If word travelled quickly through Valua, the only place it travelled faster was Sailor's Island. The whole city was a well of gossip, and naturally the public executions of a handful of Air Pirates was a popular story indeed. The tale reached Valua's southern neighbor in just a day, and every patron of the tavern Polly's Place had nothing but that to talk about. Naturally Lawrence, with his keen hearing, caught nearly every word from three tables at once.
A helmsman of no small renown, Lawrence spent the off-season skulking about the raucous city. The first merchant ships would be filtering in for resupply and information on the whereabouts of dangerous fugitives in the next tenday or two, and an early berth for the upcoming fishing season would not be difficult to find. In the meantime Lawrence was a frequent presence in the tavern; the owner, Polly, had hired him as a sort of guardian, one who took care of all the less-than-reputable patrons who visited and made certain that there were no problems. Occasionally there were barfights, but those had all lessened of late. No one wanted to be on the receiving end of Lawrence, who was nothing short of deadly with the Valuan broadsword sheathed on his right hip.
Leaning against the wall just to one side of the entrance, Lawrence took in all that he heard with a practiced ear. Rumor had it that Baltor, a ruthless Black Pirate, was plaguing the trade routes between Sailor's Island and Nasrad, and if he wasn't stopped soon the merchant ships would start to skip over the route altogether and make it more difficult for Lawrence to find a ship with which to sail. The fearsome Larso Clan had all but dropped out of existence as well, for their leader of thirty years had at last taken a sword to the back and now the band was divided and leaderless. But the tale on everyone's lips was of the execution in Valua's Coliseum, where the notorious pirate captain Dyne and his crew had been murdered before an enormous crowd for attacking the flagship of First Admiral Alfonso. It was also said that during the show a trio of unknown Air Pirates had come to Dyne's aid, but they had fallen as well.
"Lawrence!" came Anne's voice, Polly's daughter and a barmaid at the tavern. "Fight!"
The dark-haired helmsman shook himself from his thoughts and trained his eyes upon one of the tables at the back, where a pair of drunk traders were having a heated argument about a pair of merchant routes to Maramba. Pushing himself off the wall as both voices grew in volume, Lawrence weaved his way between tables, his left hand on the hilt of his broadsword in precaution.
"Excuse me." Two sets of eyes glanced his way, both surprised at his sudden and soundless approach. Lawrence's dark eyes glittered, and he said, "You're causing a bit of a ruckus, as I'm sure you've realized. I'll thank you to lower your voices, or I'll escort you to the street, if you prefer."
They took the veiled threat for what it truly was, and sat down with murmurs of apology. He turned his back on them and returned to his post near the door.
Only another tenday or two, he continued to remind himself. Just another tenday, and he would no longer have to deal with petty drunks and their equally ridiculous feuds.
Author's Note: If you're at all familiar with my work, you'll notice that the chapters in this fic are decidedly shorter than all my other works. I write in uncharacteristic spurts, so this makes things easier for me.
Constructive criticism always welcome.