Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) (26 page)

Hunter frowned slightly, uncomfortable by the implication, but refrained from comment.

Once they reached the steam vent, Clark searched the edge of the tall dark, shuttered opening with his fingers. The dim light from electric arc lanterns filtered in through the partially open slats of the vent. After a few minutes John smiled as he located a metal latch.

“Aha,” he said with a small grin, “I knew it was here. Just had to suss out where. Hard to see in this gloom.”

"Next time I'll be certain to pack a lantern," Hunter grumbled.

Ignoring the comment, Clark flipped the hidden catch and pushed open the slats. Warm steam rushed out of the vent opening, replaced with a wave of sounds and smells.

"Welcome to Market Square," Captain John Clark said with another impish grin.

Through the rolling knots of steam, a great collection of narrow canvas tents appeared. Jammed together in one of the larger corridors that wound beneath the station, they filled the hallway with a claustrophobic set of colors and shapes. Overhead, brightly colored fabric was strung along the ceiling in an effort to mask the bare, soot-stained metal. Faded blues, greens and reds topped the eclectic scene.

Underneath the wash of colored canvas, knots of patrons milled about between various booths and shops of all kinds. Station crew, sailors of all persuasions, butchers, brewers, and all manner of merchants jostled along in an ever changing river of people. Hunter walked to the edge of the activity that drifted between the tightly packed booths like clumps of cattle in a market. He inhaled as the scent of cooking meat and baking bread mingled with the steam clouds that floated among the passers-by like spectral patrons.

"Brilliant," Captain Hunter said in amazement as he took in the new surroundings. "Simply, a brilliant use of space. This is not exactly what I expected, in the least. One would never know from outside this is even here.”

Clark shut the steam vent behind them, then joined Anthony. "Amazin' what a spot of ingenuity will do when a group puts their mind to settin’ up a shanty town. Hard to remember this is a few miles up and in the steel and wooden belly of a relay station.”

"Indeed," the captain replied, his eyes still wandering the canvas tarp booths. “Given what I had been told, I expected back room dealings in boiler rooms. I was not expecting a full trading port.” Hunter glanced around again, “which begs the question, why is this so crowded?”

John glanced around and shrugged. “No tariffs on the goods, or at least low ones. The buggers you see here either live on the station, or pass through regular. Some here set up their shingle cause they can’t get space above to sell their wares. Others? It’s just plain warmer.”

“What about the dock master and his men?” the captain asked. “Her Majesty’s Coast Guardsmen?”

Clark waved a dismissive hand, “They don’t pay the ‘Square much mind, especially since they’ve limited authority here on Port Signal. There’s plenty going on, what with kidnappings and the odd passenger getting themselves lost above. There’s a mass on the Boardwalk above for those airships traveling through. But if you’ve an eye for cargo? Well, here’s where you’ll want to do business.”

Anthony shook his head, “a full trading port and marketplace,” he said with a faint smile crossing his face.

Black Jack clapped Hunter on the shoulder with a grin. “Aye, a full tradin’ port to hide what I been collectin’. One of me better ideas.”

“Here?” Anthony said in surprise.

“Oi! Not right here, but down further in,” John replied throwing his arms open with an exasperated gesture. “You think me that balmy to hide it in a boarding house, or even aboard the
Revenge
? They search me things aboard the
Revenge
. They’d have found it as quick as lightning.”

The other captain considered that, giving Black Jack a thoughtful look. “Fair enough, I see your point. If it’s hidden here among all this, just where is it?”

“This way,” Black Jack replied, pointing ahead of him towards the crowds.

Captain Hunter caught John by the arm as the man started to walk ahead. “Hold. What about the Fomorians?” Hunter asked, “we need to watch ourselves. If they realize we’re here, they’ll tear through this place like a storm, putting all and sundry in danger.”

Black Jack pulled his arm free, and gave a small shake of his head. “You got it all wrong. Those Fomorians may be as mad as a bag of ferrets, and far more balmy than me, but they’re not stupid. They know they need money to carry on about like they do. So, they won’t come tearin’ through here like a firestorm.”

