Thank you for the reviews again. X3
Chapter Three
The landlord forgotten, James stalked past the other tables and up the small flight of steps. He halted in front of Sparrow's table, twitching in anger, his mouth gaping as he tried to find the words to express just how put up on he was at this point in time. Sparrow watched him over the rim of his mug, his eyes sparkling with that same malicious light that accompanied his smirk.
"You." James finally spat out and stopped there, not quite sure where to go next. "You!" He said again, when nothing new came to him.
Sparrow lowered the tankard to the table, setting it down with a soft clunk. "A'right Pumpkin?" He asked, flashing James a wicked smile.
"Don't call me that!" James snapped, then glanced around at the other people in the pub and forced himself to lower his voice. "I need that room." He finally growled, flexing his hands agitatedly. Sparrow's gaze flickered down to them, then back up to his face.
"That's tough luck then, innit?" Sparrow replied, brushing his fingertips along the surface of the table and then inspecting them for dust. James thought that was wildly ironic, all things considered. Sparrow continued to inspect his fingertips a little longer while James fumed silently beside him, then rubbed the pads together to be rid of whatever had been there and turned to James again. "What'll yeh give us for it?"
"I'll not give you anything." James immediately snapped, before catching himself and sighing. He reached up to rub the creases from his brow. "I mean… how much did you pay for the room?"
"Thirty-six gold pieces." Sparrow replied offhandedly, taking up the tankard again and tossing off the last of his drink. James didn't know what it was, and from the smell of it he was glad not to.
He opened his purse again and plucked out the number Sparrow had just told him. He placed the coins down on the table top and stared at the gypsy expectantly. "Well?" He said when Sparrow didn't take the money or say anything to explain himself.
"I want double that, for me trouble." Sparrow said, looking up at James with a contentedly cunning smile.
James sputtered and snatched his money up again. Seventy-two gold coins. He didn't have that much on him, and even if he did, why would he waste it on this? "I can't afford that." He told Sparrow through gritted teeth, his hand shaking slightly from clutching the money bag so tight. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Sparrow's eyebrows rose in obvious amusement and he leaned forward, resting one arm on the table. "Oh aye? Well, if yeh can't afford the room why don't yeh just go home?"
"That's none of your business." James replied darkly. "If you won't give me your room, I'll just go find out who has the other one and buy his." He turned on his heel and marched straight back to the landlord who was doing a remarkably bad job of pretending not to watch them.
"Won't do yeh any good." Sparrow called after him, but made no effort to explain further.
"Who has the other room?" James demanded before he had even reached the counter. The landlord blinked at him for a moment then shook his head.
"No one, young sir. The latest shipment was a bit… ah, bigger than I'd been expecting. I'm using the other room as temporary storage, I'm afraid."
James didn't say anything to that, instead simply staring at the man disbelievingly. "That's just great." He finally muttered, drumming his fingers on the counter hard enough to show his anger. "That's just bloody brilliant." He sighed out a heavy breath and tapped the bar once. "Fine." He growled. "I'll have a portentous stout. If I have to go home to that bastard, I want to be blind drunk first."
"Right away, sir."
"So that's it." Sparrow piped up from behind him as the landlord went to get his drink. James jumped and clenched his jaw to keep from snapping at him. "Yer avoidin' someone at home?"
"That," James said very pointedly not looking at Sparrow, "is none of your business, to be quite frank." The landlord returned with his drink and James handed over his money. He picked up the bottle daintily by the neck, bit the cork and yanked it out with his teeth. He didn't miss the little sound of approval Sparrow made in the back of his throat at this and shot him a withering glare.
Sparrow ordered another drink and leaned on the bar, watching James intently. His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. James returned the gaze askance for a moment, before turning his back on Sparrow slightly and taking a mouthful of the vile tasting drink, reminding himself why he only ever drank when he was in a bad mood.
There was a shifting sound behind him and James jumped when a hand graced his hip. "Yer not gonna to ignore me, are yeh?" Sparrow murmured, right in his ear. The question was posed innocently enough but there was an underlying threat that made James instinctively turn to face him. Perhaps turning his back on a scoundrel like this wasn't such a smart move after all. "Tha's better."
"Your drink." The landlord said, popping up out of nowhere to place the refilled tankard on the counter next to Sparrow. He turned away from James after a moment and gave the man his money with a nod of thanks.
"So," Sparrow said casually, picking up his drink and taking a mouthful, "does yeh not wantin' to go home have anythin' to do with yer dad?"
James sniffed and sipped his drink. "I thought I said that's none of your business."
"Yeah, yeh did. Doesn't mean I was payin' any attention though." He purred before riding straight over James's indignant retort. "So's he still havin' problems?"
James scowled at Sparrow, his jaw set rigidly. Who did Sparrow think he was? Prying into his private business like this, why he should call the guards. Report him for harassment. "I don't know." He finally spat out, looking away from Sparrow. "He doesn't tell me anything." A thought occurred to him; though he was loathe to follow it up. However, he did want information regarding his father's situation and if it was the only way…
With a sigh he turned to Sparrow. "Did that fortune teller woman say anything to you about it?" He asked, trying his hardest to keep the plea out of his voice and come across as casual. Judging by the look on Sparrow's face, he failed.
"Theresa? She might have. Nothin' that yeh probably don't already know though."
"Tell me anyway." James said immediately, taking a small step closer to Sparrow.
