The Windflower Read Online Free PDF

coiling bands of a constrictor snake. Belts of weapons alarmingly festooned their dingy white sleeveless shirts: two pistols, primed and cocked; three wicked curved knives; and each man unsheathed a short, hideously sharp sword and slapped it across his chest, sending a thrill of fear through the watching, suddenly quiet crowd.
    Beside Merry, Sally absorbed a quick gulp of air and pushed her hand on Merry's shoulder, snapping "Sit down! Sit!" with as little respect as she might have given a jumping puppy, and Merry sank promptly and unresentfully into the nearest chair.
    They were joined almost immediately by Carl, Jason, and the landlord, whose complexion had paled like chalk dust.
    "Good girl, Sally," Carl said, sliding into a chair beside Merry. "We want to be as unobtrusive as ... Merry, what happened to your hat?"
    "Hat?" Merry's hand traveled involuntarily to her uncovered hair. "I ... Oh. I must have left it by the fire. It was so hot that I took it off and—''
    She stopped, caught in Jason's glare, and he said to her in a stony voice, "Well, don't as much as turn your head from here on out without permission, do y'hear? The last thing we want is to increase the chances that Carl and I will have to fight for your virtue, because, believe me, missy, we aren't likely to win."
    "That you ain't," said the landlord nervously. "Those devils by the door are from the Black Joke!"
    "Not Rand Morgan's ship?" asked Carl.
    "The same." The landlord seemed to shudder. "It's said they never leave a place without taking a life with them. It was true last time they were here, let me tell you."
    "Pirates?" Sally whispered, half to herself. "Oh, Jason—not pirates."
    "Stay calm, will you? Sit still, don't move, and try to act like you don't see anything, just like everyone else is doing."
    "Aye," said the landlord. "Don't do anything to draw attention. Let's pray they're not here looking for women."
    Merry and Sally found each other's hands under the table. There were footsteps outside, and the guardian of the hind doorway drew aside a step or two.
    Merry had heard of Rand Morgan, of course. Who had not? He was a legendary figure of her childhood, and she had grown up thinking that one day he would vanish with the pixies and the wizards and the dragons, that one day an adult would admit to her. '"There's really no such thing as . . ." But like tornados and wild fire, Morgan was a boogey that made the transition into her mature life without losing his fearful qualities.
    Rand Morgan. They say he wore an emerald slit from the belly of a priest when that unfortunate divine had swallowed it to prevent its theft. Ten years ago the Queen Anne had disappeared without a trace, and whispers said that Morgan had seized a fortune in bullion from her hold and then locked her captain and crew in the first mate's cabin, setting the decks ablaze and leaving the men inside to a flaming grave. And just last October the Black Joke had seized an unarmed merchant ship and taken from it the governor of South Carolina and his five-year-old son, holding them at cost of their lives until the governor's distraught wife had gathered a ransom of fifteen thousand dollars.
    Merry watched as Rand Morgan, the stuff of myth and nightmare, came walking through the tavern door.
    He was tall enough to have to stoop slightly as he entered, and he had black, heavy-lidded, deep-set eyes, which looked around the room seeing no one, seeing everyone, intense and sleepy at the same time. The face was impassive, as if carved in stone, with heavy cheekbones and a broad brow; it was a face made to split the sea air and crash the waves of fortune's hurricane. His long hair was midnight black, thick and unruly on his brow, and of the same hue as his silk shirt. There was an aura about him—an air of the craftsman, one whose mastery of certain skills made him indifferent to the judgments of the uninitiated. That is what frightened Merry the most—his indifference. He didn't look