Blaggard's Moon (30 page)

“He's doing what?” Jenta asked him that evening, pouring warm tea over shaved ice.

Wentworth was downcast. The book of accounts was open on the side table next to the small sofa in the cottage. “Paying pirates. Father told me at lunch that all the shipping lines do it.”

“But I don't understand. Paying them for what?”

“Protection, is what they call it.”

“Protection from what?”

“Pirates.”

“Paying pirates to protect them from pirates?”

“Yes.”

She finished pouring. “Then it's blackmail.”

Wentworth felt a pang. He knew all about his father's propensity for
blackmail. “Technically, it's extortion. But it's even worse than that. We're paying them so that they raid the other lines instead.”

“But you said all the lines do it.” She set the pitcher on the table beside the book.

“Yes, and whoever pays the most gets raided the least.”

“That's…crazy.” She sat beside him. “Your father approves of this?”

“Not at the core of it—he hates it. But he does it. And the story gets worse. Conch Imbry has reinvested his share.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that the most famous pirate on the seas is a partner in the family business.”

“Then your father must want it this way.”

“Of course not. He says he doesn't like it any more than anyone else. But what can be done? He has merchant ships, not a navy. And there's no government force here that can or will stop Conch Imbry.”

“Why not appeal to the King of Nearing Vast? Don't all these lines do business there?”

“I asked the same question. But the answer, apparently, is uglier still.”

She looked at him in silence. “The king already knows about it.”

He nodded. “And his ministers profit by it.”

She furrowed her brow. “You mean pirates pay taxes?”

“I mean those who should be stopping it take bribes. Conch Imbry is apparently not just the wealthiest pirate on the seas, but one of the wealthiest men on earth. He has a cache of hidden gold that would make the king's exchequer look paltry.”

She just shook her head. “What will you do?”

He looked at her with astonished eyes. “Me? How am I to know what to do? In the last weeks I've found my feet, thanks to you. I've stood up, for the first time in my life. I've been able to feel what it might be like to be a good man, a good husband, a good businessman. I've left behind me all the shame of my own indiscretions. But now, with clear eyes and a clear mind, I find I am part of a vast, bloody enterprise that profits by terrorizing the innocent. Ryland Shipping & Freight is apparently one small arm of Piracy, Incorporated.”

She put a hand on his hand, and he immediately turned his palm up and grasped hers. He squeezed, looked into her eyes with a frightening urgency. “It's nothing but deceit and conniving, with murder and robbery all mixed in, rising up to the highest levels.”

“And so,” she asked again, more firmly, “what will you do?”

He let go of her hand and looked out the window, down the length of the manicured, rolling lawn, seeing nothing. “I have no earthly idea. I was better off drunk.”

“Don't ever say that.”

“But I feel it.” He looked back at her. “And I'm not hiding. What answers does your Scripture book have?” He said it in resignation, not expecting an answer.

“It's not my book,” she answered darkly. “Though I'm pleased to lay some claim to it.”

“I'm sorry. I just doubt there's a chapter in there headed, ‘When Daddy Is a Pirate.' ”

“Maybe not. But we could go see someone who knows the book better than I do.”

“Who?”

“A priest, of course.”

“You know any?”

“Of course. And so do you.”

“Yes. But not any I'd trust with this bit of news.”

“You think that even the priests in this town—”

“Wait. There is one. One I've heard about, who has a history with pirates.”

“What sort of history?”

“Just the right sort, I think.”

C
HAPTER
T
EN

SKAELINGTON CITY

“Nothing but rogues here,”
Lye Mogene whispered. He held his pistol just beside his cheek, pointed upward. He was standing still, leaning against the bulkhead, listening to the creak and patter of footsteps on the wooden decking above him.
“Waste a' time comin' here, if yer askin' me.”

“
Shh
.” Damrick held a pistol in each hand. He sat on the small bunk beside the table, which was strewn with playing cards. His eyes swept the ceiling, as the intruders walked about above.

“
Two of 'em
,” Hale Starpus whispered. “
One fore, one aft
.”

Damrick nodded. The three had sailed as passengers and deckhands aboard this elegant yacht, owned and captained by a wealthy Vast merchant who had taken an interest in their new recruiting efforts in Mann. The vessel had been a good choice. It was fast, and not nearly big enough to be mistaken for a freighter. But its owner had gone into town to make some discreet inquiries, leaving the three of them to while away the time. The day had passed; it was deep dusk now, and as darkness descended, the vermin of Skaelington, apparently, grew bolder.

Now a hand jiggled the door handle on the hatch leading down into their cabin. “It's locked,” a voice said.

“Break it.”

“What if someone's in there?”

“You'd rather knock first?”

“I'd rather not get shot.”

“We been watchin' for hours. There's no one. Come on, 'fore someone comes. Kick it in.”

Damrick clicked back both hammers.

“Did you hear somethin'?” one of the voices asked.

“No.”

“Listen.”

Suddenly, Hale Starpus snored loudly. Damrick and Lye both swung their pistols toward him instinctively. His eyes were wide open.

Silence above.

Hale made the snoring sound again.

“You said there was no one!”

“It may just be one.”

Now Damrick smiled. He made a snoring sound as well. Then so did Lye.

“Let's get!”

And they heard the footsteps retreat, felt the boat rock as the intruders jumped to the dock.

Damrick eased his hammer down. “Good thinking.”

