few had been stepped upon by the man

holding the lantern.

"My God - what is this place?!" Quinton asked,

appal ed at what he saw, "So many rats, who kil ed

them? Leaving them here to die, rot and stink!?" He

protested, growing angry with what he saw, "Have

you any idea of what sickness can come from this?!"

Henry could not believe what he saw either, he

looked up from the rats to the man, asking with brisk

anger, "Where is she?!"

"I sweah t'ya - she was here!"

"Wench!? Speak up now I say! Say

something?!" Henry cal ed out.

"Surely there is no human here, in such a place

as this? Who? What wench?" Quinton asked,

stunned.

"She is only a slave, but a fancy of great costs!

This is not how she was to be kept!"

"A slave? You are carting about slaves, under

such conditions; to a state where such a thing has

been outlawed?”

"Not any slave,
your
- slave. The wench is for

you, your gift." Henry pointed out, ignoring his charge

surrounding the freedom declaration in that state.

Quinton's mind spun with this revelation as he

charged accusingly "This is how you give gifts?!

Wrapped in feces, soiled with vermin, smel ing of

death, no doubt crawling with pestilence?! Give me

that!" He spoke harshly again, snatching one of the

lanterns from the slave keeper.

Stepping down into the stew of filth, he boldly

moved forward, bracing himself for what he might

find, his shoes sticking to the surface of the floor,

stepping into unmentionable goo, thick sludge and

filth.

"This is horrendous - I seriously doubt we shal

find a soul alive beyond the light, there can be no

way -...." he was silenced by what he saw. First they

noted a shaking and then, shiny, oily like, dark skin,

much of it – belonging to the poor soul tucked away,

as if hiding, with little clothing to cover or protect her

from the cold, let alone the filth in which she

squatted. Then there was movement, a rat - it's front

feet touching her hip to crawl up when suddenly, to

Quinton’s astonishment - quick as a blink of an eye,

her hand was there, grabbing the creature by its tail,

causing it to squeak in fear as she reared back and -

pitched it from her with such a force so it hit the wal

with a sickening thud - it too leaving it's mark where

they'd only just looked and commented upon the

others.

The rat lay twitching, dying. “Bloody hel !” Henry

gasped. Eyes wide, Quinton glanced back at her,

she never looked his way, tucking her face back

down between her knees, where she hugged her

body in a bal to resume her shaking from the cold.

"By al that's holy! The wench is kil in' the rats!"

The slave keeper exclaimed in shock, crossing

himself as if she had to be possessed to not fear

them – to instead kil them.

Ignoring both men and acting without thought,

Quinton sat the lantern forward on the floor to keep

his eyes on her, he unsnapped his cape coat at his

neck, removing it with a hasty swish from around his

shoulders and moved in close to the shivering

wench, bending low as he went, dropping the heavy

cape around her; she smel ed horrible, but who

wouldn't under such conditions.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked.

"What do you think?! She should not be in such

abysmal confinement!" Quinton returned, "You offer

me a gift riddled with filth, soaked in shite - freezing

to death! Instead of help - you give me more to see

to!”

“Let this be the last gift you offer in exchange

for a deed in value of your mother!"

"The value of the fancy is sound! I did not give

such orders - to keep her in such a state!" Henry

argued his case, turning to the slave keeper, "Who

placed her here?!" he demanded.

"I did sa', it was hide her, or see her raped by

the crew, fil ed with ale they were, wishin' a bit of

skirt." The man babbled nervously, "Three or more

were seekin' the wench for - wel - sa'... you know."

He gulped.

"Let me by!" Quinton snarled, holding his gift

high against his body. He had wrapped her as

securely as he could in his cape. She now lay curled

within, cradled against his chest, shaking, her teeth

chattering, eyes closed with no fight against him -

her fate now in his hands. Both men moved aside as

he careful y took to the steps, up and onward

towards the exit, the other two men fol owing behind.

"How can you have slaves here?" Quinton asked,

holding her close, he could only see the top of her

braided head of hair, with her face tucked and

hidden while shivering, "I do not condone such

inhumane practices."

Not about to answer that charge, the trader

stated instead, "Your actions toward the wench fal s

to you. Set her free for al I care - she is no longer a

concern of mine - I would give her under better

conditions - how we found her was not my doing.

Place her feet upon the cobbled way with a push and

be done with her, I have washed my hands." Henry

was a bit put off, embarrassed by the way she was

found, and being reviled by the doctor, set his face

aflame, he turned to the man behind him - "See to

that room! I want al trace of rats removed!

Immediately! It wil be clean enough for repast!" He

barked.

It was clear to Quinton the slave trader had, nor,

shown any fear for a deed that should not be