Hunter looked out over the crowd. It was busy with people, but not filled to bursting. With the cloth draped overhead, it easily passed for any open air marketplace. It made a kind of sense to the captain. Despite whatever these Fomorians were
about, they were pirates and thieves. They needed to sell their goods somewhere to pay for supplies and repairs.

The captain watched a man hurrying by, carrying several bolts of a sky blue cloth. “So, what you’re saying is: it would be a knife in the back, then?”

The scarred captain pursed his lips a moment, hesitating before he answered, “aye, it might.” A worried frown crossed John’s face a moment as he motioned for Anthony to follow him. “We’ll just have to step lively then, and keep an eye peeled. I kept what all I’ve collected about the Fomorians down this way, past the pub.”

The pair slipped into the knots of people, walking along the curved hallway lined with booth upon tarp-covered booth. Products of all kinds passed through here from exotic spices, Persian carpets,
and exotic animals to the more domestic Scottish Highland wool, rum or other types of liquor.

However, not all booths were devoted to selling illicit goods. Some were merely a counter in front of a stove, where the cook would baked various pies or meats for sale. Also, not all of the shops were contained along the hallway. At certain locations, the
hidden market spread its tendrils into what looked to be wide, and long-forgotten storage rooms for the station. There the more profitable merchants, including a pub, had set up an establishment.

The result was a symphony of sound, sights and smells, all of which were muffled and disguised from the rest of the station by the hammering of steam pistons above and the steady humming of giant propellers nearby. A few yards into their walk, Hunter tapped John on the arm.

“Two men, who look to be station engineers, seem to have taken a keen interest in the way we’re going,” Hunter said just loud enough for his companion to hear.

“One a tall sprout, with a gray peacoat and blue knit cap, next to another with a blue canvas duster with a nasty burn scar along his left cheek?” John asked as he continued to walk forward.

“Quite,” Hunter replied curtly.

“Aye, saw ’em a moment ago,” the scarred captain replied. “Can’t say as I know ’em, though that means nothing.” Black Jack nodded towards the makeshift entrance to the pub ahead of them. “No matter. We’ll be stoppin’ on the other side of the pub doors. We’ll be in plain sight, so we’ll have plenty of warnin’ if they come in for a fight.”

The two men slowed, then walked to the far side of the pub doors. The pub, named the Mermaids’ Nose had its fair share of patrons. Most were sailors, but here and there Captain Hunter recognized the coveralls of a station crew member. Anthony leaned against the doorframe - which was, in truth, one of two ship’s figureheads shaped like mermaids - folded his arms and watched the crowd.

Something about this, beyond the fact they were hunted by the most bizarre pirates Captain Hunter had ever dreamed of, left the captain feeling unsettled. It was not the Fomorians, or their elixir, that rattled him – though the elixir and its effects did give him pause – it was the idea that there were apparently so many Fomorians. Especially, if one took census of how many might be among the inhabitants of Port Signal.

Hunter carefully watched the patrons moving about the marketplace. He had lost the two men a moment ago, but an uncomfortable feeling told him that they were nearby. Suddenly, he spied his targets. The two men, one in a gray peacoat and the other with the burnt face, had just walked into view. Anthony watched as they
strolled along, seemingly a pair of sailors on leave from their ship.

The captain noticed that the man with the scarred face did quickly glance in their direction twice. The second time, he whispered something to his companion before they hurried past the pub for some unknown destination. Captain Hunter rested a free hand on the grip of his pistol as he watched them leave. He had experienced what Fomorians could do and was not eager to give them any chances in their favor if they sought another fight.

Captain Hunter heard a soft click to his right, followed by the muted sound of wood scraping across wood. He frowned and tensed. “What in the bloody hell are you doing?” The captain asked.

John Clark casually pulled a small satchel from a hidden compartment in the mermaid’s rear. He grinned at Hunter and patted the satchel before sliding the hidden compartment back into place. “Got it,” John whispered eagerly.

“Let’s hope no one notices that you’re leaving with a satchel you didn’t arrive with,” Hunter said sternly.

“… or heard the click of the latch when it opened, eh?” said a rough voice behind and to the left of Anthony.

Hunter eased up away from the wooden mermaid, turning around to come face-to-face with Peter Bauer! The former first mate of the
Revenge
was dressed in fresh clothes and a relatively clean brown wool coat. However, his face was a mask of bruises, and a welt on his cheekbone practically glowed where he had been burned by steam.

