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At the Cackling Crow Tavern & Inn |
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“Hector!” Peter van der Gotterdammerung grinned toothily and clasped the barkeep, slapping him on the back. “How the hell are you?” Hector grinned back.
“Was doing fine until you showed up!” Peter released him, and Hector grabbed a large porcelain stein, examining it. “What’s it been, three years? De-Greaser?” he added, indicating the stein.
Peter nodded. “Sure. Been out west mostly.”
“I see most of the crew, but where’s Morgan? And Shane?”
“Morgan’s dead a year. He took one shot to the head and died, we had to pull him off the wheel,” he said solemnly, then his face curled into a snarl. “Shane’s the b*****d that did it.”
“Shane? What for?”
“The weasel sold us to the Gendarmes. Von Herrick is captain now, and we scraped up a new young bosun.”
“Is that him over there?”
“It’s not a him,” Peter corrected. Hector blinked and squinted. Across the tavern, at one of the great round tables was seated the most of the crew. Peter’s lankier brother Johann sat gnawing on a slender reed. Algar von Herrick had grown a dark beard, one that he kept cropped close to his strong jaw. He studied a small sheaf of paper, which contents Hector was unable to discern. Peter Boering was laughing with the physician, the portly Roman Brus. Beside him, Benedict Rolf, the tall, dark-skinned pilot was describing something to what Hector had mistaken for a young man, short and slender with an unruly crop of dyed violet hair, smoking a short stemmed pipe. Looking harder now he could see that it was indeed a slim young woman, wearing a dark vest and brown knee breeches. Her right arm was completely missing, in its stead a bronze prosthetic whirred and clicked, connected by some inscrutable means where her shoulder should have been. Nodding to Benedict, she took the pipe in her bronze hand and said something back, using the pipe to illustrate.
“She’s an excellent rope and knot maker, even with the arm,” Peter said, taking the stein Hector proffered. “Her father was a bosun, and taught her marlinespike.”
“And the rest of the deckhands give her respect?” Hector murmured with raised brows.
“We do indeed. Most of us were there when she lost her arm.”
“What happened?”
"It was the Gendarmmes, after Shane sold us out. And for no real reason other than they’re ruthless. She wasn’t even part of the crew then." He spat into the spittoon, then continued. "After we escaped, she wanted to stay with us. Lustre Mallous built the arm himself and gave to her. Then she became our new bosun.”
 fReemade Ran · Mon May 25, 2009 @ 08:13pm · 0 Comments |
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