CHAPTER 2
The bar frequented by the three naval officers was just one of the many boasted by the port of Strathclyde. Situated on an island northwest of the Old World, Strathclyde was a favorite trading place among merchants. It allowed them to sell their goods to the rich countries of the Old World without treading the dangerous waters separating the island from the mainland. How the supplies reached the Old World was up to the island's inhabitants; a pocketful of gold coins always proved to be sufficient in silencing questions rarely asked.
Always buzzing with activity, many fail to surprise the Strathclyde environment. People come and go: dark-skinned slaves and their fair masters, hulking porters and haggling merchants; each was a face to remember for a day and forget on the morrow. So it wasn't a big deal when a fair-haired man came along with his equally fair-haired maid in tow.
Nothing exceptional happened when the door to Hellas's Tavern opened, revealing a man in a blue cloak and a woman dressed in a darker shade. Nobody turned his head to watch them stride towards the barkeep to order some drinks. No one blatantly stared, that is (except for the obnoxious officer at the table at the far corner who wolf-whistled at the sight of the girl and promptly got smacked by both his drinking buddies). But the man's expensive-looking cloak and the woman's elegant silvery hair were not missed by the watchful eyes of the bar's patrons, all skilled in the art of discretion.
They weren't the only ones watching though.
"You haven't met Hong's uncle yet, have you, Natalya?"
"I'm afraid not, Sir."
"You simply must, I tell you! He is most odd."
The girl looked at her companion. Nobody but him noticed her specially blank stare. Not even the barkeep lazily petting his cat in front of them.
"As odd as you, sir?"
"Good God, no!" her companion chuckled, nursing his glass of brandy. "You see, his name is—"
"Heya there, babe." a gruff voice interrupted.
Both of the newcomers craned their heads to see a burly man, probably a porter, take a seat beside the girl. His breath reeked of fish and rum when he spoke.
"D'you wanna have some fun tonight, sweet?"
Natalya sent him an icy glare. "No, but thank you, kind sir."
She moved to transfer seats but was instantly held back by a vise-like grip on her arm.
"No, wai' ye see…Ye see Imma lonely man…"
"Sir—"
The man started rubbing his thumb against her (fortunately clothed) arm, much to her disgust.
"Imma lonely man, an' I wish I had a…had a w'man like ye to…y'know, ease t' pain."
"I said NO!" she shrieked this time, gaining the attention of the other tavern customers.
"No Al, you can't—"
"Come on! Look! He's hurting—"
"It's best not to interfere—"
"Matt—!"
"Let them sort it out, Jones. See? Her boyfriend's out to get him now."
The blue-cloaked man had placed himself between the girl and her aggressor, who merely narrowed his eyes.
"If you would so kindly return to me my lady friend, gentleman, and ease your hold, it would be deeply appreciated," he said with a small pleasant smile.
"But…but he's…small—"
"Tch. Big things come in small packages. Just watch."
"Or let's just get out of here."
"If YE get the hell outta here an' return yer momma's skirt, ye'll spare yerself a good beatin', twerp!"
The man roared, flicking a finger on the would-be savior's forehead. The tavern erupted in hoots of laughter.
"Uh-oh."
"Come now, let's be civil—"
"Civil? HA!"
"Let me go!" Natalya twisted.
"Sir, I'm afraid you're hurting—"
"NOW, SEE HERE, BOY! If ye don't get outta my face this instant, Imma gonna smash yers inta shark food!"
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!—"
"The robe's mine!"
"Cane's mine!"
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!—"
"Hat!"
"Damn, look at those shoes, man!"
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
Eager to please the audience that had gathered around them, the huge porter pushed Natalya away and cracked his knuckles. The girl was happily received by the crowd, who took the liberty of feeling her up, touching as much of her as they could as she twisted and pulled to try and set herself free.
The porter approached the much smaller man menacingly, grinning from ear to ear.
The cloaked man held up his hands…
"Sir, I do not wish to fight—"
…And was quickly sent crashing onto the floor when the next table failed to support the force of impact.
"Ye sayin' some'n, twerp?"
"You show 'im, man!"
"YEAH!"
The crowd cheered louder when the huge man advanced once more. Everybody was oblivious to the three men at the back scuttling towards the door and struggling against each other.
"Whoa! That's beer you're wasting!"
"Not now, Gilbert!"
"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"
"He can't fight back, you morons—!"
"Al, shut it!"
"Come on! Let me at him! He's wasting precious fucking beer for heaven's sake!" the tallest shouted, his red eyes glaring holes at the back of the proud porter's head.
"Mattie he's gonna kill him!" Alfred yelled, fighting against his brother's hold.
"FINE!" Matthew pushed at both his brother and his friend. "FINE! Go and make a fool out of yourselves! Get yourselves KILLED! See if I care!" He thundered before grumpily taking a seat.
"Tch, as if that giant oaf can lay a finger on me!"
"I don't see you walking up to him, Weillschmidt!"
"Whaaaaat…I'm not the fucking police, Williams!"
The two glared at each other.
"Coward."
"Nah, just awesome. Hey where's—"
Matthew jumped to his feet.
"ALFRED!"
