“Excuse me,” Hunter said politely, to a couple of young buccaneers walking nearby. “Do you know a Roland Burke? I am searching for him.”
“So?” They both laughed and moved on without breaking stride.
“Does anyone here know a Roland Burke? Has anyone seen him just now?” Hunter shouted, and his booming voice attracted considerable attention.
No one responded, however. They looked at him warily and just kept walking.
“Let’s go over there,” said Steve suddenly. He pointed to a small knot of people. In the center, a skinny, gray-bearded man dressed only in ragged knee breeches was juggling four belaying pins. Steve led the way this time.
When the juggler had completed his performance, a few onlookers tossed coins into a scarf folded carefully at his feet. Steve stepped up quickly. Hunter and Jane stayed where they were.
“Hold it, friends,” Steve called. “We’re looking for a friend named Roland Burke, or any other friend of his. Does anyone here know him?”
Most of the audience just walked away, but a couple of young men remained.
“I’d say every third man on the waterfront knows Roland,” said one of them, a tall, burly man with curly hair. “What’s it to you?”
“We lost him in the crowd tonight,” said Steve. “Just a moment ago. Where can we find him?”
“If he’s a friend of yours, why don’t you know that already?” The buccaneer who had spoken stepped in front of Steve and glared down at him.
“Easy, friend,” said Hunter.
“Hunter-” Steve felt the big robot gently take his arm and pull him back. As Steve regained his balance, Hunter moved in front of him.
“I ain’t afraid of you, either,” said the curly-haired buccaneer. He was nearly a head shorter than Hunter, but hadn’t given any ground.
Steve knew Hunter didn’t want to hurt anyone, so he glanced around for a distraction. A small circle of onlookers had formed around them. He spied the juggler watching them, still holding his belaying pins.
“How much do you want for one of those?” Steve asked, nodding at the belaying pins.
The juggler grinned, showing gaps in his teeth. “Nothin’. I stole ‘em off my last ship.” He tossed one to Steve, obviously expecting him to use it on someone as a club.
Steve caught it. The belaying pin was made of hardwood and was both heavy and sturdy. It had a thick, oblong head and a narrower pin, long enough to hold as a handle. On shipboard, a sailor would slip the looped end of a rope through the pin, then push the pin into one of the many holes drilled in the ship for that purpose. That end of the rope would be held firm. The shape made the pin perfect as a club too.
The curly-haired buccaneer watched Steve with caution but no fear. “You boys want a fight, you got it.”
“Not me,” said Steve. “I just want to demonstrate something on my friend here.”
“And what would that be?”
“Hold still, Hunter,” said Steve.
“Okay,” said Hunter.
Steve held the belaying pin as a club and reared back. He swung it up and then down on Hunter’s head as hard as he could. The force of the blow shattered the hardwood and tore the remains from Steve’s hand. He gripped his sore hand with the other one, wincing.
Hunter smiled politely at the buccaneers, who stared at him in amazement.
“My friend has a hard head,” said Steve.
Still not taking his eyes off Hunter, the curly-haired buccaneer reached down and picked up a chunk of the broken wood. “That’s the real thing, ain’t it?”
“Quite heavy,” Hunter assured him.
“Would you like to take a turn?” Steve asked him amiably. “Our juggler friend has several more.”
The curly-haired pirate turned away and pushed through the crowd, followed by his companion.
“Thank you,” said Hunter. “You saved me the danger of a First Law violation.”
“Glad to help,” said Steve, grinning.
“I never saw nothin’ like it,” said the juggler. “You must have the hardest head on the seven seas.”
“You know Roland Burke?” Jane asked.
“Aye, I’ve met him. But he ain’t passed me tonight.” The juggler shrugged apologetically.
“Do you know where he lives?” Steve asked.
“Nay. I don’t know him that well. Just to have a mug 0’ grog now and then.”
“Thank you,” Hunter said politely.
“Any time,” said the juggler, still eyeing Hunter’s head for evidence of a wound.
Steve grinned at Jane as they walked on. Hunter continued to lead the way, using his enhanced vision and hearing in the hope of detecting signs of Roland or Rita that his human companions could not possibly notice. They followed him patiently, looking at the sights and pointing out different items of interest to each other from time to time.
They looked long into the night. Slowly, the crowd on the waterfront thinned out. The only sounds that remained were those of the breaking surf and the drunken singing from some of the taverns. Hunter ventured down some of the side streets, always alert for danger. Jane and Steve stayed close to him, but no one approached them.
“Hunter,” Jane said finally. “I know you can search all night, but I’m not sure it’s worth the effort. We need some rest. Rita is probably just exploring with Roland.”
Hunter looked at them both. “I know you need to sleep. I shall also stay with you two, to make sure you are safe. Where should we go?”
“The town has quieted down now,” said Steve. “With you to protect us, I think we can get a room in an inn just off the waterfront without a problem.”
They had to walk for a while longer, but finally Steve and Jane agreed that a place called the Dover Arms catered to a clientele of higher social class than the waterfront inns. Hunter paid for a sizable room. Inside, he hooked the wooden shutter closed over the window and barred the door. Then, as the two humans went to sleep in their beds, he sat down on a chair in the middle of the room, alert for any sounds of potential danger in this unfamiliar environment.
At that moment, Rita sat with Roland at a table in a small tavern. No other customers remained. Her escort had given her a quick tour of the crowded waterfront and then tried his best to push several kinds of rum on her, without much success. The tavernkeeper was wiping off the other tables with a dirty cloth. Roland studied Rita’s face.
“I still say, sweet lady, something is different about you that I don’t understand,” said Roland.
“Can you name what’s so different?” She smiled at him, still ignoring the tankard of rum he had bought for her some time earlier.
“No,” Roland said, shaking his head slowly. “I cannot. Something I just can’t name.”
Rita hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. She was tired, but still didn’t want to rejoin Hunter yet. This was her chance to find out what living in Port Royal was really like. She idly fingered the handle of the knife in her sash.
“I want a room to myself,” she said, looking him in the eye. ‘With a bar on the door. I can pay for it if you will find it for me.”
Roland smiled wryly. “I can do that for you. Now tell me why I should.”
Rita could feel the sweat on her palms. If she couldn’t keep Roland in a friendly mood, she could be in real trouble. Of course, she could still try to radio Hunter, but he might be some distance away.
“You will help me,” she said carefully, “because you still want to figure out somehow why I’m different.”
“Aye.” Roland grinned suddenly. “Aye, you have me there. But you’ll be my guest for breakfast in return.”
“Fair enough.” Rita gave him a confident smile, but inwardly she was very relieved. Maybe she really could handle this buccaneer.
Roland accepted a couple of coins from her and spoke to the tavernkeeper. They both escorted her upstairs, where she found a room a little larger than a closet and a plain, wooden bed with a thin mattress. The tavernkeeper lit a short stub of candle that stood on the window sill.