"What's going on here?" Wylde demanded. "Mister Kord? Mister Dass?" Crowe came alert at the name of Dass. He did remember a Jonen Dass from a year or so back. He had gone into business with Crowe, smuggling goods through Freiport. He had tried to keep Crowe's share of the profits, but Crowe was better with a blade than Jonen Dass had been.
Sailor Dass didn't miss the look of recognition on Crowe's features, and jabbed an accusing finger at him. "He knows my name, Cap'n!"
"So he should, I did just use it Dass. Now, what is this matter between you and Kord?"
"Kord? His name isn't Kord! It's Travis Crowe. He's a smuggler and a murderer, on the run from Freiport for over a year." Wylde looked between them, his lips thinning. The air around him seemed to darken with his mood.
"You know this man?"
"Not well. But I know his face and his voice. He murdered my brother, Jonen, in cold blood."
Wylde scrutinised Crowe closely. "Is that true?"
"Of course not! My name is Grantan Kord, first mate of — "
"It's just that I've been looking through the books of your ship, and there was a Travis Crowe listed among the crew."
"I bet there was, sir, because there was a man by that name aboard. One of the mercenary guards. Blade for hire." Wylde nodded slowly. "And," Crowe went on, "my name is in the crew list as well. At least, it bloody well should be, seeing as I was first mate."
Dass struggled to lunge at Crowe again. "First mate, my arse! When you killed Jonen to steal his half of your partnership's money, I was a-bed in the next room. But I heard his screams, and woke in time to see you take his purse." He sneered. "And it was the right side of your face that was to me, Crowe. For all I know your left could have been burned a ten-year ago."
"You're imagining things, lad," Crowe said softly.
"I bet you said that to Jonen when he challenged you about the profits you were stealing."
Crowe remembered it all now, of course, but concentrated on looking sympathetic and baffled. That was his only chance to avoid a noose here.
Wylde stepped in between them. "Grantan Kord is on the books as first mate of the Belle right enough," he said thoughtfully. He sighed. "Truth to tell, both your stories have the ring of truth about them." He straightened his lapels and closed his eyes for a moment. "Dass has been a member of my crew for almost a year, and I have found him to be an honest and trustworthy man. You, Mister Kord — if that is who you are — I do not know well enough to judge your honesty. But I shall try not to assume that you are untrustworthy simply because Dass is trustworthy. So, do either of you have something more that you can tell me, that would swing the matter one way or the other?"
Crowe wished he had made a better choice of word than 'swing,' under the circumstances. If Dass had seen his brother die, he might have something else on Crowe.
Dass grinned, a crude and hungry look. "Yes, Captain, I do." Crowe couldn't help the flicker of tension that tightened his lips. He saw that Wylde noticed it too. "He had a tattoo on his upper left arm. A wolf's head."
Relieved, but trying not to show it, Crowe rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt. The flesh was scarred and half melted, as his cheek and jaw were. The scarring had obliterated the tattoo. "I'm sorry for your loss, lad, but I'm not your wolf's-head man."
"Yes you bloody well are!" Dass struggled again, trying to reach for him
"All right, that's enough," Wylde decreed. "Dass, get back to work."
"But Cap'n!"
"But nothing Dass! I believe… Well, I believe that you believe this man is who you say he is. But men forget faces over time, and mistake them."
"Would you forget the man who murdered your brother?"
"Back to work, Dass." He stepped closer to the sailor, leaning in to his ear and whispered: "We'll keep a close eye on him, just in case." Wylde turned Dass around, and nodded to the men holding him back to walk him to his duties. He turned back to Crowe. "Come with me."
The hand on his shoulder let go, and Crowe followed Wylde to his day-room below the afterdeck. The two mercenaries followed closely behind him, and remained standing when Wylde bade Crowe to sit. Wylde carefully laid the Belle's logs and daybook on his desk, then gestured to one of the mercenaries. "Bring Mister Farrow, would you?"
As the mercenary left, Crowe knew what would happen next. No sailor could resist the lure of treasure, or the prize of salvage.
Wylde held his gaze for a long moment, with only the creaking of the ship's timbers and the muffled clatter of men at work to break the silence. Shortly, there was a knock at the cabin door, and the mercenary returned with Farrow. Wylde nodded Farrow to a seat.
"I have discovered something interesting," Wylde began. "We have found your ship's logs. It seems she was on a course for the Isle of the Star."
Crowe hesitated. "A fool's errand, sir. No such — "
"Place?" Wylde looked sidelong at the other mercenary who had accompanied Crowe. "You've heard of it, haven't you?"
The mercenary nodded. "An island made of pure diamond, like a star here on Twilight. Not a man-jack of us hasn't heard the story in a dozen wharf side taverns."
"From a hundred wharf-rats with pickled brains." Crowe scoffed.
Wylde nodded slowly, a hungry look now in his eyes. "What did you make of your Captain, mister Kord?"
"Sir?"
"What sort of man was he?"
"Fair," Crowe said, after some thought. "Hard working, sensible."
"A shrewd seaman?"
"I suppose so, sir, yes."
"Not gullible, then."
Now Crowe saw where Wylde was going with this. "No, sir. And, before you ask, he didn't believe in the Isle of the Star either." It was a lie, but Crowe prided himself on being a good liar.
"The Isle of the Star…" Wylde pursed his lips. "According to the last entry in this day-book, the Belle was anchored offshore of the Isle for at least one night. Would you care to tell me how that can be, if your captain was a pragmatic man and the Isle doesn't exist?" Crowe didn't answer. "Can you do that, mister Kord? Or, perhaps I should say mister Crowe?"
Crowe merely smiled. "And why would you say that?"
"That tattoo Dass mentioned might not show on your arm, but another interesting entry in your Captain's books tells us how he paid a sum of ten copper pieces to First Mate Kord for the loss of the last two fingers of his left hand. Your fingers are all present and correct. So you're not Grantan Kord."
"That wouldn't necessarily make me Crowe. There were seventy-odd of us."
"And I'm sure you could pick any name out of the crew list. I saw your expression up on deck, Crowe. You did a good job of hiding it, but I've always had an eye for truth or lies."
Crowe spoke carefully. "All right, you believe I'm Crowe. Fair enough. So why am I in here and not dangling at the end of a rope, or lying under Dass' fists?"
Wylde very deliberately tapped the logbooks. "Because the question about the Isle of the Star still stands. If your Captain didn't believe in it, why does he claim to have been anchored off it?"
"He was being paid good money to go to the area where someone thought it might exist. Even if it didn't exist, the money was still worth the journey."
"Quite a lot of money, I see…"
"Enough that he could afford the likes of me."
"In my experience," Wylde said, "the sort of people who can throw such amounts of money around are not fickle with it. They want to keep their wealth, or increase that wealth, not waste it on chasing smoke. Someone thought the existence of the Isle of the Star likely enough to be worth a heavy investment in it."