The Devil to Pay
Ready about: a call to indicate a change of course or tack
Emmett snuck his SUV up to the Taffrail Pub’s service entrance. William knocked softly at the door. He scanned the lane to be sure they were alone. Manny stepped out.
With the use of a dolly they wrestled the barrel of rum they’d pulled from the well onto a basement cradle. Manny tapped a spigot into the bung hole. He poured a large measure into a cup and sipped it.
He beamed. “Anybody don’t like that, don’t like black-eyed peas.”
Emmett smiled in anticipation and said, “We’ve got the lad to thank for that.” Manny shook William’s hand and in the process bobbed the cup up and down in his left hand.
Emmett tried to grab it before he sloshed all of the precious amber liquid onto the floor. “Hang on there, Manny; you’re spilling the peas all over the place.”
Manny steadied the cup and started to offer it to Emmett but swung it in front of William, saying, “Maybe the lad would like a pea?”
William shook his head. “Oh, no thanks, I had a pee before we left.”
Emmett and Manny doubled up with laughter. Manny shook so hard he fell to the floor, trying unsuccessfully to avoid spilling the rum.
Emmett hiccupped a laugh. “I’ll be sure to eat every carrot and pea on my plate.”
The two men howled until they cried, and that got William into the laughter too, although he wasn’t quite sure what they were laughing about. It was just good to laugh.
-
Half an hour later Emmett and William drove back to D & E Sail- makers. William flicked the crisp hundred-dollar bills Manny had paid them. The barrel held almost thirty gallons, or more than one hundred litres, of well-aged rum. Manny said he knew more than a few customers who would love to sip a dram of bootlegged rum.
Emmett had told Manny to pay the thousand dollars to William for finding the rum. That’s how he came to counting the bills over and over again. They drove past the Now & Then Antique store with its captivating display, pulled up to the sail loft, and parked.
“Dogs and the devil take us if we fail to get him his sails, eh, William?”
“There’ll be the devil to pay,” he shot back.
“What would we be worth to the devil anyway?” Emmett replied. That’s when the second light came on in William’s head.
“What would you pay for the devil?” he muttered, looking towards the antique shop.
“What’s that?” asked Emmett, his foot on the bottom step to the loft.
“I’ll be back in a bit, Uncle Emmett.” He shot his bike down the road.
William slowed to study the ceramic clock with the devil’s face in the antique store’s window before pedalling standing up to pick up speed.
He wove his bike past the ornate turn-of-the-century bandstand. The same ponytailed musician sang a fast-paced tune that pushed his legs up and down like pistons.
William pounded his bike off the highway and up his grandparents’ lane. Perspiration soaked his T-shirt as he ran into the house. He yelled “hi” and “goodbye” to his startled grandmother. He secured a cardboard box to the rear carrier with bungee cords.
William shot back along the highway to Lunenburg. The breeze rustled shoreline bushes. It sounded to William like applause for his plan.
Harry Pearce was astonished to see William panting with the box in hand. “I’ve come to talk to you about the devil.” William laughed as he dripped with perspiration.
“Come in and have a cup of tea,” said Pearce, his voice tinged with concern. He motioned for William to sit down while he fussed with a teapot and a box of biscuits.
William handed him the box he had carried back from his grandfather’s place. Pearce opened it and admired the contents. He removed the newspaper wrapping and put the devil-faced bowl and pitcher that William had retrieved from the tunnel on the counter. He whistled appreciatively to see they matched the ceramic clock in his window.
From the kitchen, the teapot added its whistle of approval.
When they had finished their tea and William had wolfed a few biscuits, Harry Pearce took out a pad and scribbled some numbers on it to show William his offer.
William jerked his thumb to the harbour. “That won’t get Granddad the sails.”
“How much more, then?” Mr. Pearce pursed his lips as if the idea of more money left a bitter taste.
“Two hundred more.”
Pearce sighed as he calculated his dwindling profit. Trying to look resolute, William shoved his hands in his pockets and felt a little packet he had forgotten about.
“You’re asking a lot there, son. Be eating up my profit on this sale.”
William put Brad’s bracelet on the counter. “This diamond bracelet’s been in the family for … well, too long now, and we don’t need it. How much would that be worth?”
Pearce studied the bracelet with a jeweller’s eyepiece. “Who told you these were diamonds? Because they’re not. They’re pretty enough, but these are zirconium, not really worth much at all. And it’s been artificially aged.”
William’s laughter as he slapped the counter caught Pearce by surprise.
“It’s a fake! Of course it is. That’s too funny. Uh, Mr. Pearce, could I ask you to do me a favour? Send an email to my mother, Ferne McCoy, and tell her exactly what you told me about the bracelet?” He scribbled her email address on a piece of paper.
“Ah, yes, I can do that.”
“Thanks.” William placed his rigging knife on the counter. “How about this? It’s mine. It was the Real McCoy’s, then my father’s. And now it’s mine to sell.”
Pearce put a hand out to the knife, paused, then nudged it back. He bought and sold bits of the past. But the knife was part of maritime history and belonged in the boy’s present and future. So he pulled his wallet out, peeled off five hundred-dollar bills, and shook on the deal.