Free Book 1 - Sweet Silver Blues by Glen Cook

stubborn and set in
her ways, needing masterful coaxing and cajoling to get her to give
her loving best, but also faithful and warm and unsinkably
optimistic in her care for her children. Morley hated her at first
sight. He prefers them sleek, lean, taut, and fast.
    Master Arbanos, her skipper, was an oversize gnome of that
ethnic minority the ignorant sometimes confuse with hobgoblins
(though any idiot knows hobgoblins don’t come out in the
daytime because the sunlight would broil their eyeballs). After he
got us settled in what, with a smile of self-mockery, he called the
cabin, he pulled me aside and told me, “We won’t be
able to sail till morning. Hope that don’t throw you off
schedule.”
    “No.” But being naturally nosy and suspicious, I
wanted to know why.
    “Cargo’s late. Best part, that is. Twenty-five cask
of the TunFaire Gold, that they don’t trust nobody but me and
my brother to get down the river unbruised.”
    TunFaire Gold is a premium wine with a reputation for traveling
poorly.
    “So here I sit,” he complained, “with eight
ton of potato, two ton of onion, three ton of pig-iron billet, and
forty hogshead of navy salt pork turning to mold while I wait for
them to baby that spoiled grape juice down from TagEnd. If I
didn’t get paid more for hauling that than the rest put
together, I’d tell them what to do with their TunFaire Gold
poison! You bet I would.”
    Cargo manifests. How thoroughly exciting. “No problem for
us. As long as we get there in a reasonable amount of
time.”
    “Oh, won’t be no problem with that. We’ll get
there almost the same time we would have.”
    “We will? Why?”
    “We’ll be going out with the tide, with an extra
five knot of current running where the river is usually slowest. I
just thought you might be in a hurry to move at this end, what with
the way your friends are keeping out of sight down with the codfish
smell. The way I hear tell, you landsider don’t favor fish
odor too much.”
    I had not mentioned the stench, being the naturally courteous
guy that I am. But, “Now that you bring it
up . . . ”
    “What?”
    “Wait.”
    One of the Tate cousins or nephews was limping down the dock,
checking ships with mad eyes. He was covered with dried blood.
People stepped out of his way and stared after him.
    He spotted me, staggered faster. I went to meet him.
    “Mr. Garrett! They got Tinnie and Rose! They said if we
don’t give them Denny’s papers—”
    He collapsed. I caught him, lifted him up, and carried him
aboard
Binkey’s Sequin.
Master Arbanos gave me an
appalled look. Before he started complaining, I tossed him a couple
of marks. His personality shifted like a wolfman’s under a
full moon. You would have thought he was the boy’s
mother.
    A draft of brandy bubbling in the gut got the kid into a state
to tell his tale.
    Rose and Tinnie, as was their custom, had gone out to do the
afternoon marketing. Lester and the usual cousins and nephews and
some kitchen help had accompanied them, again as was customary.
When they were returning with the servants and two boys lugging
vegetables and whatnot, disaster had struck, in the form of Vasco
and a half-dozen thugs.
    “They grabbed Rose and Tinnie before we could drop the
groceries and get our weapons out. Uncle Lester was the only one
who was able . . . They killed him, Mr.
Garrett.”
    “You all do them any damage?” The kid wouldn’t
have been in such bad shape if they hadn’t tried. I needed to
know how much blood was in it to tell if the women had a
chance.
    “Some,” he admitted. “I don’t think we
killed anybody. We had to back off first. That’s when they
said we could have them back if we gave them Denny’s letters
and notebooks and stuff.”
    Well, they had no real reason to commit murder. The blood was
balanced. One of their lot for Uncle Lester. A trade could be made.
The problem was, they would find out I was headed south if I had
much to do with the