“Thieves and cowards,” Lye muttered.

“Skaelington,” Hale agreed.

Lye frowned. “We come here lookin' for people to fight pirates, when there ain't no one here
but
pirates.”

“Where do you suppose the bitterest enemies of a villain would be found, Lye?” Damrick asked. “Far away from him, where people hardly give him a thought? No, his enemies will be nearby, among those he's hurt the worst.”

“And they'll all be scared witless.”

Hale Starpus snorted. “Or dead.”

“Well, we weren't having much success restocking in Mann.”

That was true. News of the defeat of the Gatemen at Slow Slim's had spread quickly, even more quickly than news of their success at sea against the pirates. Damrick's escape was not universally viewed as a sign of strong leadership, either, since most of the stories being told in pubs now featured him slipping out the back just as the gunplay began.

It didn't help his efforts that Damrick had raised his standards—he was no longer taking any man who could shoot and was willing to get paid for it. Just as Mr. Mazeley had predicted, he now wanted men of integrity, men who would give the Gatemen their allegiance, heart and soul. This
seriously limited the pool of potentials. Occasionally some decent recruits, military or law-enforcement types, would talk to Damrick. Most of these didn't want to be seen with him. And so far, none had enrolled. Lye had counseled Damrick to give it up, or at least give it a few years before trying it again. But Damrick was undeterred.

Now more footsteps could be heard along the dock, coming closer. These were the confident sounds of one man, each pace accompanied by a familiar thump. By the time the gold head of the cane rapped on the hatch door, all three men were certain of its owner. Damrick slid the bolt back, and let the yacht's owner in. He climbed down the steep ladder with little trouble.

“I have set up a meeting,” the white-haired gentleman said with an air of unexpected success. “Midnight, just a few blocks from here.” Windall Frost's slightly bent posture, his permanent partial bow, was not from age but from rheumatism. But he employed his cane with such vigor that it did not seem like the crutch it actually was.

Damrick's brow furrowed. “A meeting with recruits?”

Windall laughed as he turned and locked the door above him. “I can do much with little, but not that much. No, this is a man who can help. He has knowledge of the city, and has connections among those who would likely be willing to help you with your mission.”

“What kind of man is he?” Damrick asked. “Military? Business?”

Windall looked at Damrick thoughtfully. “Neither. But I think it best not to say anything that may prejudice you in advance. I would rather you draw your conclusions based on the man himself.”

“How do you know this man?”

“You mean, why do I trust him?”

“Exactly.”

“He is a friend of many, many years. There is no more trustworthy man on earth.”

Damrick was satisfied.

But Lye said, “If he's so trustworthy, what's he doin' in this town?”

“It's a quarter to twelve, gentlemen,” Windall Frost announced, looking at the ship's clock.

“Well then, let's go!” Lye breathed, throwing his cards onto the table and standing up. “I'm ready to get off this tub.” He caught his patron's eye. “Not meanin' nothin' by it.”

“No offense taken.”

Hale stood as well, patted his pistols, prominent in holsters on either hip. “I'm more than ready myself.”

The old gentleman was thoughtful. “Yes, well…about that. I have been hesitant to bring it up, but you should know there have been some changes since I was here last. It seems those weapons are not allowed in the city.”

All three looked at Windall Frost in stunned silence. Then they looked at their own weaponry. Then they looked back at him with questions written deep on their faces. But he seemed completely serious.

“What on earth you talkin' about?” Lye asked.

“Not allowed by who?” Hale added, gripping his pistol hilts tightly.

“I didn't suppose you'd take the news well. But it seems there's a new law in Skaelington. No weapons are to be carried on the streets.”

“You're kiddin'!” Lye blurted.

“I'm not, I'm afraid.”

“Mr. Frost, we are in Skaelington City, aren't we?” Damrick asked, perplexed. “Every outlaw here is armed to the chin. You can't mean they've managed to disarm the entire city.”

“No they haven't, and apparently, that's the whole point. The Gatemen may be old news in Mann, but you put a good scare into them here. The mayor and his council passed this law about two months ago. Seems that certain powerful elements want to be sure that law-abiding citizens are no threat to them.”

Damrick digested that for a moment. “So, what are you saying, that brigands and pirates are still carrying weapons? Openly?”

“Of course they are. But then you see, they're outlaws. They don't obey the laws anyway.”

Lye dropped his mouth open, dumbfounded by the simple brilliance of it. Citizens either had to declare themselves criminals or go around unarmed, submissive as puppy dogs. He turned to Damrick. “What are we goin' to do, Damrick? Are we outlaws, or not?”

“We are not outlaws.”

Lye and Hale both started complaining at once.

He held up a hand, waiting for them to go silent. When they finally did, he said, “We are not outlaws. But in this town, I'm afraid we may be mistaken for them.”

Skaelington City had never been a port of call while Damrick, Lye, and Hale served in His Majesty's Navy, and they were soon thankful for it. It
was a deadly place, at least near the docks, and death seemed to hang in the air. Here, nationality mattered little. In their short walk the men saw Drammune, Cabeeb, Vast, Sandavallian, Urlish, and many others, most in their native dress. But that was not the source of the danger. Had this been the City of Mann near the docks at this same hour, taverns would be alight, music and laughter and the occasional gunshot would be heard, drunken sailors would stagger through the streets, many clinging to women of apparently indiscriminate taste. The feel would be one of hazardous frivolity.