struggling, while being pressed against the cobblestones. His glasses eased off his nose — he could just about make them out on the ground in front of him.
“What’re you doin’ sneaking about by our boat?” snarled a deep, scratchy, seafaring voice.
“I’m looking for Drewshank.”
“You’re looking for that pirate? What you wanting with him?” said the man, whose hard hobnail boot was stuck firmly in his back.
The butler heard other voices and footsteps approaching.
“I’ll ask you once more,” he pleaded, “kindly take me to Devlin Drewshank. I’ll make sure you’re paid well.”
“Gold, silver, and gems,” said the man, “that’s all you folk are about. What d’you reckon, boys, shall we take him to Drewshank?”
The butler was surrounded by dirty feet. If they so much as touched his glasses, his dagger would be put to full use.
“Let’s throw him in the briney . . . rob him first, of course,” chuckled one voice.
“Nah, let’s string ’im up from the yardarm,” said another.
“That’s a big waste,” bantered a third. “Let’s eat ’im!”
“That’s enough!” boomed a stronger, more assertive voice. The butler felt the weight on his back lighten. “You dirty pirates, treating a nice butler like this.”
Mr. Spires was able to stand and pushed himself to his feet, taking his glasses with him. His hat remained on the floor, covered in dirt. He picked it up and made a big point of cleaning it.
“Captain Drewshank?” he asked hopefully. Once his glasses were righted, he was able to size up his thuggish assailants one by one.
“Why, yes it is,” replied a man proudly.
Drewshank was tall, with a striking, chiseled face. Dressed in a smart blue uniform, he could pass as a gentleman — at least in the present company. But Drewshank was a privateer, a so-called mercenary for hire, which, according to some, made him just short of being a pirate. With a twinkle in his eye, Drewshank had a huge amount of charm and a good nose for making money.
“And why, sir, have you come to call upon me at this late hour?” he said smoothly.
“My master, Isiah Lovelock, requires your presence.”
“Ah! That old rogue, I should have known.” Drewshank took the butler by the arm and pulled him free of the rabble. “You’ll have to excuse them,” he added, “but they help keep unsavory types from the docks. Now, shall we continue this discussion aboard ship?”
“They get more unsavory?” muttered the butler to himself as he followed Drewshank along the quayside.
After a minute’s walk, Drewshank halted before his ship, which was resting sideways along a wide wooden pier. Its hull rose a few meters above his head, and its bowsprit shot out like a spear over the quayside. The ship’s stern was completely lost to the fog, but orange lights glowed from the cabins and deck, highlighting the ship’s beautiful outline and two skeletal masts.
“This is the
Flying Fox,
” said Drewshank, looking up proudly. “No doubt you’ve heard of her.”
“Well, no, sir. I tend not to have time for news of the sea,” replied Spires.
Drewshank, feeling slightly rebuffed, hastened his walk to the gangplank and stepped on board.
“But the
Flying Fox
?” he continued. “This amazing vessel has sailed the Seventeen Seas, fought among the Espedrills at the War of Angry Neck, and even raced the Diver Mice around Cape Kopper. No finer craft has ever sailed!”
Spires smiled to himself, taking in the details of the ship as he went aboard. It appeared empty of sailors, who were no doubt all in the taverns causing the usual ruckus. He couldn’t help but be impressed with the dark-wood deck and golden edging that ran around the hull. Not that he was going to mention it.
“Sir, I apologize for my lack of knowledge regarding your ship, but my master has an excellent understanding of its qualities and those of its captain — which is why I’m here.”
Halting with a flourish in front of his