Read Online Scalpdancers by Kerry Newcomb - Free Book Online

moment. Then reality intruded in the sound of the Moroccan’s deep, gravelly voice.
    â€œWhat did you say? What news?” Vlad asked.
    Abdul swaggered across the room, retrieving a couple more rice cakes as he moved to join his captain on the balcony.
    â€œThere is a seaman named Boiler. Whiskey loosened his tongue and my dagger kept it wagging. He used to be cook aboard the Hotspur , but he quit because Penmerry had no money to pay his wages.” Abdul’s eyes twinkled and a grin revealed a ragged row of teeth. “Why not wait till Penmerry sells his hides, you be asking, and I answer, ’cause there are none. All his prime pelts damaged in a fire, blackened, burned, or tainted by smoke.”
    â€œNo pelts at all? Everything ruined?” By the blood of the Almighty, this was even better than a whore’s dalliance!
    â€œJust about.”
    â€œThen Chiang Lu wagered against nothing, a key to an empty warehouse.”
    â€œNow you’re full sail onto the truth of it, my captain,” Abdul said.
    Vlad laughed, then winced for the effort. He had to subdue his delight or writhe in misery. As much as he hated Morgan Penmerry, he respected the fur trader’s ploy. He had plucked a silk purse of coins right from the warlord’s own belt. It was sheer thievery, a calling Demetrius Vlad had ample experience in. Morgan Penmerry, a common high seas robber after all!
    If only Chiang Lu knew. To see the diminutive merchant puff himself up in outrage, to watch him sputter and fume—now that would be amusing.
    â€œThat Captain Morgan, he’s a sly one right enough.” Abdul cocked his head to one side. “But if you pull a whisker from a tiger, you better hope he does not waken, eh?”
    Vlad read his lieutenant’s intentions. The Russian touched his bandaged face, fingers toying at a strand of gauze as his thoughts worked out a scenario in which he might have his revenge on Morgan Penmerry and Chiang Lu both, and turn a tidy profit in the bargain. Set the dogs upon each other and while they’re at each other’s throats, raid their masters’ villas.
    â€œSend word to Chiang Lu of Penmerry’s deception,” he ordered. Vlad glanced over his shoulder and studied his reflection in a mirror hung inside the room. He could easily recognize the brawny Moroccan outlined against the backdrop of gray light. But Vlad’s own finely sculpted face was ruined forever. Morgan Penmerry was to blame for that, and now he would pay.
    Demetrius Vlad whirled and fired, startling Abdul. The gunshot reverberated off the walls of the courtyard and brought several of the Russian’s crew staggering out from their quarters, muskets in hand.
    The lead ball thudded into the figure atop the fountain, blasting away the goddess’s left breast. The crewmen below milled about in confusion, realization slowly dawning that they were not under attack and that the echoing gunshot was but a product of Demetrius Vlad’s rage. The guards plodded back to their station at the gate. The remainder of the men lowered their muskets and returned, grumbling, to their women and rum and makeshift beds.
    Vlad lowered his gaze to the balustrade, where a small brown beetle worked its way along the top of the stone. “Tomorrow, that bug will still be alive and whole, but I’ll wear Morgan Penmerry’s mark forever.”
    Captain Morgan Penmerry didn’t wait for permission to board the Magdalene , Emile Emerson’s ship. He walked up the gangplank to the deck and no one moved to stop him. It was obvious he was in a foul mood and his temper as easily triggered as the brace of flintlocks tucked in his belt. No one wanted to end up like Demetrius Vlad. In truth, the duel at the cockfight had become the talk of the waterfront. Although most men applauded Morgan Penmerry’s victory, they kept their delight to themselves, for Vlad’s enemies too often disappeared. The