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Eight bells and all is well.
Gibbs' head jerked upright. He hadn't been exactly asleep, but
he was far from awake, and very far from sober.
It was unusually quiet inside the Mermaid Tavern. A few hardy
souls still played at dice in the brightest corner, the flicker
of candle stubs and poorly trimmed wicks giving their activity
a disquieting, frenetic quality. Two or three seafaring men snored,
sprawled across the largest trestle table.
Blearily casting his eyes down the bar in either direction, Gibbs
saw other shadowed men bent over tankards, heads barely held erect.
The man behind the bar yawned and stretched. "Can I get
you something, Mister Gibbs?"
Gibbs groped at his pockets. "Rum or ale . . . but I seem
to be temporarily embarrassed."
"No coin, no drink." The bartender turned away.
"Wait." Gibbs inspected the dry bottom of his tankard
with unhappy eyes. "I might have something to barter with."
"Unlikely."
"I crewed for Captain Jack Sparrow aboard the Black Pearl,"
Gibbs said. "A most notorious pirate, accused of smuggling,
impersonations, arson, kidnapping, looting, poaching, pilfering,
depravity, depredation and general lawlessness."
"Accused and convicted, I reckon," a voice called from
a dark corner.
"Aye." Gibbs looked down the bar. The shadowed men
were coming to life, turning toward him like moths toward a flame.
"The things I've seen. Riches. Wonders. Scandalous doings
of every nature . . . and some unnatural."
"Is it true . . .?" The man behind the bar fingered
a bottle suggestively.
"As God is my witness, it's all true." Gibbs pushed
his tankard forward. "Crewing the Pearl, serving under Captain
Jack Sparrow changes a man."
"Changes a woman, if -- as you say -- it's all true!"
Gibbs watched the amber liquid pour into his tankard. "In
what quarter sits the wind? What type of tale would you hear?
Where shall I begin . . ."
~.~
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