Bad Apple (The Warner Grimoire) by Clay Held Page B

name?” Simon withdrew his hand, never taking his eyes off the man.
    Hannibal chuckled. “Why, counting yourself an acquaintance with the captain is not without its array of privileges, my young friend! Come, tell me, what business have you at The Gate?” The old man’s eyes glimmered like two tiny twin moons, but his question rekindled the knots in Simon’s stomach.
    “We, uh...” Simon looked to Nathan, who stood up from the table.
    “Nathan Tamerlane,” he said, stretching out his hand. As Nathan did this, Simon caught sight of a small silver ring on Nathan’s hand. The ring bore the same leaf symbol as Nathan’s grimoire, but the symbol was under what appeared to be a large green gem, possibly an emerald.
    Hannibal must have seen the ring too, for he eyed Nathan’s hand a moment before shaking it. “Ah, yes,” he said, his eyes still on the ring. “Yes, yes of course! Ha! A good man for it!” he said quickly, releasing Nathan’s hand and pulling out his pipe again. “Good man, yes, a Tamerlane, I see .” His words trailed off suddenly as he became forcibly interested in his pipe.
    Lungwort appeared at the head of the table, standing on a tall stool. “The river be with us tonight!” he announced to the room, almost in a singsong voice. “She wants to see us make good way to Zebulon’s Dare!” Every crew member in the room cheered at this news, even the sleeping man next to Simon let out a small whoop between snores. Mr. Winters appeared again, coming this time from the stairs leading up to the bridge. A deckhand followed behind him, his arms overloaded with papers and rolls of yellowed maps. Winters spoke quietly to Lungwort, who motioned for them to spread out the aging yellow rolls on the table. Together they spread out the maps and Lungwort began studying them furiously, hopping across them furiously, even producing a small pair of spectacles when he leaned in close to read.
    Simon had not recognized the name. “Zebulon’s Dare? Is that named for someone?”
    Hannibal let out a hearty laugh. “Hardly, my boy!” he chuckled. “It’s a name, yes, a nickname of sorts for the Gate. A very special place, right off the river.”
    “Special?” Simon asked. “Special how?”
    Hannibal smiled, a mad twinkle in his eye. “Oh, my boy, I’m sure you’ll see just why before breakfast.” He turned to Nathan. “Taking the boy in for questioning, no doubt?”
    “Hardly that,” Nathan said. “He has an appointment with the leadership. I am escorting him.” Nathan’s words were sharp like glass. “Nothing more.”
    Hannibal eyed Nathan for a moment, then, clutching his pipe in his mouth, said, “I see. Officials. Yes, well, then. Let me leave you to your peace. Farewell, Simon.” Then, over his shoulder, Hannibal added, “You too, Mr. Tamerlane .”
    “What was that about?” Simon asked when they were alone. “Who are we seeing?”
    “No one,” Nathan said, his voice low. “At least, not yet. Not that I know of. Here, follow me.”
    They made their way to head of the table, where Lungwort still hopped excitedly across the maps. He was studying one particularly ancient-looking yellowed chart with great interest.
    “Pardon us, Captain,” Nathan said. “Might there be a place where we could rest before we reach the Dare?”
    Lungwort’s hugely magnified eyes focused on them and blinked. Simon swore the frog was frowning. “Yes, your rooms, yes.” He turned back to his maps. “The boy will be in our finest stateroom.”
    “Stateroom?” Simon felt uneasy by this. “I don’t need anything special.”
    “They’re just rooms,” Nathan said. “Named after states, that’s all. Nothing fancy.”
    “You’ll be in Transylvania,” Lungwort said. “Nathan, we were going to put you in Absaroka, but the room took on water damage. You can thank Madam Mamzelle for that. We put you a cot in the boiler room. It’ll have to do.” Lungwort hopped off his stool. “I need to see to