The Devil on Kazoo

2: The Morning Sun, the Breaking Day

Woke up big this Chelsea morning

And the first thing that I saw

Was the sun through yellow curtains

And a rainbow on the wall

Fairport Convention, "Chelsea Morning"

Bash rose early the next morning. He always figured five hours of sleep was enough to keep the body moving. The rest of the gang heartily disagreed, which meant Bash had the mornings all to himself.

He turned the rusted metal wheel on the door, which made a horrifically loud creak that somehow never disturbed the sleeping occupants, and stepped out into the brisk morning.

Salty mist clung to Bash's face as he padded across the deck and went into the kitchen. What used to be the captain's wheelhouse now served as The Crumbs' dining room.

He set the kettle on the stove, not bothering to turn on any lights because he preferred to watch the small room brighten with the sun.

Once the teabag was settled at the bottom of the steaming cup, he stood near the window and watched as the first inklings of sunlight began to dawn on the horizon.

Bash, who was always thinking of lyrics and poetry and bass lines, knew there had been so many songs already written about the splendor of morning. He wondered how it was possible that he was certain he could write dozens more.

Crumb Radio didn't begin until six, so Bash had all the quietness of the world to himself for a full hour until he had to go on deck to start their program.

This morning, however, was not as quiet as it usually was.

Bash didn't even hear her come in at first. It was the smell of coffee percolating that made him turn.

Syl, dressed in a long deep green robe with her hair messily braided over her shoulder, was pouring her coffee into a cup Kathy had made for her last Christmas.

The cup itself was a crude little thing, looking more like a chimney pipe than a mug. Nevertheless, Syl used it every morning. She wasn't good at expressing her emotions, but it was her actions that told how much the little handmade gift had meant to her.

Bash was pretty sure that Syl wasn't used to kindness before coming aboard Wolgemoth & Sons. He tried not to pry and Syl rarely gave up any information about her past, but when they would all write songs together, Syl always had a particularly heartbreaking way with words.

"You're up early," he said as Syl came to stand beside him.

"It's the painting," she said. "I never went to sleep."

Bash nodded. Syl had been working on a portrait for a month now, changing and rearranging it every day and saying she wasn't satisfied at every turn.

She sold them to a chapel near the wharf, which helped with The Crumbs' income whenever they weren't getting advertisements from the radio.

It was better than what she used to do with her paintings, which was selling them to a Russian mob boss deep within the East End., but Syl and Bash had an unspoken agreement never to speak of that.

"I'm going into town today," Bash said, "if you need any more supplies?"

"I don't think so. Except maybe a new brain."