Mystic Mountains by Tricia McGill Page A

Tiger of himself at that age. "Hello there, Joe. Take care of Satan for me, eh? I have some business to attend to." Tiger dismounted.
    "Yes sir, Mr. Tiger." Joe caught the coin Tiger tossed him. Stroking the stallion's nose, he walked the horse away, murmuring words of encouragement. Tiger smiled. Joe barely came to Satan's belly, but Tiger knew his horse was safe with the lad.
    "Give you a night of fun, cheap, 'ansome," a woman slurred from the shadows as Tiger made for the door of the tavern. Lurching forward she presented him a view of a pair of luscious breasts ready to spring from the bodice of her gaudy dress. In the stream of light coming through the window he saw she was past her prime, probably full of disease if her pallid spotty skin was anything to go by. Her unwashed hair hung in limp clumps around her painted face and as she gave him what she probably considered a seductive smile he noticed a mouth full of rotten teeth.
    "Sorry, love, I haven 't the time this evening. Perhaps another time," he lied. Reaching into his pocket he fished out another coin. "Have a sip of rum on me."
    "Ta, mister." With the coin clasped in her palm, she followed him into the smoke-filled tavern.
    Tiger was accosted another couple of times on his way over to a table in a corner where he'd spotted the man he was looking for.
    "Captain Tate." H e hailed his good friend.
    A man whose face testified to a lifetime spent out in all weathers stood unsteadily and raised a hand in welcome. The buxom blonde woman wh o'd been half sitting on his lap fell on her bottom at his feet.
    "Tiger, old son. Good to see you again. Though 'twas not so long ago we said our fond farewells. I thought you'd be safely tucked up in your bed by now, with a comely lass to keep you warm." He grinned as he flopped back on the seat. The woman plopped herself on his knees again and wound her ample arms about his neck. He kissed her painted mouth noisily.
    "Would have been, Captain, but something unforeseen cropped up." Tiger sat opposite the captain, shaking his head when another harlot offered to sit on his lap. She pouted and flounced away. "Have you room in your hold for one more passenger? One who won 't be willing to travel the waters with you, but one I intend to see gets a hasty passage back to the old country, or anywhere other than New South Wales."
    "Always room for one more, lad." Captain Tate winked and touched the side of his rosy bulbous nose. The doxie on his lap gave him a wet kiss and he pushed her away with a reproving grunt. "Hold hard, woman, can 't you see I have other things on my mind for the minute," he told her, grinning. She fondled his neck and he grabbed her hand. "Now then, Tiger, my lad, we sail in the hour before dawn, as you know. Have him, or her, on board in good time an' I'll be glad to take 'em along."
    He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "An ' supposing this person just 'appens to fall overboard in one of those nasty old storms we often meet up with around The Cape, eh?" 
    "No one on this earth will shed too many tears over the loss," Tiger spat. "I 'll have him at the wharf in good time, Captain." Tiger turned to go, then went back and slapped the Captain a couple of times on the shoulder. "I owe you one, old friend."
    "Always a good feeling to have Tiger Carstairs in my debt." The Captain chuckled, then smacked a kiss on the plump bosom overflowing his female companion 's bodice. With a smile of bliss he lifted his head. "Me first mate will be there. Tell him I gave orders for your passenger to be locked up nice and snug. Keep well, old son," he shouted after Tiger, who touched his forehead in acknowledgment of the numerous calls from around the smoky bar as he strode out.
    Tiger knew what public house Malloy frequented. No doubt he 'd be there now, wallowing in self-pity because his plans had gone awry. And perhaps he was sparing a moment for grief over the demise of his dolt of a son. But that was unlikely. Where there was