The world first turned upside down, then became very bright before resolving into what could only be described as a painful blur. Keelin pawed uselessly at the floor in an attempt to move. Again his head collided with the wooden boards, and this time everything went a dark shade of black.
Keelin felt his body lift, dragged upright by his arms. He prised his eyes open just in time to see a painful blur hit him in the face and close them again. Something else hit him in the gut, then again and again. He tried to bend over and retch, but someone appeared to have a hold of his arms, so instead he just threw up right there. Painful bile tore at his throat and he heard someone swear and curse.
“Told ya it was our table,” Keelin heard someone say as he sagged against the strong arms holding him. “Now we’re gonna make you eat it.”
A distant part of Keelin recognised he was in real trouble. He struggled, thrashing about wildly, but the person holding him had him tight and all he earned for his effort was another punch to the face.
“Put him there. No. Make him kneel.”
Keelin’s legs were kicked out from under him and he dropped onto his knees. He opened his eyes and saw the edge of a round table right in front of him. Someone pushed his face towards it and Keelin clenched his jaw, struggling as the edge was pressed harder and harder into his mouth. He heard a smash and his arms came free. In one smooth motion he twisted away from the man behind him, rolled onto his back, and kicked at the man, who already appeared to be teetering. The kick sent him well and truly over the edge into sprawling unconsciousness, and Keelin rolled back onto his front and started to scramble away.
“Stillwater?” someone said.
Keelin sprang from his hands and knees, turned, and drew both cutlasses, staring down his attackers with a fierce urge, to kill the first man to come close enough.
The brawl was starting to die down, with many of its participants unable or unwilling to carry on. No doubt the clean up would take the better part of a couple of days, given how much of a mess the tavern was in.
Facing Keelin stood three men he didn’t recognise, but each one was sporting his own marks of involvement in the fight. The two men Keelin did recognise – the two who had been attempting to feed him the table – were down and out, and looking much the worse for wear.
“Do I…” Keelin slurred, and then proceeded to spit out a mouthful of blood, spittle, and bile. He ran his tongue around his mouth, wincing at the pain, but miraculously found no missing or loose teeth. “Do I know you?” he said around a rapidly swelling lip.
The lead man, a fellow of short stature but with the muscles of someone used to plenty of hard work, tucked his hands into his threadbare suede jacket. “Don’t reckon so. Name’s Pip.”
Keelin nodded. “Well. Thank you.” He gestured to the two men lying unconscious on the floor.
Pip laughed. He sounded good natured enough, but Keelin well knew looks, or sounds, could be deceiving where pirates were concerned. Or simply where people were concerned, if he was being brutally honest.
“Might be you don’t wanna go throwing around ya thanks jus’ yet,” Pip continued. “Didn’t exactly save ya out the goodness of our own hearts.”
Keelin tightened his grip on his twin cutlasses. Pip noticed and held up his hands.
“Whoa there. You won’t be needin’ those. Just got a man who’ll be wanting to talk to ya, is all.”
Keelin narrowed his eyes. “Who?”
Pip grinned.
For a town, Port Sev’relain was small, but for a pirate town it was almost excessively large. Pip and his two friends led Keelin up the hill that gave way to the forest threatening the outskirts, waiting for the day it could reclaim the pirate-infested portion of the island. As they went, the buildings grew more and more sparse and more and more grand. Here was where the elite of Sev’relain resided, and the most elite of them all was the man who owned most of the island – Loke.
Pip led Keelin past the walled and gated residence of Sev’relain’s master. Keelin snatched a glance through the gates and saw green gardens and stone buildings complete with brutish-looking guards who appeared to be armed with the very latest in ranged warfare – rifles. Clearly Loke was rich enough to afford not only luxurious living, but also luxurious protection.
“Just in there, mate,” Pip said with a slap on Keelin’s back as he turned to leave.
“Not coming in?”
The pirate didn’t even turn around. “I fancy continuin’ my shore leave, an’ they don’t much like my kind in there. You’ll feel right at home.”
Keelin eyed the building in front of him. It was a tall stone structure that boasted none of the obvious merriment of most pirate taverns. In fact, the only indication that it was one was the sign hanging outside that showed a picture of a man with his head through a noose and the words “Never Again”. It seemed the elite of the Pirate Isles had their own tavern and, for the very first time in all his years of pirating, Keelin was invited.
It was gloomy inside, with dim lighting – and little of it – that cast the whole room into shifting shadows. A suspicious-looking bartender was sitting by a selection of side-stacked barrels; he looked up from a book as Keelin entered, and quickly pointed to the other side of the room. Keelin followed the gesture and found just the man he was looking for sitting with his boots up on a table.
With a smile that hurt every one of his cuts and bruises, Keelin wandered over to Drake Morrass’ table. He was sitting with a woman whose back was to Keelin, but her hair was clearly visible from underneath her hat and it was a stunning shade of blond, almost golden. Keelin would have put good money on the woman being from Sarth.
Drake looked up as Keelin approached and smiled, a single golden tooth glinting in the lamplight. “Quite a shiner you’re sporting there, Stillwater.”
Keelin touched a hand to the right side of his face; it was tender and swollen and he was certain his eye would soon be black. “Seems I owe you a debt, Drake,” he said, pulling a chair from underneath the table and sitting without being asked.
“You do?” Drake had to take his feet off the table to keep Keelin in view. The woman watched through cold blue eyes, and Keelin noticed she was armed with more pistols than anyone could hope to use at once.
“Your men pulled me out of the fight just before I lost a set of teeth,” Keelin admitted. “And I happen to be fairly fond of my teeth.”
“They are very white,” Drake said before raising his voice. “Yron, Stillwater’s buying the next round.”
The bartender looked up from his book. “Something from the top row?”
“I reckon so.” Drake grinned as the bartender stood and started pulling three mugs from one of the top casks.
“More expensive than the bottom row?” Keelin said.
“You better believe.”
“So we’re done? Debt repaid?”
“My boys save your life and you think a single drink will cover it?” Drake slowly shook his head. “Is that all your life is worth?”
Haggling was just another form of stealing, and never more so than when it was over a debt. Keelin wondered if he could somehow gain a copy of Drake’s charts out of whatever deal they were about to strike.
“Who’s the woman?” Keelin asked with a sideways glance.
“Crew,” said Drake.
“Not many folk sail with women on the crew. Last I heard you weren’t one of the few.”
“Times change,” Drake said as the bartender arrived with three mugs of something that looked and smelled suspiciously like beer. “She watches my back, makes certain it doesn’t get stabbed.”
The bartender cleared his throat. “One gold bit,” he said pointedly to Keelin.