Here's an excerpt from the book to whet your appetite. This is chapter six, Sharky:
Captain Burt Sharky glared at the trembling pirate who stood before him. His left hand fidgeted with a ring on his right hand. The jagged red stone set in the ring glowed with a blood-red light. He was seated in a high-backed chair in the middle of his audience chamber, a gloomy hall where the pirate captain held court while at his island base.
Sharky was six and a half feet tall. He
wore breeches and black boots that came up to his knees. A red frock coat covered
a yellowed linen shirt. His head was covered by a blue and yellow bandana from
under which jutted shocks of fiery red hair. His eyes were a piercing green,
and the beard on his scarred face was as red as his hair.
"Repeat that, Fishbane," he
snarled. "I don't think I heard ye aright."
"Well, Cap'n," Fishbane twisted
the hat he held in his trembling hands, "me an' a few o' the lads went t'
scout the village, same as we always does. We landed on the beach t' the south
an' climbed up t' the top o' the ridge.
"Things was bustlin' there, but it
didn't seem like the usual goin's on."
"Aye, ye said that afore,
Fishbane," Sharky growled. "But what were differ'nt about it?"
"Well, sir, there were a lot more
comin' an' goin' from the iron mine fer one thing. An' a bunch o' farmers was
clearin' trees and such from the two ridges above the harbor mouth, an' they
was buildin' stone walls up there. The net mender an' a group o' others was
weavin' a 'uge net. An’ later on, I saw her an’ a group of villagers in the
jungle practicin’ arch’ry."
"Archery, anythin' else?" Sharky
spat.
Fishbane's ruddy face twisted in
concentration, then he brightened. "Oh yeah, I almost fergot. I waited
’til night and snuck down to the blacksmith’s. I looked in the winder and, they’re
forgin’ weapons!"
"Yer sure of that?" Sharky
twisted the ring on his finger.
"Aye, Cap'n, it were just like I
said.”
"All right, Fishbane, that's all. Ye
done good. Go get yerself some grub."
"Thank'ee, sir," Fishbane made
an awkward bow, turned and fled.
"Marrow!" Sharky bellowed.
Out of the shadows came a thin figure. He
ambled over to the captain's chair without a trace of fear. Cruel eyes stared
out of an emaciated head, which looked like a skull. He was Sharky's first
mate, and the men were almost as afraid of him as they were of the Captain.
"You called, Captain?" Mr.
Marrow's voice was cool as ice.
"Ye heard that weasel's report?"
"Aye, sir."
"The swine're up t' somethin',"
Sharky grumbled.
"Undoubtedly, Captain," Mr.
Marrow agreed.
"I'm a-thinkin' they're fixin’ on
settin' a trap," Sharky played with his ring.
"Perhaps the sheep seek to become
wolves," Mr. Marrow's eyes held an icy gleam.
"They wouldn't dare!" Sharky
bellowed, slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. "They ain't
never been no trouble afore! Who could o' stirrred 'em up?"
"Well, that blacksmith, Cordon, he’s
always been belligerent, and then there's the Lord Mayor himself," Mr.
Marrow suggested.
"Oh ho!" Sharky barked.
"Them Endrias 'ave always been sheep. They've no stomach fer fightin',
never 'ave, never will. And that goes fer the rest o' 'em. They dance t'
Endria's tune, they does. It ain't never gonna change."
Mr. Marrow's eyes narrowed, and he cocked
his head to one side. "Hmmm, Charles Endria may be made of sterner stuff
than you give him credit for. His family has always been independent."
Sharky scowled. "Don't be daft, man.
He's a sheep--they're all sheep I tell ye!"
"And yet it seems they're setting a
trap for us at the next Tariff," Mr. Marrow pursed thin lips.
"Aye, so it seems." Sharky's
eyes narrowed, and a cruel smile curled his lip. "But they don't know
we're on to 'em, eh, Marrow? They may be playin' at bein' wolves, but in the
end, sheep they'll be. They'll turn tail an' run."
"And if they aren't just sheep?"
Mr. Marrow asked.
"Then we'll wipe 'em out,"
Sharky hissed.
