The laughter from up front fell silent.
“How about a tavern instead,” Aimi continued. “First round is on me.”
That got her crewmates cheering and laughing again, and Feather gave her a friendly punch on the arm. Aimi looked over at Jojo to find him smiling at her.
“That was well done.”
The group turned towards a nearby tavern with a giant anchor resting outside the door. Aimi narrowed her eyes at Jojo. “Never seen you go ashore before,” she said.
“You’ve not been with us for long, and never out of the isles before,” Jojo countered.
“Still…” Aimi sniffed loudly. “The Cap’n send you?”
Jojo smiled.
“I don’t need looking after.”
“I agree,” Jojo said.
“But Keelin doesn’t.”
Jojo shrugged as they arrived at the doorway to the Anchorage. “It’s not my place to say what the captain thinks.”
Aimi felt her mood sour a little. She wasn’t some dainty lass who had never got her hands dirty, and she knew full well how to look after herself. She’d survived for years among pirates, first as a boy and then later as a woman, and not once had she got herself into any trouble she couldn’t get herself out of. Except for that one time with Captain Ollo’s left boot, but Aimi didn’t truly count that one as it had only been half her doing.
The tavern was large and loud and well lit, with a crackling fire and plenty of lamps to show just what sort of clientele frequented it, and one and all they looked salty. Some looked up at the newcomers, while others were either far too occupied with their own business or far too occupied with their own unconsciousness. The bar was long and polished to a shine with a bear of man standing behind it. Behind him were row upon row and stack upon stack of kegs. Aimi had seen the inside of a fair number of taverns, but never had she seen one so well stocked. Each keg had a name scrawled upon the wood, and they ranged from the flamboyant to the downright ridiculous. She decided right there and then that she would try Yellow Maid of the Sea before the night was out.
The crew shuffled over to a couple of empty tables and claimed them for The Phoenix. A musician picked up a lute and started to play as the first round of drinks arrived, and before long they were all drinking and talking. Feather even gave them a taste of his dancing skills, though the man behind the bar scowled at the boy for jumping up onto the table. The conversation was free and easy, and Aimi found herself joining in more often than not. It seemed the crew of The Phoenix had accepted her just as she had accepted them. They worked their way through a good number of tankards, and as their purses got lighter, their voices got louder.
“Cap’n knows what he’s doing,” said Fremen, the navigator. By all accounts the man had been with Keelin from the very beginning and placed unlimited trust in him.
“Captain’s an arse,” Aimi said loudly, and waved her tankard around the room to make her point. She was angry at Keelin for sending Jojo to look after her, and finding it a little hard to shake that anger.
“You’d know,” Jotin said with a wink.
“I do know,” Aimi said. “I know better than anyone.”
Jojo placed a hand on Aimi’s arm, but she pulled away.
“We’ve known the Cap’n for longer,” insisted Fremen. “Hells, even Feather’s known him longer. Probably like to know him as well as you though.”
“I do know him well,” Aimi said as she slammed her almost empty tankard onto the table. “I know he’s an arse.”
Everyone laughed. Even Jojo joined in with a chuckle.
“All captains are arses,” said a big bald man from a nearby table. “Part of the fucking job description, eh?” That earned another round of laughter.
“What ship are ya from, lads?” asked Feather of the sailors who had hijacked their conversation.
“Barely West,” said another of the crew, this one tall and slim with sandy-coloured fluff on his chin.
“That name sound familiar to you?” Jojo asked Jotin quietly, a shadowed look on his dark face.
Aimi thought about it, but she couldn’t say she’d ever heard of the ship. Though that wasn’t surprising – there were plenty plus a lot more ships she’d never heard of.
“Well met ta ya, boys,” Feather said loudly. “The crew of The Phoenix drink with you.”
Feather and Fremen and most of the rest of the crew raised their tankards to their mouths and drank heavily, and, not wanting to be left out, Aimi followed their lead. She gulped down the last of her ale and slammed the mug onto the table with a refreshed sigh. It took her a moment to realise the crew from Barely West had risen to their feet, and there were no more smiles to go around.
“Is that meant to be some sort of joke?” the big bald man snarled.
“I assure you it isn’t,” Feather said, putting down his own mug and standing.
“We took their ship a year back,” Jotin said, a moment before the first fist connected with Feather’s face.
Chapter 25 - The Phoenix
Without horses it took a long time to walk all the way to the Stone district, and all three of them were aching and sore by the time they reached the slaving guild’s hall. The district was known for its artisans, almost all of whom made wonders out of its namesake, and it was a wonder to behold. Buildings rose high and proud and were adorned with all sorts of fanciful designs, from snaking patterns climbing up walls to creatures hideous and beautiful alike perching on top of rooftops. Some were locked in an endless battle, while others watched the good folk pass below through sightless eyes. Fountains depicted monstrous serpents and gods from all over the known world. Statues of heroes long dead but not forgotten stood proud against the rigours of time and weather.
They’d already passed a number of slave pens, fenced-off enclosures open to the sky that held all manner of men, women, and children, all bearing the iron collars of slavery. The pens were extensive, and they weren’t only confined to the Stone district. There were always new slaves coming in, older slaves unable to be offloaded, or those who had yet to have their wills broken to make them useful for servitude. Thousands of folk all penned up and awaiting a life of hellish toil and degradation. This was the side of humanity Keelin truly hated, and he wasn’t alone in that. There wasn’t a pirate in the isles who agreed with or condoned slavery, not least of all because their chosen profession could easily lead to such a fate.
Morley made his opinion on the matter known in a very vocal fashion, tutting and cursing at the conditions the people were kept in. For his part Keelin agreed with his first mate, but he remained silent on the matter. He didn’t want his condemnation of the practice to be heard by the slavers guild until long after he was back at sea. Kebble also remained silent. If the man was as old as he claimed, then he had likely seen more slavery than all of them combined. Keelin still couldn’t bring himself to believe that Kebble was immortal.
The slavers guild hall was an ugly building on the southern side of the district. It stood two storeys tall and had been built with orange stone, where most of the surrounding buildings were grey. Guards were out in full force, with twelve at the entrance all carrying spears, cudgels, and whips. Keelin had spotted regular groups patrolling the district as well. It all gave him a queasy feeling in his stomach.
“I’d like to see the guild master,” Keelin said to the first guard outside the hall. “I plan to make a substantial purchase.”
The guard looked Keelin up and down, his gaze coming to a brief rest on the twin cutlasses, then nodded and motioned for the three of them to follow. Another two of the guards fell in line behind Keelin and his crew, and they quickly found themselves penned in as they entered the hall. The inside of the building was a grand sight, with large tapestries depicting scenes of greatness or monsters of old, and statues of men of all shapes and sizes. Each statue bore a nameplate, but the significance was lost on Keelin. Servants wearing iron collars rushed here and there, and the presence of soldiers was as strong inside as it was out. One slave stopped when she saw Keelin and his escort, then rushed away into a nearby room. A good few moments later, a tall man as thin as a stick sauntered out of the same room.