Merrick slammed into the Drunken Skunk, his leather boots thumping over the spit-laden floor. Sloane and Rusty followed quick on his heels. After the Redemption had made anchorage at Tortuga, Merrick's two comrades had begged to accompany him ashore. Finally, he had relented, though he much preferred to be alone. Tearing off his wet tricorne, he slapped it across his thigh as thunder shook the night, sending beams overhead rattling down dust and rat feces. The putrid reek of alcohol, ...