Little Agnes and the Ghosts of Kelpie Wharf Read online



  LITTLE AGNES AND THE GHOSTS OF KELPIE WHARF

  A Little Agnes Tale

  By Stella Drexler

  Copyright 2013 by Stella Drexler

  All Rights Reserved

  Welcome, Honoured Seamen and Esteemed Guests!

  To the Port Enshus 305th Annual Aquatic Vertebrae Acquisition Simplification Exposition!

  Ingenious Conceptions and Outlandish Innovations Galore!

  Featuring the Venerated Dr Nimrod Crowley and the

  Revolutionary Mechanical Aquatic Life Demodulator and Seizure Apparatus!

  A dense, eerie fog hung over Port Enshus, darkening the mid-morning sky to a dreary, gloomy grey. The air was thick with the chill, salty sea air blowing in from the wharf just south of the village. Everything smelled strongly of fish.

  Agnes was tremendously bored. The centre of the the small, stinky seaside village teemed with weathered fishermen and suspiciously well-kept seamen in rich, ill-fitting velvet jackets with long, beaded hair and teeth that glinted gold in the sun. They swaggered around amongst the crowd of crass, noisy village folk like princes among peasants.

  Agnes liked pirates. Things always got interesting when pirates showed up to a party, but these pirates were staggeringly disappointing. It didn't even seem as though they intended to loot or pillage anything. Instead, they seemed keen to admire the vendors' ingenious conceptions and outlandish innovations--or, as Agnes liked to think of it, really, really dull fishing stuff. They didn't even leer at anyone.

  “Stupid, useless pirates,” she muttered.

  “Love pirates,” Vic moaned, trundling behind her through the crowd, who parted in horror to allow him to pass.

  “Not these pirates. They're the worst pirates ever.” She paused and looked back at her tall, shambling companion. “Vic! You're all a mess. You're stuck with fishing hooks and things.”

  He looked down at his raggedy brown suit and mottled grey flesh. His rotting mouth gaped and leered unhappily. “Bait.”

  Agnes plucked at the glowing, wriggling little fish hooks. They caught in the cadaver's crumbling flesh and tore the old suit. She scowled. “You're arm's coming off again. Vic, how do you get yourself into such straits? Can't you stand a little further away from the sharp, sticky things?”

  “Shiny.”

  She reached into the holster on her belt for a tool to tighten his clockwork arm. A small ginger-haired boy in dirty rags raced past them. He screeched suddenly to a halt and spun back to Agnes and her companion with a disgusted expression that bordered on intense interest.

  “What is that thing?” the boy asked, lifting a finger to point at Vic. “Is he a zombie?”

  “No! There's no such thing as zombies,” Agnes snapped. “That's stupid kiddy stuff. He's a re-animated clockwork cadaver.”

  “Victim,” Vic told the boy sadly.

  “I call him Vic,” Agnes added. The little boy poked gingerly at Vic. Agnes slapped his hand away. “He isn't a toy.”

  “Mad science,” Vic agreed.

  The raggedy little boy spun on his heel and raced away. Agnes rolled her eyes. Typical. “Don't feel bad, Vic. He's just a dreg.”

  “Ugly.” Vic's mouth turned down in a horrible frown.

  “Yeah. I hate ginger hair. Come on. I think I see some weapons!”

  “Fishing.”

  “Yeah, but they have to have some sort of really brilliant things here.”

  The booths were remarkably tedious, but they weren't crowded. In fact, even the most popular booths suddenly emptied of shoppers as Agnes and Vic approached. Agnes toyed with the small, brightly coloured baits shaped like tiny fish that wriggled and glowed as though infused with radioactive life.

  “Ew!” They were slimy to the touch, and she scowled at the vendor, an old, salty sailor with a long, greying beard. “What are these things?”

  “Uncannily Lifelike Fish Foolery,” the vendor announced proudly, gesturing to his squirming wares. “Sure to fool even the cleverest aquatic life.”

  “That's dumb.”

  The salty old sailor drew himself up to his fullest, portliest height. “I say, but you are a boorish little girl. What's your name?”

  She lifted her chin proudly, and her caramel-coloured pigtails bobbed indignantly through her leather cap. “I'm Agnes Crowley.”

  “Oh, I—Oh. Begging your pardon, young mistress.” The bearded man's cheeks flushed. “Well, my Uncannily Lifelike Fish Foolery may not be as impressive as your father's Revolutionary Mechanical Fish Finder--”

  “Aquatic Life Demodulator and Seizure Apparatus,” Agnes corrected imperiously.

