Chasing the Lantern(9)

"Mayhap," said Mordecai, "you need to work on your aim."

She sighed. "Nonsense. Fellow might be as tough as he said. Fancy that." She raised her voice. "Take him to the ship. If he survives maybe he can have his wish. After all, a little stamina in a man is a rare thing." Natasha raised her mug for another pull, then paused to belch.

Fengel squared his shoulders. Time to get this over with. Sidestepping the two crewman and their bleeding, groaning cargo, he moved to the middle of the taproom floor. Mordecai noticed him first, and smiled thinly. Natasha didn't see him. She was taking another drink, mug upended.

"The crew of the Flittergrasp has returned to port," he said loudly, clearly. "And thus, I have come to give my obeisance to the rule of Blackhand."

Natasha's eyes widened. She choked, leaned up, and spit her mouthful of ale in a geyser that soaked a nearby pirate. "Fengel?" she gasped, staring at him.

Up close he saw the familiar signs. She's drunk. Again. He pursed his lips disapprovingly. "Indeed," he said.

She laughed, wiped her chin with the sleeve of her shirt, then laughed again. "Oh, now this is a day. What kept you? Triskelion isn't that far away."

Mordecai smiled like a serpent. "Alas, ma'am, I believe that good Captain Fengel had to take the long way home. I spied him coming into the Waterdocks in a broken longboat."

Natasha blinked up at her mate, then at him. "What? Where's the Flittergrasp? Why weren't you on your ship?"

Cold anger and hot embarrassment writhed in his stomach. "The Flittergrasp is...no more. There was an incident over Triskelion. It was destroyed."

The room quieted abruptly. Natasha stared at him, her face slacking into surprised sympathy.

Then she laughed. Great big choking belly-laughs that set her form to shaking uncontrollably. She threw her empty mug at the floor and it bounced. "You...utter...tit," she howled. The rest of the room joined in, mocking laughter echoing from wall to wall.

Fengel grimaced. "Your sympathy is appreciated," he said. "However, after a bit of rest, I plan to make my way to the Yards to resolve this inconvenience."

"And what," asked Natasha, gasping for air, tears in her eyes, "do you plan to do there? The head Mechanist is gone missing. The Brotherhood of the Cog aren't taking any more ship orders."

Fengel started. What? What did she mean?

"I tell you what," said his wife, slurring slightly. She took a deep breath and then cleared her throat. "A pirate's no pirate without a ship. I've always had a soft spot for you, I'll admit. And it seems you're in a bit of a bind. Here, drop that group of press-ganged losers you call a crew, and join mine. You can even be a mate. First or second I don't care, should be fun seeing you try to best Mordecai. It's been a bit since I've seen that swordplay of yours." She smiled back woozily at her first mate. "My husband here is probably the only one on the Atalian Sea who can give you a run for your money, isn’t that right?"

Mordecai Wright stared her down. Then he turned to Fengel, eyes narrow. "Hardly," he drawled.

"Hmm," said Natasha, turning back to Fengel. "What do you say?"

"Never," he replied instantly. "My crew is my crew. They stand behind me, and I behind them. I will simply have to acquire a ship by some other means."

Anger rippled across Natasha’s features, turning her fair face into something ugly. "How dare you. Fine then. That'll teach me for trying to throw you a bone. It's just as well. I would have loved to watch you crawl, making do with second best when everyone knew that you'd had your own ship. I would have loved to watch you choke on that swollen pride of yours. Go then! Get out! Starve to death instead, you incompetent fool. When I find your beggared arse down on the Waterdocks, I'll laugh! Now go!" She stood and pointed with a wavering finger, chest heaving.

Fengel felt himself flush. He bent in a short, terse bow. Then he wheeled about, looking past Henry and Lina and making his way to the door. He pushed through it back to the town outside. The cool night air hit him like a hammer. Descending the stair, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh, willing away the turmoil within. Ridiculous harpy. Besotted slattern. Raging—

Two hands grabbed him roughly. They swung him around to smack into a wall with a thump that jarred his thoughts and his sense. Distantly, he felt his monocle fly free.

"Mr. Grey would like to speak with you," said a voice like heavy gravel.

Fengel looked up into a face made wholly out of scar tissue. The man holding him was huge, though not quite the size of his gunnery mistress, Sarah Lome. Still, he himself was slight in comparison. Another massive fellow, partner to the first, glowered down at him. Past these two Fengel spied Henry Smalls on the stair, watching in surprise and concern, Miss Stone standing behind him.