Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) (29 page)

The former first mate yelled and pitched to the floor, his leg collapsing out from under him. Enraged and mad with pain, Bauer started to lurch clumsily to his feet, but stopped as he found himself looking down the barrel of Hunter's Schofield pistol.

“It won’t stop me,” Bauer sneered, as his leg collapsed from under him again, leaving him crouching on the ground. “I'll still kill you with my bare hands.”

Screams of panic filled the air as a clear, commanding voice cut through the chaos like a hot knife. "Stand down! By order of Her Majesty ... Stand down, now!”

In that moment, the fight died as quickly as it had begun. Hunter slowly tore his gaze from Bauer and looked in the direction of the shouting. Forty yards from the booth, a line of men with rifles were arrayed in a tight, proper skirmish line. They were dressed in the finery Anthony recognized all too well; sailors of the Royal Navy, their rifles aimed towards him and everyone with him.

The man in the rich blue of an officer's uniform stepped away from the others, his eyes hard and unblinking as he glanced around at the carnage. "Captain Anthony Gabriel Hunter? I hereby place you, and those with you, in custody.” The officer then turned and addressed the men with him: “I want these people, all of them, brought along. If they trouble you … shoot them, bandage them, then bring ’em in irons. Our captain
 
would have a word with this lot."

Captain Hunter remained unmoved, his pistol still trained on Bauer’s chest. Nearby, Moira looked around nervously, unsure of who deserved her attention more, the Royal Navy or the Fomorian thugs closer at hand. Krumer glared at one his attackers who looked ready to jump him, regardless of the consequences, and Captain Clark had just let go of Jessup's knife-arm. Jessup hesitated, unsure whether it was worth it to continue attacking Clark. O'Fallon, however, was calmly looking around, standing over the unconscious forms of  the
 
four Fomorian sailors at his feet.

The captain glared defiantly at the young naval officer. “What ship? Whose authority?” Anthony snapped back through gritted teeth at the young officer.

The officer turned his level gaze on Hunter. "It's on the Queen's authority, Sir, that brings us here from the
HMS Intrepid
. As I said, come along.
Captain Thomas Clark wishes a word. Most especially, Hunter, with you."

A
bove the Market Square, the snow had begun to collect in drifts all along the rooftops and shadowy corners of Port Signal. The silent white storm blew like cold needles across the Boardwalk
as ice formed on ship rigging and station, alike. The pedestrians from before had long since found warm refuge from the chilling weather. Now, the metal and wood landscape of the station took on a haunted, wind-swept look.

Captain Anthony Hunter looked out a viewport across the cold, desolate pier where the
HMS Intrepid
was moored. His walk from Market Square - by armed escort - had been thankfully uneventful, though the captain suspected the lull had more to do with the frigid weather, than the presence of the British Royal Navy. He sighed while he watched a quartet of crab-shaped clockwork servitors, each the size of a small dog, trundle along the Boardwalk in a clanking skirmish line.

Every few feet, each of the servitors would pause, settling down and extending a small tube. From the tube would spray a cloud of powdery salt in their path. Once satisfied the small immediate area in front of them was saturated, they would raise back up on their brass crab legs and trundle forward in unison to repeat the process. For the particularly troublesome spots with thick ice, there was a second tube attached to a simple flamethrower. Behind the quartet, a lone man walked, bundled up in a thick wool coat and scarf, shepherding the servitors with the occasional nudge from a brass pipe when they walked off course.

Captain Hunter took a deep breath, letting it drain out of him slowly. He rubbed his shoulder, the one he had fallen
on when the
Fair Winds
had exploded, and turned to face the room. He was in a small cabin, nearly a closet of sorts, with plain, gray, featureless walls and a single hatch for entry. There was a table and three chairs, lit by two electric arc lanterns, but the room held no cot or bars, so the captain could not entirely consider it a cell. Nonetheless, it maintained the trappings and atmosphere of one, complete with the guards posted outside.

When he and his companions had arrived aboard the
HMS Intrepid
, the wounded among them had been quickly spirited away. Those not wounded were escorted below decks while Hunter was isolated
from his crew. John's satchel had likewise been snatched up, much to the man’s dismay, presumably for delivery to his son, Captain Thomas Clark of the
Intrepid
.

