Clash of the Sky Galleons Read Online Free Page B

at pearl-hunting, have you? A bit desperate for a fine young sky pirate captain, I’d have thought. Haven’t got a nice cosy sky ship yet, then?’ Jaggs gave a throaty chuckle and threw the sword onto the untidy pile at his feet.
    The young sky pirate forced himself to smile in reply. ‘Thanks for your concern, Jaggs, old mate,’ he said. ‘Mire-pearling is for mugs. I’ve got bigger oozefish to fry.’
    The gnokgoblin raised his heavy eyebrows in sarcastic surprise, then leaned across and drew back the tapestry curtain, with its woven pattern of writhing tarry vines.
    ‘Too high and mighty to sign on as crew,’ Jaggs taunted as Thaw pushed past him. ‘You dress up as a sky pirate captain and think you are one. Well, I’ll tell you this for nothing, it’s not as easy as that - frying oozefish or no frying oozefish!’
    ‘We’ll see, Jaggs, old mate,’ the sky pirate called over his shoulder as he knocked on the door in front of him.
    It swung open and he stepped inside. Instantly, he found himself engulfed in the seething, heady atmosphere of the most notorious tavern in all Undertown.
    A deep, rumbling cacophony of conversation was overlaid with intermittent explosions of noise: bellowing voices, raucous laughter and snatches of rousing songs. There was back-slapping and boot-stamping; there was ladle-sloshing, trough-sluicing and tankard-clunking; and the constant clatter of huge kegs being rolled over the floor, as the serving-goblins replaced the empty ones with full ones.
    And as each fresh barrel was tipped into the foaming drinking troughs, so the nutty aroma of fresh woodale would join the more pungent odours of the hall. Acrid tallow smoke from the dim lanterns, roasting ironwood acorns from the hanging braziers, and the strange, musky smell of wet sky pirate coats slowly drying in the warm air,as their owners sat hunched over the quaff-tables, slumped at the drinking-troughs or jostled each other at the huge ale vats.

    Wizened quartermasters, burly deckmates and harpooneers, swaggering sky pirate captains and their hulking bodyguards - every size, shape and type of sky pirate seemed to be represented in the high-gabled, cavernous drinking hall. Thaw Daggerslash took a deep breath and, with as much swagger as he could muster, made his way through the throng.
    A gangly mobgnome brushed past him, a tray of brimming tankards balanced on her upraised hand.
    ‘You there,’ he said, seizing her by an arm. ‘Is Glaviel Glynte in tonight?’
    The mobgnome spun round, a look of irritation in her eyes - which melted away when she found herselflooking into the kind, noble face of the handsome young sky pirate captain.
    ‘The tavern master, sir?’ Flustered, she blushed and lowered her gaze. ‘I … I think … that is to say …’
    ‘Yes?’ Thaw smiled at her.
    ‘You could try the garrets, sir.’
    The mobgnome turned and pointed up, past the rows of kegs lining the second and third storeys, towards the upper balconies, far above their heads. As she did so, the tray balanced on her hand wobbled and threatened to tumble to the floor. Thaw steadied it, his hands brushing against hers. She blushed all the more fiercely.
    ‘Good luck, sir,’ she said, and with that, scurried away.
    Turning on his heels, Thaw Daggerslash headed for the stairs that led up to the balconies, passing through the huddled clusters of sky pirates as he went. Mingling together in the Tarry Vine tavern, there seemed to be members of every tribe and clan in the Edgelands -mobgnomes, cloddertrogs, brogtrolls, slaughterers, waifs and goblins of every type, from lop-ears and hammerheads, to long-haired and tusked.
    In stark contrast, Thaw Daggerslash himself was a fourthling - and proud of it.
    Unlike the tribes and clans of the Deepwoods, who identified closely with their own kind and shared fierce loyalties and cherished customs, fourthlings could not clearly be categorized. They weren’t goblins or trogs, waifs or trolls, but often