Hunter’s eyes narrowed as he saw two other men of rough complexion wearing wool coats and knit caps draw skinning knives before stepping up behind
Clark. Black Jack started to turn, then stopped immediately when he saw the gleam of naked blades.

“Quite a busy day, ja? We were just here to sell some things when what do we see? The two of you,” Peter Bauer said in an ugly tone, his eyes shifting warily between the two captains, watching them like a snake observing two mice. A skinning knife hissed against its leather sheath while Bauer slowly pulled it free. He turned the blade over in his hands, giving Hunter a cold, superior look. “Now, mein Kapitän, I think we shall finish what we started aboard the
Revenge
, eh? I will have what is ours, and you will be dead.”

W
arm clouds of mist rolled up from the floor, drifting past the front door of the pub and in between Captain Anthony Hunter and Peter Bauer, the mutinous first mate of the
Revenge
. The captain’s eyes were locked with Bauer’s; Hunter’s look was like ice, Peter’s triumphant and mocking. The first mate held the knife low, out of sight of most anyone walking by, but well within the edge of the captain’s vision.

“We are wasting time, Kapitän,” Peter Bauer said, his voice dripping with a smug sneer, “we have a very tight schedule to keep, and you are interfering with it.”

“It’s a talent I have,” the captain replied with an even, almost casual smile. Inwardly, Hunter’s mind raced, looking for the smallest opportunity for escape as one of the Fomorians took his revolver.

Bauer nodded in a direction away from the pub, towards a dark side passage from the booths and bright activity. “That way, mein Kapitän. We would not want to make a mess of the floor plates, ja? Someone would have to clean it.”

The captain stepped aside, gesturing ahead of him, “after you, Sirrah.”

The former first mate quickly palmed his knife to hide it before anyone outside the small group noticed. Peter glared at Hunter. “Oh no, after you … I insist,” Bauer said, putting a cold emphasis on the final two words.

Anthony shrugged slightly then walked ahead. Behind him, one of Bauer’s accomplices yanked the satchel from Captain John Clark’s hands.

“Oi!” the captain exclaimed while he lunged desperately for the satchel and its valuable contents. Immediately, he was rewarded for his efforts with a punch to the stomach that ripped his breath away.

“Enough o’ that,” one of the thugs growled, quickly glancing around to see if anyone in the crowd noticed before pressing the hard steel knife against Clark’s stomach, “or I’ll gut ya here and now.”

“Piss off!” Clark spat back hoarsely between coughing fits.

The thug took Clark’s revolver then shoved John hard in Hunter’s direction. The scarred captain stumbled forward, but caught himself before he ran headlong into Anthony. Captain Hunter caught Clark by the arm, helping him upright.

“Making friends, I see?” Hunter quipped. “I’d be more choosy if I were you.”

“I’m thinkin’ he likes me,” John replied with a wheeze of air. “We might try havin’ high tea.”

“Remember to check for poison,” Hunter said with a smirk.

“Both of ya, shut it and move!” The Fomorian sailor snarled.

After a hard shove of encouragement, Clark and Hunter walked ahead of the Fomorians. The group slowly navigated the crowds quietly until John managed to close the small gap between himself and Hunter.

“Might could take Bauer, maybe one of his dogs, but the third would have me,” Clark whispered.

“Understood,” Hunter replied. Suddenly, he recognized a figure in the crowd: the man he had seen carrying the bolts of cloth earlier.

He was a large man, just a few inches over six feet, with a tumble of tawny-colored hair atop his round head. Thick shoulders stretched the blue cotton shirt worn under his stained shopkeeper’s apron. The man carefully navigated the crowd in their general direction while struggling to keep his bolts of cloth from falling.

Captain Hunter smirked, “I need a proper distraction.”

“Now that’s a task right up me river,” Captain Clark replied with a determined look.

Without any warning, Clark paused to allow a lady carrying an overloaded basket of fresh bread to pass, giving her a gracious smile. Behind him, Bauer rolled his eyes. Catching the look, John turned to face his former first mate, while Captain Hunter quietly stepped to one side.