Sparrow glanced down at the space between them, raising an eyebrow, before shrugging nonchalantly. "She told me that he's gotten 'imself in trouble with the Shadows. Debt or summit like that."
"Debt…" James repeated quietly to himself, gnawing on his thumbnail thoughtfully. He took another long drink. "Now I think I understand…"
"Understand what?" Sparrow asked.
James snapped out of his thoughtful daze and shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing, I was just thinking aloud."
Sparrow made a small, incredulous noise but didn't push it this time. "So, what yeh gonna do tonight then?" He said as he inspected his drink curiously. "Yeh gonna go home or are yeh gonna try'n find a way to into me bed again?" He grinned lecherously down at his mug.
Sputtering, James put down his bottle and rounded on Sparrow. "I was not trying to get into your bed!" He squawked, piqued. Another nearby punter gave him an odd look and he flushed a spectacular shade of red, falling silent.
"Shame that." Sparrow replied, leaning his hip against the counter and turning that lewd smirk on James. "Yeh'd be mor'n welcome."
"I'm not a slut. I have a reputation to uphold." James hissed back, even though his mind had jumped involuntarily to the scene at the blacksmith's shop earlier that day. That was hardly his fault, however. He was sixteen years old after all. Of course he'd be… curious about such things. But that was all it was! Curiosity.
Sparrow's lewd grin twisted into something more wicked at that. "Aw, Pumpkin. I never said nowt about sex."
James wasn't sure what he was more shocked by. Sparrow's blunt talk – he could have at least used a nice euphemism and spared James's little virgin mind – or the fact that he had just walked into a horrible trap. "I… I-I didn't…" He stammered, searching frantically for a way out. "I didn't mean-"
"Right filthy minded little bugger, ain't ya?" Sparrow purred, rolling straight over James's protests. Unsurprisingly, he didn't sound disapproving about this at all. He reached out and placed one hand on James's waist, squeezing his handful suggestively. James uttered a single, reflexive squeak and squirmed out of Sparrow's grasp.
"I have to go…" He said quickly in a choked voice. He dashed off the last of his drink – waste not, want not and all that – and nodded at Sparrow, refusing to meet his eyes. That was the most of a goodbye he gave before he hurried out of the Cow and Corset.
Behind him, he heard Sparrow laughing.
It was cold outside and as soon as he stepped out of the building, James found himself missing the warmth of the large fireplace in there. Never-the-less though, he didn't dare go back in. Not with Sparrow and his conversational pitfalls lying in wait inside.
As he set off across the square towards Old Town, he heard a muffled woof behind him. He paused, frowning, and glanced back only to find himself face to face to face with a brown dog. The two of them stood staring at one another for a moment in apparent amazement, before James shook his head and started off again.
A second woof, closer this time, told him he'd been followed. He stopped and turned to look at the dog, folding his arms around himself and stamping his feet. "What do you want?" He asked, glowering halfheartedly at the strange creature. It stared at him a moment longer before closing the distance between them and plopping itself down at James's feet.
James sighed and rolled his eyes, crouching beside it. "Alright, fine." He petted the dog's head, grimacing when it opened its mouth and started panting, its tongue lolling out of one side. "Who do you belong to?" He murmured, running his fingers along the battered collar until they touched upon a tag. He tilted it until it caught the light of a nearby street lamp. There was only one word etched into the metal disk: Pumpkin.
"That's your name, is it?" James asked, dropping the tag and giving the dog one final scratch behind the ears. "Well, I have to go now, so go back to your owner, alright?" He straightened up and made shooing gestures at the dog until it got the message and bounded off towards the Cow and Corset again. James turned and headed off up the side road.
He didn't get more than three paces before a ruckus erupted from the direction of the pub, peppered with the occasional excited bark. James closed his eyes and smiled as he left the market.
---
"James! Oh, there you are… I was so worried!"
"I'm fine, mother." James replied wearily, trying to bat his mother away as she fussed over him. "I just want to go to bed."
Laura sighed and nodded, starting to step away from him when suddenly she sniffed. Her eyes narrowed. "Hang on." She said, grabbing his arm. "You smell like alcohol. Oh, Jamie, you know you're not old enough to drink."
James tore a hand through his hair and groaned. "Mother, I'm old enough to be served, so I'm old enough to drink, now please. Can I go to bed?" He gave his mother a pleading look but she didn't seem ready to let it drop. "I only had one bottle."
She didn't seem ready to drop the subject still, but eventually she caved, unable to deny her baby boy anything for long. "Alright, but don't think I'm done with you yet." She said, petting his hair affectionately. "Sleep well, dear."
"Goodnight mother."
He trudged up the stairs and then up the ladder to the attic. He had once slept on the same floor as his parents, but with the onset of puberty certain embarrassing situations had led him to throw very dramatic tantrums until they agreed to move his things into the attic. Now he had a desk, a bookshelf, a wardrobe and a bed up here. It was very cozy.
He undressed and slipped into a comfortable white nightshirt that came down to his ankles and padded over to his bed beneath the window. He slid under the thick, feather filled quilt and sighed contentedly, snuggling against his pillow, more than ready to fall asleep.
But something was bothering him. Something about that dog. Suddenly it occurred to him.
"A'right Pumpkin?" Sparrow asked again in James's mind.
Pumpkin was the name etched on the dog's name tag.
James sat bolt upright in bed, practically spitting in fury. "He named me after his dog?!"
Le Gaspe! How rude of him. Tsk tsk, Sparrow.
R&R if you feel like it.