“I thought that anchor would never dig in,” Captain Mack called out, regaining his footing after the sudden stop.
“Stand clear,” the patrolman ordered. “We will send over two grapplers. Secure them and I will send a chaperone aboard.”
The patrolman manning the grappling-hook launcher fired off a hook, then loaded and fired another. Captain Mack made sure they were hooked onto something sturdy, and the patrol ship winched out the slack and hauled the gondolas close enough to bridge the gap with a gangplank. One of the scrawny men scurried across. He was dressed similarly to the others in a gray vaguely military uniform, including a long jacket and a cap with a short brim. Armed with a long rifle, he held it at the ready, as though he were venturing into enemy territory. Mack offered him a hand to help him down to the deck, but the patrolman sneered at it with smug disdain.
“We shall return with a tow. There will of course be a fee involved,” the superior officer announced from the patrol ship as he pulled back the gangplank and his subordinate aboard the Wind Breaker unhooked the grapplers.
“Can’t imagine there wouldn’t be,” Mack called back. “You folk do seem to find a way to charge for damn near everything.”
If the officer had heard the jab, he made no indication. Instead he took the controls of his ship and steered it off toward the center of Fugtown. Mack turned to the chaperone. The fug person was eyeing the ship with the trained suspicion of someone who expected nothing less than murderous treachery at the root of any given interaction.
“This ship looks like it’s been recently patched,” he said. “What are those?”
He indicated two sections of railing that were wrapped and tied with blankets. Each bulged up beneath its covering.
“Telescopes. We take folks on sightseeing trips. Wasn’t sure if the fug would be good for ’em, so we trussed ’em up. You’d be surprised how sensitive those things can—”
“Why is your inspector wearing a harness?”
“He’s been up to things he shouldn’t be up to. Thought it was wise to keep him where I could see him. No telling what sort of hijinks—”
“If it isn’t performing its duties, you should have it replaced. It is clearly damaged.”
“He might be a handful sometimes, but he’s still been part of the crew for a while. I think he can be straightened out. You want any food while we’re waiting? My cook’s still on board, and she’s the best in Keystone.”
“Certainly not,” he said with the same revulsion as if he’d been offered a raw pig head to eat. “I am here to ensure you don’t do anything foolish. I don’t want any of your horrid swill, and I don’t want to hear about what you use this broken-down ship to do.” He pointed the rifle at the captain. “Just keep quiet until then, and this assignment will at least be tolerable.”
“If that’s the way you want it to be,” Captain Mack said. He turned to watch the patrol ship retreating, then pulled a half-smoked cigar from his pocket and idly twirled it through his fingers. “A word of advice though, if you ever find yourself on my ship again.”
“What insipid advice could you possibly give me?”
“Don’t insult my ex-wife’s cooking.”
“I will do whatever I—”
A heavy clang cut his statement short as Butch delivered a punishing blow to the back of his head with a meat tenderizer. The blow was enough to send him to the ground in a dazed stupor. She growled a vicious, unintelligible statement and spat.
“Sometimes I wonder why we ever separated, darlin’. I’ll tie him up. You keep an eye out for that flare.” He knelt beside their prisoner and got to work. “The fella is going to have a very interesting bruise to remember this by.”