As the night wore on in the usually raucous Polly's Place, one patron at the front of the bar became rowdier and so excessively loud that even other drunks were starting to stare. Gradually the place started to empty because of his noise, until at last he was the only one left and still knocking back shots of red loqua without hesitation. Curious, Lawrence pushed himself off the wall and took the stool next to the swaying drunk.
"Don't you think you've had enough?" he prompted, and the black-haired patron turned his gaze on Lawrence so quickly that the helmsman wondered if the other man hadn't even heard his approach.
"Never!" came the giddy, loud reply, and the man in the luridly orange coat banged his fist on the bar. "More loqua, good woman!"
This last was a request from Polly, who eyed Lawrence cautiously as she wiped down the used flagons. The helmsman-for-hire gave a little shake of his head, so the taverness answered, "I think it's about time I cut you off, Domingo. You won't even be able to stumble to the inn at the rate you're drinking, and I'll run short of red loqua if this keeps up."
"Ah, blast," muttered the treasure hunter unintelligibly, watching the taverness go about her business. "I'll just have to savor this last bit." With that he pushed the final shot of loqua away from him and set to briskly massaging his temples.
Lawrence hadn't missed the name Polly had bestowed upon the intoxicated patron; curiously he pressed, "Domingo's your name? Not the same world-renown treasure hunter everyone's been talking about?"
Domingo blinked his bloodshot, crystal-blue eyes a few times, struggling to focus before saying, "Aye; the very same. You've heard of me, no doubt."
The helmsman felt a twinge of annoyance at the superiority in the looter's tone. "Sailors talk. I hear a great deal from the men who dock in this city."
Domingo belched and swayed on his stool; Lawrence crinkled his nose in disgust. "I don't hunt for jewels and gold anymore. Anyone who's not half-blind can do what I do."
"So you're out of the treasure-hunting business?" Behind Lawrence, Polly's daughter Anne was now sweeping the tavern lobby silently. "Retired?"
"I should bloody well think not!" Domingo snapped, and he chose that moment to swallow the last of the loqua with a prideful swig. "I'm out for the lost and forgotten things now. Ancient artifacts, strange sightings . . . remnants of the Old World, as it were." He paused to jab his thumb into his chest before saying, "I found the Perfect Balance just two days ago! I named it Topple Rock; it was on the outskirts of Maramba."
Lawrence found himself slightly intrigued. "You've been out sailing beneath the Nasrean Moon?"
"You bet your knickers I have, Scar-face." The helmsman growled as Domingo said this. "I"m gonna make more gold in a week than I did in five years as a treasure hunter, as soon as I find the Temple of Pyrynn."
"The Temple of Pyrynn?" Lawrence snorted derisively at Domingo's claim. "You're a fool. That's nothing but an ancient story."
Domingo eyed his companion tipsily, trying to appear threatening and failing spectacularly. "People used to say the same thing about the Island of Colors, but I proved them all wrong, too."
Lawrence conceded the point before arguing, "But this is a lot bigger than the Island of Colors, you dolt! This is a pyramid in the sand, a supposition that ancient Nasrean culture centralized their lives around a legendary creature called Recumen. The story has been around for thousands of years. It's a ridiculous legend."
"Recumen has the ability to control fire," Domingo explained, and an almost reverent gaze came into his eyes.
"You'll be killed in the heat, searching for something that doesn't exist!" protested the helmsman.
"Thnk of how much gold a find like that would be worth," Domingo prattled on, and he passed out on his stool and slid limply to the floor.
"We should have cut him off hours ago," Polly said in exasperation, moving out from behind the bar and prodding Domingo in the ribs with her toe. "Lawrence, I don't suppose you could haul him up to the inn so I could close up for the night?"
Lawrence grumbled but hoisted the slight treasure hunter up and slung him over his shoulder. "You owe me, Polly."
"You work for me, remember? Go on - I'll lock up."
Still complaining quietly to himself, Lawrence left the pub and set off for the inn around the corner; Domingo muttered "Pyrynn" in a drunken stupor, and promptly drooled on the helmsman's shoulder.