Merrick walked in silence, checking his myriad weapons for the third time: two pistols, loaded and sheathed in his baldric; a knife strapped to his thigh; another one hidden within his right boot; and a cutlass at his side. Adjusting his hat, he scanned the darkened shops and warehouses lining the streets of Tortugaall boarded up against the nightly orgy. Up ahead, fingers of light curled out from taverns and brothels onto the street, luring in patrons like bugs from the darkness. ...