“Oh,she!” He adjusted his belt before smoothing out his hair. “Of course, how could I forget.”
Hook rolled his eyes. They’d been friends since childhood, and Smee was loyal as a hound, but sometimes he had more brains in his cock than his head. “Said he bought the pixie dust a few days ago.” His fist tightened. “Got it from a blonde woman in town.”
Smee rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he got it fromher.”
The captain skidded to a stop, hook raised. His mouth opened and closed. Blast it, Smee had a point. Tinker Bell had become notorious in recent months—the only known source of pixie dust on the Cerulean Seas. At the moment, anyway. But tracking her down? That was the rub. He’d yet to get such a promising lead. No matter how much gold he offered, they couldn’t say much about her, or they’d bought the stuff weeks ago. She must have a fortune tucked away.
“Still.” His long, black coat flapped behind him as he took off toward his destination. “We’ll check each tavern. If she’s here, someone will know something.”
The next den of inebriates loomed on the cliffs ahead. A rope bridge hung in the air over the beach, stretching out to the Crow’s Roost. Drunkard’s Doom, they called it. More than one man had taken an ill-fated spill. A massive, ancient tree clung to the cliffside at an impossible slant, its branches reaching toward the distant horizon where sea met sky. The bar, two stories high, wrapped around its trunk and lower branches.
“There’s something else,” Hook said as they neared. “Blackbeard is due in port soon. Reserved stock with the bartender—all the good stock.” Of course he did, the bloody crocodile.
Smee stumbled a step. “Blackbeard?” His voice rose an octave as he glanced toward theJolly Rogermoored at the docks. “Should we make for open seas?”
Should they? That was the question. Tortuga was neutral ground. Even the old croc respected that, but they might catch him before he arrived. Hook rolled his shoulders. “Not yet.” First, he’d get that thieving pixie and deal with the curse she’d put on him.
Lively conversation mixed with crashing waves and gull cries as Hook and Smee made their way along the bridge. The slight sway and creak of wood didn’t faze the two men who lived upon the waves.
“Nice tune,” Smee said as they stepped from the bridge onto the landing porch.
Conversation and laughter warred for dominance over the music spilling from cracks and high windows. A mandolin, perhaps. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw with his hook. Well played. Too bad he didn’t have time to enjoy it.
The Crow’s Roost boasted a lively crowd. With the storms abated the last few days, merchants and sailors were about their trades again. Coin for them meant more for his crew. Often the local merchants paid him for protection on their route, or assurances their ships wouldn’t be raided by him and his men. Their prosperity brought a natural grin to his face. If not for Captain Blackbeard poaching ships in his waters or whatever blasted pixie curse Tink had placed on him, life would be easy.
“Look what the tide dragged in!” A slim brunette pushed men out of the way as she neared them.
Notthem. No, her smile wasn’t for Hook.
“Brielle!” Smee shone like the sun. He spread his strong arms wide as Brielle stopped, giving him a once-over.
“I wondered when you’d step back into my bar.” She winked.
Smee drew her into a hug before lifting her off her feet and twirling her around as she squealed in delight.
Brielle nodded to Hook as she regained her footing. “Captain.”
He tipped his hat to her. Times like these, he was glad Smee had a woman—or three—in every port. Brielle didn’t own the bar, but she might as well have. The owners were childless and treated her like their own. If Tink had been around Tortuga selling her bloody dust, she would know about it.
Even so…Hook wrapped his arm around Smee, giving him a hard pat. “Don’t forget why we’re here.”
It wouldn’t take both of them to find out what Brielle knew. Smee would likely fare better without Hook anyway. Somehow, she preferred his jovial first mate. Her loss.
Hook grinned as he spotted the crew of theSkippernear the short stage. They still owed him this season’s payment, and from the number of drinks on the table and girls in their laps, they could afford to pay.
“Gentlemen.” Hook’s booming voice carried over the table.
Glazed, widened eyes stared back at him. One man with his boots propped on the edge of the table practically fell out of his chair. Hook swept his hand toward the men in a grand gesture. “And here I thought a sea dragon took you all down to the depths. Why else would you be late on my payment?”
Their captain stood and smoothed greasy hair back from his face. “Well, ya see, sir, we—”
“That’sCaptainto you, mate.” He angled the point of his hook toward the man’s face, savoring the small quiver in his lips. “Captain Hook.”
The mandolin stopped abruptly, but Hook ignored it as he stared the man down.
“Aye, Captain Hook, sir,” he stammered. “Didn’t know you ’er in port.”
Cries of frustration rose up behind Hook. Furniture clattered. Someone backed into him. Who would dare? Hook whirled, shoving the offending man toward his companions as he scanned the flustered crowd. The musician had fled the stage.
