‘Watch what you’re doing,’ said the moustached giant in accented Imperial Gothic.
Anton looked at him. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, “Watch what you are doing”.’
Anton looked at me then looked back at the giant. I could not help but notice that he had arms as large around as my thighs and fists the size of small ham hocks. ‘Could you repeat that?’ Anton said, putting a hand to his ear. ‘I can’t understand a word of your turdkicker accent.’
He didn’t use the exact word turdkicker, but the Belial equivalent. The sergeant clearly did not understand the word but he understood the tone.
‘I don’t like you, greencoat. I don’t like your attitude.’ His voice boomed out and his words cut through the general babble. Heads turned to look at us. A few men smiled. A few cracked their knuckles. I noticed that there were a lot more men from the giant’s regiment than there were from ours.
‘There’s no need for any trouble,’ said Ivan. His voice was as flat and emotionless as it always was. The sight of his sharp mechanical teeth was enough to give anyone pause.
‘Scared we’ll kick your ass?’ said the laughing youth. ‘Just like the heretics on Loki did.’
I considered his appearance and I realised that there was something about his face that really made me want to punch it.
‘It’s good you’ve brought twenty friends to back you up,’ said Anton. ‘Always makes rats braver.’
The laughter stopped and a look of pure vicious spite passed across his face. I knew that he was one of the sort that was always stirring up trouble. ‘I’m not scared of you,’ he said.
‘Of course you’re not,’ said Anton. ‘That’s why you brought your big buddy here to hide behind while you shoot your mouth off.’
That was a reasonable shot and things might have calmed down but he could not resist adding, ‘And he looks stupid enough to let you do it.’
‘He’s not the only stupid one around here,’ I said. Unfortunately the giant heard me.
‘What did you say?’ he asked. His tone told me that he did not suspect me of passing any compliments. Behind him I recognised a group of men in green tunics approaching. They all had the tall golden look of warriors from Macharius’s home world. There were not as many of them as there were of our new friends but the odds had changed a little.
I took a deep breath and I thought about what I was seeing. No one, but no one, had tried to pick a fight with us in a bar since we put on the green tunics. We’d picked a few ourselves, but it just was not done to show disrespect to the Lord High Commander’s personal guard. Only now apparently it was. More than anything else this told me how much Macharius’s star had fallen.
At that moment, the giant took a swing at me. It was sudden and it was fast. It might have taken my head off as well, if Ivan had not reached across and caught his wrist. The servo-motors in his arm screeched as he halted the blow and the two of them stood there straining across the table. The smirking youth took it upon himself to break a glass at this point and try to slash me with the splinters. I rolled back off the bench and when I picked myself up I could see a full-scale brawl was in progress, spreading across the room, involving the gold-braids, the green tunics and everybody else. By the time the chaos had reached the edge of the room no one had any idea of who was fighting or why. They were just joining in for the fun of it or to make sure no one got the drop on them.
Ivan stood straining with the giant, his mechanical limbs matched against enormous strength. Smirking youth took a slash at him. The splinters of glass ripped his uniform and revealed the plasteel and ceramite beneath the tunic. I decided I had had enough of this. I raised my glass and threw it at Smirker’s head, which it tumbled through the air, spilling beer as it went, and caught him right between the eyes, sending him toppling back onto the floor.
‘Waste of good beer, that,’ said Anton. He jumped onto the table and head-butted the giant, dropping him.
‘Thought you were taking too much time with that one,’ he said and dived into the brawl. There was nothing else to do but follow him.
The cells were small and dark and dim and full of men who all looked the worse for wear. A single glow-globe flickered overhead. Duty guards looked at us through the visors of their riot helms. I had learned a respect for them and their nightsticks a couple of hours back when they had broken up the brawl and thrown us all into the cells to cool off.
‘Just think,’ said Anton. ‘We’d still be drinking beer if Leo here could hold his temper. He had to go starting brawls.’
‘I seem to remember I was not the one who insulted the big bald fellow,’ I said.
‘Classic – trying to weasel out of responsibility for his actions. How you ever made sergeant is beyond me,’ he said.
‘Now that I can believe,’ I said. ‘You certainly don’t have the intelligence to understand how I did it.’
‘See what I mean – can’t resist the sarky remarks. Always causing trouble.’
‘It was a good fight though,’ said Ivan.
‘You’re only saying that because you broke that big guy’s arm when he grabbed you,’ Anton said.
‘And I would have broken his jaw if you hadn’t nutted him,’ Ivan said.
‘He deserved it and so did his buddies,’ said Anton with a sudden change of tone. ‘He was disrespectful to our fallen comrades on Loki. And we did not get our asses kicked.’
I let out a long sigh. I did not see any other way of explaining our precipitate withdrawal from Loki but I was not going to say that out loud. I was starting to sober up a little and thinking you never knew who might overhear you and how they might choose to interpret it.
‘Not tonight anyway,’ I could not resist saying. ‘We taught them a lesson.’
I glanced around. Most of the men in the cells with us wore green tunics. The duty guards knew better than to put men from different regiments together. Too much chance of a killing if the brawl restarted. I did not know any of them, but I was glad they had been there and taken our side in the fight. Of course, under the circumstances, there was very little else they could have done.
The door opened and an officer strode in. I recognised his tall, upright figure and his blank-seeming expression. It was the Undertaker. He walked right down to the door of our cell as if he knew exactly where to find us. Beside him were a couple of guards.
‘Sergeant Lemuel,’ he said, ‘you are in trouble.’
I saluted him as he indicated the doors should be opened and we should be released.
I did not expect to be taken straight to Inquisitor Drake. I was shown into his office and the Undertaker departed.
‘Brawling, Sergeant Lemuel? I expected better of you.’ Drake’s voice was dry. There was a faint hint of disapproval in it but something else as well, a note of curiosity that made me even more cautious.
‘As you have every right to, sir,’ I said, doing my best to sound contrite.
‘Tell me what happened,’ he said. I did so, all the while wondering why this powerful man was taking an interest in a tavern brawl. I am not sure whether he read my mind or simply deduced what I was thinking from my expression.
‘Because you are a member of the Lord High Commander’s personal guard,’ Drake said, ‘you should not be engaged in such fights. It reflects badly on General Macharius.’
‘You are correct, sir.’
‘Of course I am correct. The question is, why did you get involved in this brawl at all?’