The Devil on Kazoo

1: Incident Aboard Wolgemoth & Sons

I have only one a-burnin' desire

Let me stand next to your fire

Jimi Hendrix, "Fire"

The Crumbs had three things in common: they were orphans, they were criminals, and they hated wearing shoes.

They were criminals not because they didn't have a choice, but because they were four passionate souls and it just so happened that their radio station was illegal.

They were barefooted due to their lack of social conformity and because they liked to do a small thing called "what they wanted".

They were orphans, of course, due to their lack of parents. Some were more sad about this fact than others.

Perhaps if they had been born in a different time, at a different place, then they would not have ended up where they were.

"Where they were" wasn't always a bad place.

Except "where they were" was currently on fire.

"Blast it all to bloody hell!" Smiley, the youngest, was saying.

His older brother, Bash, was hoisting buckets of saltwater from over the side of the boat and casting it onto the felt mannequin that was really having a terrible day.

Kathy, the alleged arsonist, was sobbing too hard to be of much use and her sewing kit was still clutched in her hands.

Syl, the fourth member of the Crumbs, was nowhere to be seen.

"Don't let it get near the circuit boards," Bash told Smiley as placidly as if he were asking him to pick up cabbage at the store.

Smiley, who was still swearing like a sailor, clambered across the deck and grabbed the microphone just as a song from The Doors was playing its last note.

"Sorry everyone," he said, his voice shakier than usual, "there's been a bit of a...glitch...in the system. Hang tight and we'll be back on air in three tics."

He unplugged the transmitter, which cut off their connection to the airwaves.

Smiley then wheeled the cart that bore all of their equipment underneath the arbor they'd built to store the station at night, far away from the fiery mannequin.

Syl appeared then from below decks, paint smudged across her cheek. She squinted first at the sunlight, then at the pillar of fire aboard Wolgemoth & Sons.

She blinked at Smiley.

"What's this?" she asked, more disappointed than surprised, although her Russian accent always made it sound like she disapproved.

She surveyed Bash's desperate but futile attempts at putting it out before making her way over.

She took off her painter's smock and, without a hint of hesitation, wrapped it around her arm to protect herself from the heat before picking up the mannequin and tossing it overboard.

"Syl–" Bash started to warn, but the fire had already been extinguished. The mannequin hit the water and fizzled out with a hiss.

A single dying spark caught the very tip of one of Syl's flyaway hairs. She pinched it between her fingers and turned to Bash.

"How is it you say in English," she asked, "badly done?"

Bash released a short exhale. "I think you said it quite well."