They were more than halfway to the docks when the three other boats surrounded him. At a sign from Brashen, his crew shipped their oars.

“State your business here!” a skinny graybeard in one of the boats commanded him. The rain had soaked his shapeless hat to his head. An ancient slave tattoo was just visible above his beard.

Brashen laughed aloud. “My business in Divvytown? Divvytown has but one business, and I’ll wager that mine is the same as yours, old man. My name is Brashen Trell, and before I state anything else, I’ll know to whom I’m stating it.” He grinned at him easily. Jek lolled at her oars, smiling broadly. Althea’s smile looked a bit more forced, while the others were apparently uninterested in the proceedings.

The oldster took himself very seriously. “I’m Maystar Crup, and I’m the harbormaster. Captain Kennit hisself appointed me, and I got the right to ask any what come here what they’re about.”

“Kennit!” Brashen sat up straight. “That’s the name, sir, the name that brings me here. I’ve been here before, you know, aboard the Springeve, though that was a brief visit and I’ll fault no one if they don’t recall me. But the tales I heard then of Captain Kennit are what have brought me back now, me and my good ship and crew. We’d like to throw in our lots with his, so to speak. Think you that he’d see us today?”

Maystar ran a cynical eye over him. He licked his lips, revealing that most of his remaining teeth were yellow. “He might. If he were here, which he’s not. If you know about Kennit, how is it you don’t know he has a liveship? You don’t see no liveship in our harbor just now, do you?”

“I had heard Kennit was a man of many ships. Moreover, I’d heard the first mistake any man could make about him was to assume anything about him. Sly as a fox is he, that is what is said, and keen as an eagle’s eye. But this is a chill and uncomfortable place to discuss such things. Divvytown has changed more than a bit since the last time I saw it, but surely it still has a tavern where men can talk at ease?”

“It does. When we decide a man is welcome in Divvytown.”

Brashen raised one shoulder. “Perhaps that would be better decided over a bit of brandy. And then you can tell me if the rest of my crew would be welcomed ashore. We’ve been a time at sea. They’ve dry gullets and the coin to spend to wet them. Divvytown, they agreed, would be a fine place to divvy out our spoils.” He smiled engagingly and slapped the fat purse at his belt. The coins in it clinked against the nails and the cut-up spoon he’d padded it with. He carried enough to stand a round of drinks or two, as well as pick up some minor supplies for the ship. His picked crew had enough coin for a fine show as well. Successful pirates they were, with money to spend.

Brashen’s smile was stiffening in the chill winter rain before Maystar gave him a grudging nod. “Aye. We can talk in the tavern, I suppose. But your men… your crew will stay with us there, and those on the ship will stay there for the time being. We don’t take kindly to strangers here in Divvytown. Not from ships that sneak in during the dark of night.”

That puzzled him, did it? Well, let the old man focus on that. “To the tavern, then!” Brashen agreed heartily. He sat back in the stern and rode into town like a king, escorted by Divvytown’s constabulary. Half a dozen curious onlookers were huddled on the dock, shoulders hunched to the cold rain. Maystar preceded Brashen up the ladder. By the time he reached the top, Maystar was already the center of a hail of questions. Brashen shifted all attention to himself when he proclaimed, “Gentlemen! Won’t someone guide us to the tavern?” He beamed at the gathered crowd. From the corner of one eye, he noticed Jek’s smiling appraisal of the men. The grins she was getting in response could not hurt his cause. As his crew joined him on the dock, the onlookers relaxed. These were not raiders, but honest freebooters like themselves.

“The tavern’s this way,” Maystar told him grumpily.

Perhaps he was jealous of his importance. Brashen immediately targeted him. “Please, lead on,” he told him. As they trailed Maystar, Brashen noticed that their following had already diminished. That suited him well. He wanted to gather information, not enthrall the whole town. He noted that Althea had positioned herself to his left and one step behind him. It was good to know someone was there with a ready knife if the Divvytown folk did decide to turn on him. Cypros and Kert were right behind him. Harg and Kid, the two tattooed ones that Althea had chosen, followed them. Jek had dropped back to the end of their group and had already struck up a conversation with a handsome young man. He caught a word or two; she was asking him if he thought they’d be given the run of the town, and if so, what entertainment he recommended for a lonely sailor on her first night in port. Brashen gripped his smile with his teeth. Well, he’d asked her to be friendly and gather information.