By the time the hatch to the room opened, Hunter was pacing like an irritated, caged tiger. He turned and faced the newcomers, his mouth set in a firm line as if etched from stone. The two armed guards peered through the opening, their faces looking
none too pleased with the current situation. Hunter remained motionless, hands behind his back, feet planted firmly shoulder-width apart on the deck. Apparently satisfied with what they saw, the guards moved away from the door to allow a trio of men to enter.

The first was an older gentlemen with gray just beginning to show in his hair, a senior lieutenant by the man’s rank. Behind the senior lieutenant, an armed seaman entered, silently stepping to one side of the hatch, his eyes riveted on Anthony. Without a word, the senior lieutenant crossed over to the small table, standing just a few steps back from one of the chairs there, while the last man entered the room.

The newcomer wore the rank of captain, but the face of a young man just shy of his thirtieth year. Despite his outward appearance, the captain’s eyes were alert, stern, and indicated an intelligence and experience far beyond his physical years. The young man bore a resemblance to John Clark, but only in passing. He was thinner, lacking John’s thicker frame, and sporting a more angular face.

Captain Clark stopped just inside the hatch, eyes quickly sweeping the room. His uniform was tidy, and in his hands he carried both Black Jack’s satchel and another set of papers Anthony did not recognize.

“Captain Clark,” the senior lieutenant said briskly, with a smart salute to the captain.

Captain Clark returned the salute, “thank you Senior Lef’tenant.” The young captain set his burden on the table, and took a seat. He looked to Captain Hunter and gestured to the seat across from him, “if you please, Captain. I am Captain Thomas Clark, this is my Senior Lef’tenant Samuel Johnson. If you would, join us.”

Hunter’s eyes were hard. Youngest captain in the Royal Navy or not, Anthony had his priorities firmly screwed in place. He would have them seen to first.

“Good to meet you Captain, Senior Lef’tenant,” Hunter replied stiffly, “but I’d have a word with you both over my companions first.”

Clark, who had just begun to open the bundle of papers on the table, paused, raising an eyebrow at Anthony. His young face held the edge of a steely expression that bordered on irritation. “You will indeed, eh?”

Hunter’s matched young Clark’s gaze with his own. For a moment, the air grew still. “Quite,” Hunter said sternly. “My crew and companions, what became of them? When I know that on your honor they are being cared for, then I’ll sit.”

Clark dropped the papers on the table with a small pop. He began to snap off a sharp reply, but stopped. With a great effort, he took a deep breath and pulled in his anger. “Very well, on my honor, you companions are being seen to as we speak. At least two required immediate attention, my father and your pilot, Mr. Wilkerson, being among them. In fact, your own doctor is treating them now as best as he’s able. As I understand it, they are resting comfortably under his watchful eye. Now sit down, Sir, as there are matters to discuss. Namely ones that have you in it up to your stiff neck.”

With a nod, Hunter accepted the seat, concealing his surprise. Thorias? Here? He pushed the thought aside for the moment, and glanced at the papers on the table. “I will want to see them for myself later,” Hunter replied. “Of course, Captain,” Clark said, “I expected no less.”

The satchel was familiar to Hunter, however the papers next to it were new and piqued his interest. Most particularly the top-most, indicating a record sheet with ship’s names, departure and arrival destinations for the past several weeks. Two ship names stood out among the rest: the
Fair Winds
, and the
Revenge
.

Clark sorted the papers, then pushed a stack in front of Hunter. “Captain, I won’t lie to you. I originally came here to arrest you and your crew under suspicion of piracy and murder.”

“So, I’m to be tried then?” Hunter replied in a brittle tone. “My crew,” he began.

The senior lieutenant quickly interrupted, “that was ‘originally’, Captain, not ‘presently’.”

The young captain cleared his throat and continued, “Presently, I’ve had a change of direction on the matter. At this time, we’re here to enlist your assistance.”

Hunter kept his expression masked, though his suspicion still managed so echo in his tone, “How do you mean?” He asked, looking from one man to the other.

