There is nothing worse for a pirate than dying on dry land. Except, maybe, swinging two feet above it.
When their captain is imprisoned, facing the gallows, the men and women of the Lady Lesya's crew will try everything to break him out--even if it...
The inn's common room was getting darker by the minute. Most of the candles had burned out, giving off a pleasant smell of smoke that would cover the stench of vomited booze for a while. The few remaining flames cast warm, joyful shadows on the walls, like men jigging around. Dune smiled widely. If he enjoyed the round dance of the dark and ever changing shapes, he liked the game even more. Apparently, he was a one-man team against the other crew members. So far, it was a tie.
Flow had jumped onto his back and was pulling on his unmoving chin as if he wanted to pop his head off. Tiago was dancing around him brushing his nose with one of his beautiful feathers in the vain hope of making him sneeze. Finally, O'Ma was pushing and pulling on his arms, up and down and away, trying to unknot them. Inside Dune's tight embrace, Stalker was headbanging and kicking again.
In the otherwise silent common room, where the candles were about to die for good, Stalker's voice rang out as the roar of a caged savage beast.
"Cap! Come back here, ye senile piece of shite. Make your doll release me, for fuck's sake!"
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