Talons of Scorpio by Alan Burt Akers Read Free Book Online Page B

I’ll tell you.”
    “Oh, a rope — oh, aye.”
    Moments later a coil hit the water by my head and I seized the end and was hauled up over the side, streaming water. I had the sense to stuff the old sailor knife away. It was clean enough from the sea water.
    On deck a shake of the head and a few blinks, snorts and shakes set me up to face the perils ahead.
    The owner of the shock of hair was Brokelsh, and his nose was a mere flat sponge. He goggled at me.
    Over on the other side men clustered, staring at
Tuscurs Maiden
, who rolled listlessly beyond. I said: “Thank you for the rope, dom. I’ll do the same for you one day,” and headed straight for the quarterdeck ladder.
    The Brokelsh shouted after me: “I’ll remember that, dom. Make sure you do, too. My name is Bango Barragon, from Ovvend, so remember it when the time comes.”
    I did not laugh although, by Krun, his shock of hair and his squashed nose and his manner were enough to make a fellow split his sides. I put a hand on the rail of the ladder and a boarding pike came down thwack! I jumped. I looked up and my face must have shone a very nasty glow.
    “You nearly had my hand off then, dom!”
    “Aye,” quoth the fellow at the head of the ladder, clad in leathers, brass-studded, and with the crimson and light-blue banded sleeves of Ovvend. “And if you try to come up here without an invite I’ll have your head off, by Vox!”
    A few sailors and a couple of Pachak marines came over to stare at me, dripping water on their deck. They held weapons; they were in no wise scared of me, of course; just curious and cautious.
    “Tell Captain Insur ti Fotor I wish to speak—”
    “
Tell
the Capt’n, is it, now! A civil tongue in your head might keep that object upon your shoulders.”
    A young lad with a flushed face looked over the quarterdeck rail. I did not know him. He wore a helmet of silvered iron flaunting the feathers of Ovvend. He would be a noble youngster training up in the galleons so that one day he, too, might command one of the sleek sea greyhounds. He could be a fop, a ninny, an autocrat of sadistic humor; he could be a stout-hearted lad ready to learn his trade. I stared back at him, and then yelled: “Captain Insur ti Fotor! If you value your hide, lad, jump! Fetch him!” And, then, I used the word to make ’em leap about. “Bratch!”
    He flushed even further, tightened up, opened his mouth — saw my face — and bratched.
    The guard at the head of the ladder tried to hit me over the head with his pike. You couldn’t blame him, really. I dodged, took the pike away, so that he fell down the ladder on his nose. A Pachak lifted his upper left arm; his comrade stuck out his lower left arm. In another moment they’d all leap on me, and I had no wish at all to fight them, all at once or one at a time.
    “Insur!” I bellowed at the top of my voice.
    Now Insur ti Fotor’s family name — it was Varathon — had been scarcely used by us. He’d always been known as Insur ti Fotor, for Fotor was a tidy little township of Ovvend and Insur Varathon came from one of the chief families there. So, all I could do was bellow out: “Insur!”
    Give him his due. He did not hang about. His face appeared over the rail, beside and higher than that of the middy’s. He saw. At once he shouted: “Send that man up here. Handle him gently.”
    The guard sat up rubbing his nose, which did not bleed much.
    “Your pardon, dom,” I said. “It was your nose or my head.”
    He sneezed red.
    “We’ll see, dom, we’ll see.”
    Up the ladder with the two Pachaks at my back I went. Insur turned away, glaring at the middy.
    “Please return to your duties, Hikdar Varathon!”
    “Quidang!”
    The lad scuttled.
    Insur simply shouldered on to his aft cabin, shouting to his first lieutenant: “Do nothing until I tell you!”
    “Quidang!”
    At the carved companionway entrance, Insur half-turned, still not looking at me. “You may return to your duties, Pachaks.