Clark looked as if he had tasted something bitter, Lieutenant Johnson’s face went expressionless. “We’re here to provide you, your crew and your companions … an offer. After ascertaining your involvement, it’s been felt that in exchange for the information you and your crew possess, we are compelled to offer an amnesty for your involvement in this affair. Your Dr. Llwellyn has been rather helpful of late with his budding research into the nature of these ‘pirates’. The items you arrived with, Captain, are also of immense help. However, we still do not hold the remaining keys to unlocking this puzzle. Specifically you, and my father – if my father is to be believed – apparently do.”

Hunter leaned back slightly, watching the captain and his senior lieutenant carefully. “I see. Well Captain, our ‘involvement’ centers itself about the recovery of the kidnap victims, if possible.”

Clark nodded, folding his hands on the table. “Yes, the lady archeologist, Dr. Maria Von Patterson. I know her by reputation, and as one of the missing.”

“I will see she and the others returned to safety, Captain,” Hunter said sternly. “My ship and my crew were conscripted into this from a certain point of view. We’ll see this to the bitter end if need be to set those people free.”

“So you accept then?” Clark said, almost as a forgone conclusion rather than a question.

Anthony sat forward. “If, by your word and in writing, Sirrah … my apologies … Sir, my crew is absolved of any wrong doing in this matter.”

Captain Clark’s sour expression deepened. “Despite my misgivings of dealing with a man dishonored from Her Majesty’s Service, I find you have me at a disadvantage. Very well, I accept.” The young captain extended a hand. “You’ve my word as captain, I’ll have a man draw up the necessary writ for signing while we review the problem at hand.”

Hunter hesitated a moment, then clasped the young man’s hand firmly. “Done, then. Show me what you have so far, and let us be at it before we lose any more time. Have you looked into any shipping in the direction of Inverness? Captain, your father should join us for this, also.”

Captain Clark hesitated a moment, before he made any reply. “My father’s indisposed,” he said flatly.

Suspicious, Hunter leaned forward, “he has the most deepest involvement into what’s collected here.”

Clark did not meet Hunter’s gaze, “he’s also under arrest for assaulting one of my officers. Father or no, I can’t have that aboard my ship. He’s under lock and key in the infirmary until cooler heads prevail.”

“We need him here,” Hunter pressed.

Clark leveled a tense look at Hunter, “and I’ll involve him, when I can trust he’s more stable than he’s proven in the past or immediate present.”

Anthony discreetly let the subject drop while Lieutenant Johnson stood to speak to the sailor next to the hatch, “Find the Officer of the Deck. Tell him the Captain requires a writ for an agreement. Step to!”
 

“Aye!” The sailor replied, opening the hatch and racing from the cabin.

The senior lieutenant turned back to the table and resumed his seat while Captain Clark opened the satchel. Clark scrutinized a half-drawn technical design carefully.

“We’ve noted some rumor of smuggling into Inverness, but the Coast Guardsmen haven’t turned the right rock yet,” Lieutenant Johnson explained.

Hunter reviewed the shipping manifest that sat atop the stack, then glanced over at the two officers. “I might can provide you some insight there. You’ll also need to send someone around to the
Whirling Strumpet
to speak with Captain Klaus Wilhelm. Ask after one of his men, one Brian Tanner. He’ll be marking time in the infirmary.”

“A doctor?” Captain Clark asked curiously.

“A patient,” Hunter explained with a small smile, “and possibly the most important man on this entire station, if we can manage to keep him alive.”

The two captains and the senior lieutenant poured over the documents and other contents of John Clark’s satchel. As the afternoon wore on, Captain Hunter, escorted by Senior Lieutenant Johnson, visited the
Intrepid’s
infirmary allowing Anthony time to visit his ailing friends – everyone save Thorias, who had barricaded himself in a tiny laboratory. Once he had made time to see after the health of every person he felt was under his charge, Hunter and the lieutenant returned to the cabin, rejoining Captain Clark in their work.

Tea was eventually brought in, and Dr. Llwellyn as well, fully bandaged and aglow with excitement. In his arms he carried a small stack of papers littered with scrawled notes and diagrams.

Anthony looked up from the table as his old friend arrived, “Doctor, it’s good to see you,” the captain blinked in surprise as he saw the bulge of bandages under the doctor’s waistcoat, and the deep bruise that marked the Welsh doctor’s elven face. “Thorias, what happened, man? No one mentioned you had been injured.”