Brass by Knight

By Philip G. Morgan

When you rock the watercraft, there is always a price to pay.

There's always one. One who upsets apple carts, one who can't just let business happen. Someone always notices; someone with the power to punish vigilantes. And a killer-for-hire has been summoned.

Dotson is just trying to keep a low profile while riding through bandit country. But there's always one, the troublemaker who can't be stopped. As villains surround Dotson and his travelling companions, they have no idea what is really waiting for them in the deep caves of the highwaymen's hideout!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip G. Morgan
• Release date: Jul 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310372155

Philip G. Morgan

Philip Morgan has always had a big imagination; ever since he was a child he could be found drawing, writing and making up stories about anything. He is also an avid reader and fan of games and entertainment, drinking in everything as fuel for his own ideas. Morgan lives in New Mexico with his wife and cats.

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Brass by Knight

by Philip Morgan

Copyright © 2014 Philip Morgan

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

About the Author

Chapter 1

Young Red Colas stood in the dark of night, in the pouring rain. His cheap boots were full of the dark waters of the wide Corrant, and he regretted every second of his decision to go along on this run. He and a few of the other boys, Toaster Geevis and Mulgrum Flek, the shortest, most violent Fhel Young Red had ever seen, stood with him knee-deep in the river while the steam flatship approached. The ship flashed its hooded lantern light in a pattern – flash, flash, long flash – the prearranged signal for the smugglers bringing bundles of crazeweed, cheap magic wands as likely to blow up on their users as perform as they should and the biggest prize of all: a few copper plates stolen from a treasury at the rim of the Emperium proper with which to counterfeit Redchurch Pounds.

As Young Red froze in this rare lazy section of the river, his worn cotton pants soaking up river muck and his threadbare overcoat already dripping with rain while he waited for his gang boss and the boss’ right-hand man to toss a towline to the steam flatship from the shore, he thought about his life for at least the fifth time that night. Young was not a nickname; it was his given first name. He knew his father’s name was Red Colas, or at least his mother believed it was. She had named him Young Red so that, should he ever run into his father while he was out gambling or carousing, his old man might remember that one night long ago. All two minutes of it. After that, as soon as Young Red could walk and talk, he was in trouble with the law in some way or another: petty thefts, public drunkenness, one or two ‘citizens’ vigilance’ committees that got overzealous and lynched the wrong party. Eventually, he fell in with smugglers. And even he