  “Right. Or your...undead friend there.” He nodded towards Vic.

  “He isn't undead! He's a re-animated clockwork cadaver. There is a difference.”

  His bushy grey eyebrows shot up into his messy fringe. “There is?”

  “It's a very fine distinction.”

  “We are simple folk here in Port Enshus. Your sophisticated modern sciences have yet to reach our humble shores.”

  Agnes scoffed. “That is quite obvious. Come on, Vic.”

  “Very rude,” Vic told the sailor, waggling a bony, mottled grey finger in disapproval.

  The large, brass cage lined with tiny gauges and copper wires was marginally more impressive, but it was intended to trap clawed shellfish and large aquatic mammals, rather than displeasing humans or giant legendary squid. There were large nets woven of glittering metallic mesh, buoys and anchors with sensing devices and demodulators. Haggard old women who smelled of seawater hawked brass goggles with pince nez and spyglass attachments that could see even across the dark, churning waves. Large, decorative brass compasses spun and whirled wildly. There were metal wands with sharp points that looked promising but were only some sort of underwater fish detectors.

  Agnes stuck her nose up at a large, cooling unit for storing fish in a ship's hold. She was disappointed in the full-body suits with huge, bulbous metal helmets with hoses and large, mesh eyes for diving. Even the huge, sparkling glass aquarium filled with colourful, exotic fish did not impress the little girl.

  They were boring, boring, boring.

  “Vic!” Agnes exclaimed in excitement, shoving aside whiny sailors to seize the large, shining gold harpoon on the table before her.

  The vendor was a skinny, scraggly man in a pristine white sailor's uniform. He held up his hands. “That's a very dangerous item, little girl--”

  She ignored him and lifted the harpoon like a rifle.

  “Be careful how you hold that thing--!”

  Vic held up his clockwork arms, but his expression was resigned.

  “Don't shoot!”

  The harpoon made a very satisfying sound as it skewered the air towards Vic. The sharp, jagged point lodged in his chest. He looked down at it in annoyance. “Untoward,” he moaned.

  “Whoa, that thing is neat!” Agnes exclaimed, jumped forward to yank the harpoon from Vic's rotting chest cavity.

  The vendor wrested the harpoon from her hand. His skinny, ratty face flushed with anger. “Give that back! This is not a toy!”

  “It looks like a toy.”

  “I don't know what kinds of toys you play with at home, but this is no place for a reckless, violent little girl! Why don't you go see what sorts of shell necklaces the women are selling?”

  Agnes scowled at him in indignation. “I don't like shell necklaces!”

  “Well, just get out of here!” He gave her a tiny little shove.

  She glared at him, but a large, opaque white globe resting atop a stand constructed entirely of seashells ensnared her attention. “Ooh. Vic, look at this!” She reache
d to lift the globe, but the vendor, a surly man with a thick belly and grizzled grey hair glared at her through beady eyes.

  “Arr, lassie, don't be touchin' the merchandise. It's not for little girls to be playing with.”

  Agnes drew herself up to her fullest height, which was still barely eye level with the man's scruffy, hirsute collar. “What is it?”

  “It be a Concussion-Inducing Exploding Sphere.”

  “Concussion-Inducing! Exploding!” Agnes beamed at him. Now this was more like it. “What does it do? Does it explode?”

  “Aye, it explodes.”

  “Does it induce concussions?”

  “Aye, it does do that, lassie.”

  “Brilliant!” She paused and lifted an eyebrow. “Fish concussions?”

  “Aye, ye be a clever one, lassie. Drop this little beauty in the water, and the concussion ray will send any fish in the area right up to the surface. You can just scoop them up, pretty as you please, and they'll stay nice and quiet for the journey home.”

  She frowned. “It doesn't kill them?”

  “Arr! No, lassie. That would be murder.”

  “But you catch and eat fish. That's murder, too.”

  “No, lass, that's survival, that is. We do what we have to do. Besides, the fish are best when kept alive. Fresher, you know.”

  “Until you kill them.”

  “To eat them, lass. There's no sport in it.”

  She glowered in disappointment at the old vendor. “Fishing is boring!”

  “Hungry,” Vic moaned.

  “Shut it, Vic. You know you haven't eaten anything in six years.”

  Her father's voice boomed suddenly through the square. “Honoured seamen, esteemed guests, dear friends and fellow