Arachnodactyl by Danny Knestaut Read Free Book Online

danced across it, weaving back and forth in the grip of his hand.
    Ikey’s fists tightened with anticipation. The gruffness of Cross was reminiscent of his dad; a much taller version of his dad who didn’t want Ikey around either. If Ikey could stand and gather his will like wool, he’d shove it and press it against Cross. Refuse. Refuse. Refuse.
    Cross lifted the glass to his face, then scowled at the emptiness. He returned the glass to his jostling knee.
    “That all?” Cross asked.
    Ikey’s shoulders slumped.
    Admiral Daughton nodded. “Oh, and do keep him out of the pub,” he said with a nod to Ikey. “He need not learn your version of peace.”
    “You got baggage?” Cross asked Ikey.
    Ikey lifted his satchel and slung the canvas strap over his shoulder.
    “Off we go, then.”
    Cross set the glass on the bench and stepped out of the carriage. Ikey glanced at Admiral Daughton, who shooed Ikey with a sweep of his fingers.
    Ikey scrambled out and stood next to Cross. He was more than a head taller than Ikey.
    “Remember our agreement, Mr. Berliss,” Admiral Daughton called from inside the carriage. He banged on the door. Smith shoved and pulled at his collection of levers until the carriage roared to life and the wheels growled over the cobblestones as it drew them away from the pub.
    Cross sighed. He lifted his cheese-cutter hat, ran a hand through a tangled mess of blonde hair, then yanked the hat low over his eyes like a hoodlum. “Guess my break was over anyway.”
    He looked down at the his new apprentice. “Ikey. That’s Irish, ain’t it?”
    Ikey shrugged.
    “I ain’t one to hold it against you. Ain’t like you can help being who you are.” His eyes ranged up and down Ikey.
    Ikey shifted the satchel strap. He looked away, towards the river. Despite the few boats drifting along, the river offered the only place free from the crowds.
    “You eat?” Cross asked.
    “I had a biscuit this morning.”
    Cross rubbed a hand over the scruff of his jaw. “Come on, then.”
    Without waiting for a response, he dodged across the street and back into the pub, dipping his head as he passed through the doorway. Ikey looked after the carriage. It had yet to disappear around the bend in the road. To hell with it. Ikey followed.
    As his eyes adjusted to the dark, a woman called out, “You seem to have picked up a shadow while outside.”
    “Eh,” Cross grunted. “What’ll you have, Ikey?”
    Shapes emerged from the dark. A bar appeared at one end of the room. Cross took a seat at one of the stools.
    “Ikey?” a woman asked. She stood beside a table and held a small serving tray before her so that her arms framed the tops of her breasts exposed by the low-cut bodice. “Is that Irish?” the woman asked.
    Ikey looked up to her smiling lips, then glanced to the bar and back. Heat flushed his face. “I guess so.”
    “I like Irish men. They know how to have a good time,” the woman said. She tilted her face forward.
    “Don’t waste your time,” Cross called back as he turned around on his stool. “Ikey, that’s Willa. Willa, that’s an Irish man who works for Admiral Daughton.”
    Willa tossed her head aside and lifted her nose at Cross. “He’s still cute, even if he doesn’t have two coins to rub together.”
    A bald man behind the bar stepped up to Cross. “If he doesn’t have two coins—”
    Cross held up his hand. “Get him a whiskey. What have you got that’s Irish?”
    The barman turned around and examined an array of bottles.
    “I don’t want anything to drink,” Ikey said.
    “You don’t want anything to drink?” Cross asked in mock indignation. “You’re standing in a bloody pub!”
    “And you’re Irish,” Willa added.
    “If he doesn’t want anything—” the barman started.
    “I asked for a whiskey, didn’t I?” Cross said over his shoulder. “He’s going to drink it.”
    “He’s Irish,” Willa quipped.
    The barman selected a bottle off the shelf and poured an