Ruark leaned out the windows to assure their hasty departure and saw a long, dark shape pass under the stern of the ship. A tall fin cleaved the surface a moment later, and the bellow of the mate announced that he had also sighted the shark. As was befitting, he passed his men to lead them ashore, and soon they had all disappeared into the swamp, leaving only four wet trails across the beach to mark their passing.
Ruark now surveyed the cabin with less urgency, though the need to follow after Shanna made him hasten his selections. He found a pair of fine pistols on the captain’s desk and checked the load and priming. He marveled at the snug way they tucked into his waistband. A broad brim, low-crowned hat of woven straw was made with a skill of workmanship that rivaled Trahern’s headgear. Its fit justified his confiscating it. He added a sleeveless leather jerkin and borrowed a clay pipe and pouch of tobacco from a shelf. The sheath from the sabre was hung on a sash over his shoulder, and, thus equipped, Ruark went out onto the deck and made his way along the jetty to the shore. He had not seen which way the captains and their party had passed but guessed the white structure, being the largest one about, would be their quarters.
Along the path, through a jumble of lesser dwellings, Ruark found himself the object of many stares, though none moved to stop him. The looks were bolder from some of the women, who paused where they stood and watched him pass, posturing for his benefit and then frowning as he gave them no heed. He cleared the town, and at last paused before the inn and gazed up toward the figurehead swinging gently from its bracket. From within came the noise of boisterous merrymaking. Pellier’s loud bellow called for more ale, and Ruark stepped within, keeping to the shadows.
The bedlam assailed him. The odors of sweaty, filthy bodies crowded together in the common room mingled with the aromas of strong ale and a pig roasting on the open hearth. It was Mother who set down an empty mug and waited in silence while the din continued around him. When the giant spoke, directing his gaze toward a dark corner, angry murmurings rose around him, and many hands reached for weapons.
“Come have a draught with us,” Mother beckoned. “And tell me why you lurk in the gloom.”
Pellier slammed his cup down and stared in surprise as Ruark strode from the shadows and accepted the proffered mug of ale. Leisurely Ruark quenched his thirst, letting them await his pleasure, then sighed as he lowered the tankard. His gaze passed about the room, touching on the waiting faces. Then he grinned casually and shrugged.
“ ‘Tis no fault of mine that I’m here, but ’tis still somewhat by choice. It seems there is a matter of a small debt which these gentlemen owe me.” He swept his hand to indicate the captains. “I would not be so pressing on the subject, sirs,” he apologized with mockery, “but as you know I am penniless, and it seems that even here there is little that is free.”
Ruark noted that many eyes went to the sabre and the pistols whose butts were close to his hands.
“Bah!” Pellier sneered. “Give him a copper or two and throw him out.”
“A copper is it?” Ruark snorted. “You must have promised that much to your mate. He did you a copper’s worth or less.” His own sneer was evident. “I have never seen a man so born to water as that one.” He directed his statements to the others. “I was promised a full captain’s share, if you remember, and I can forgive the attempt to gain even that. Still, had I not warned you, you would have sailed directly into the muzzles of Trahern’s cannon,” Ruark reminded them boldly. “They could have sunk you with the sheer weight of lead long before you neared the village.”
“He’s right,” one of the lesser captains grudgingly admitted. “He did tell us the truth of it.”
“And had you landed out of sight as I suggested,” Ruark continued easily, “you might have reached the village and returned with something of real worth.”
This last was not the complete truth, for he had been to the lookout hill himself and knew the entire coastline was visible from there.
“Ah lads!” Harripen broke in. “I ‘aven’t the stomach for this bickering.” He snatched a small bag of coins from his sash and tossed it to Ruark. “ ’Ere, bondsman, find a wench to amuse yerself. When the gold is weighed, ye’ll ‘ave a full share.”
Hefting the pouch, Ruark guessed it not an untidy sum. He nodded his thanks, but Pellier snorted in disgust and returned to his cup.
At the word bondsman, Mother had turned a more attentive perusal to the newcomer and now leaned forward. “Bondsman, you say?” His eyes gleamed in the dim lantern’s light. “Were you in bondage to Trahern?”