Dead Men's Tales (Tales of the Brass Griffin Book 5) by C. B. Ash Read Free Book Online Page B

tugging at his coat against the chill wind blowing crosswise along the pier. He then walked over to join her with Krumer.
    “Whatever it is, I’m certain it’ll come to you,” Anthony replied.
    Moira finally shrugged, ”I think they’ve added a buildin’ or two, I guess.” She said with a quick glance to the captain, “don’ matter. Once we check in with the dock master, I can be showin’ ya the way to down-below.Really not all that hard to find, once ya know the way.”
    “Well, by all means, lead on,” Krumer said with a smirk.
    The young woman turned on her heel, deftly walking around a pair of sailors carrying a large crate, with Anthony and Krumer Whitehorse in tow. Nearby, two wool-clad dock hands worked diligently, unloading crates and boxes into ordered stacks. Far to their right, a group of shipwrights hammered methodically at repairs to another ship. Hunter’s eyes drifted along tirelessly, searching the knots of people as they walked along.
    Krumer noticed the captain’s wary glances. “What is it, Captain?”
    “Nothing I can put my finger on. Nerves, most likely,” Anthony replied. “Just not quite comfortable with our little role yet. I’ll be fine.”
    Just then, a sailor lounging on a nearby barrel got to his feet. He was a thin, rat-faced man, in worn leather boots, ragged trousers, threadbare peacoat, and stained white shirt in dire need of mending. At his waist a pistol and a long knife were thrust into his belt.
    The sailor motioned to four others that were dressed similarly, one of which was a burly orc, an elaborate tattoo of knotwork covering what could be seen of his neck past a drover oilskin coat and stained cotton shirt.
    With a nasty, grunting chuckle, the orc reflexively checked for the knife in his belt. One of his friends rested a hand on the butt of a pistol jammed into a waistband. All four had been loitering near their ringleader, as if they had been waiting for an appointment. Slowly, they sauntered out into the path of the Brass Griffin’s crew.
    “Cap’n,” Moira said in a warning tone.
    “I see them,” Hunter replied calmly.   “No sudden moves, not till we know what they want.” The captain, Moira, and Krumer came to a stop a few short paces away from the sailors. Moira stood tense, like a tightly wound spring, slowly flexing her hands. Krumer slowly wiped his palms on his cotton shirt and wool coat, then hooked this thumbs into his gun belt, giving the knot of men ahead of them a cagey stare.
    “Top o’ the day, Guv’,” the sailor said with a gap-toothed grin. “If ye and yours don’t mind me sayin’, would that be the Brass Griffin ye just left?”
    Captain Hunter nodded, “It would indeed. Why do you ask?”
    The sailor glanced around at his companions, scratching the gray-brown stubble on his chin. “Oh, see, me mates and I be out lookin’ for such a ship.”
    “Ah, well, we’re not looking to take on new crew,” Hunter replied pleasantly.
    The sailor laughed with an ugly snort, “‘New crew’ he says. No, Guv’, nothing like that. See, way we heard it, British navy’s lookin’ for the Brass Griffin . Somethin’ about piracy. I tell this lot here, that might mean a bounty. Especially for bringin’ in the captain himself. Are ye the captain? What with ye fine coat, an boots and all?”
    Moira’s hands subtly drifted over and rested on the butt end of her pistols. Hunter noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, “Well, I would be the captain. I’m Captain Anthony Hunter, and these are two of my crew. Though, I must ask you to leave us to be on our way. We’ve no wish for trouble with you.”
    The sailor wiped his nose, “well, good meetin’ ya then, Cap’n. An … ye see, we can’t just do that.” He waved his right hand behind him at his companions. “To me mates here, that message ‘twas clear enough. Ye’re wanted by the navy. That means a nice pinch o’ money. Money we’d all like a share of. Ye crew? They