Chương 29: I Drink to Win

Of all the nights to finally have a rowdy house, I was disappointed that it was this one. Many townsfolk showed up, bringing their dates, their expectations of interesting drinks, and apparently, their appetites. All the tables were full, occupied by loudly talking patrons. Wynnie made the rounds, serving stew and bread as quickly as people could order it. A couple of adventurous customers even ordered the ceviche.

A young elf couple picked at it with their forks, giggling and making quiet jokes that were too low for me to hear. Neither of them seemed interested in eating it, but both were more than happy to dare the other to take the first bite. It didn't even bother me. Or rather, it did, but it paled in comparison to what was really on my mind. The two men who'd entered earlier sat right in front of me at the bar. They'd paid for two nights for their rooms.

They didn't even bat an eye when I charged them more than what The Good Inn charged. When I said two silver per person per night, they just shrugged and counted out their coins. And here I thought they'd look for less expensive lodging up the hill. Apparently, they liked "the cut of our jib." The suspicious duo introduced themselves as Strider and Buckshank. You can probably guess which was which.

"I'll have another Salty Dog," Buckshank said. The man had been slowly but surely drinking them all night. He was on his sixth, and he'd only gotten up to pee once. Strider, on the other hand, had limited himself to a single punch. Since then, he'd ordered a few glasses of water and some ceviche. Wynnie brought out his ceviche.

"Hey, I thought this was raw. It looks cooked to me," he said, inspecting it closely.

"It's raw. The citric acid denatures the proteins, which cooks it in a way."

"If you say so." He scooped up a forkful and brought it to his mouth. His eyes lit up with delight at the first bite, and he quickly went back for seconds. He wiped the corner of his mouth almost daintily.

"This is simply exquisite. My compliments to the chef. Before we leave, you'll have to share the recipe."

"Of course. I'd be happy to."

"The same with that lovely rum drink you invented earlier. What did you say it was? A roundhouse?"

"Punch." He chuckled.

"I must have thought it was a roundhouse because it hits so hard!" Honestly, if I weren't almost certain these guys were up to no good, I'd actually enjoy their company. Buckshank reminded me of a lot of dive bar staff. He was rough and tumble, but he obviously knew how to have a good time. If he weren't a pirate, I'd just assume he was one of those frat bros who was mostly a cool guy, but sometimes punched holes in drywall.

Not exactly best friend material, and not the kind of guy you introduce to your sister, either. But if you're taking shots while watching the game, you could do worse. Strider reminded me of a wine bar owner. Maybe a bit more posh than the situation called for, and with an unearned sense of superiority. He also had former coke dealer vibes. The kind who went to prison, and either cleaned up his act… or learned to look like he had.

Yet aside from those flaws—and the whole probably a pirate thing—he was generous with his praise and adventurous with his palate. The rest of the diners had started off subdued. Many glances shot over to the newcomers, wondering how far they could be trusted. Yet after a couple of rounds of drinks, they'd loosened up. Now, the volume in the Breakwater Inn had crescendoed to a dull roar. A few uneasy glances still stole our way, but for the most part, diners were engrossed in their own lives.

Even so, I noticed that nobody left their coin purses out in full view. My curiosity got the better of my anxiety. If they were going to sit in front of me and drink all evening, I might as well see what they were after. So, why not start subtle, I figured.

"You guys are pirates, right?" Strider chuckled lightly. Buckshank grunted.

"What makes you say that?" Strider asked.

"Rumors around town, I guess. There were some sailors in town last night who said they saw pirates nearby. And since you two seem new in town, I just put two and two together."

"Huh. This guy thinks he can impress us with some fancy math," Buckshank said.

"Indeed. But is he missing any parts of the equation? If so, it would be easy to come to the wrong conclusion," Strider added.

"Hey. I don't much care what you guys do for a living. I was just making conversation. But I didn't hear either of you say no."

"No." Buckshank's voice was firm and a little too loud. Both Strider and I raised an eyebrow.

"What my compatriot here means is that we engage in no illegal acts of piracy. The law along the Silver Coast is quite clear on its definitions of piracy. There's a detailed list, in fact." He fixed me with a calculating stare. His smile was as greasy as a fast food griddle.

"Neither of us takes part in any activities explicitly stated on that list." Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Well, that sounded like a bunch of technicalities to me. One thing was for certain, though. Strider had just outed himself as someone who knew exactly what qualified a person as a pirate. He skirted the letter of the law with ruthless efficiency. People like that were dangerous.

"Good to know that I'm in such polite company, then. What brings you around these parts?"

"Oh, you know, the usual." Strider smirked and took a sip of his water.

"Collections. We provide protection to vessels and port towns all along the Silver Coast."

"For a fee," Buckshank butted in. Strider shot him an exasperated glare before turning his attention back to me.

"Sometimes folks get lost, stranded, or in trouble. The Crown's navy may run on taxes, but it doesn't come to civilian aid. We do."

"If something bad were to happen, you're there to fix it."

"For a fee." Buckshank ignored Strider's irate gaze.

"Spotting trouble and fixing trouble are two different services." So they weren't just pirates, but insurance companies. Somehow, that made them even worse.

"Sounds like mafia stuff," I observed.

"I have no idea what a mafia is." Strider finished the last morsel of ceviche and wiped his mouth daintily with a cloth.

"If it's a fancy word for private businessmen who provide assurances that the Crown can't—especially in places where the Crown ignores—then sure." Buckshank burped and nudged his empty glass toward me.

"Another Salty Dog, you scurvy cur." I reached for my second-to-last grapefruit. He'd already gone through all the pre-squeezed juice. Now, I was squeezing the stuff into his glass by hand. While my hands worked, my mouth kept moving. It was nearly keeping up with my brain, which was now racing with thoughts and questions.

"Does your protection extend to official ships operated by the Crown?" The duo shared an uneasy glance.

"We don't fuck with the navy. Everyone else is fair game." Strider slapped his palm to his forehead. He looked like his patience was hanging on by a thread.

"What Buckshank means is that navy ships help their own. They don't help civilians. But non-navy vessels of the Crown? They pay their dues. Or at least they're supposed to." His empty hand balled up into a tight fist with wiry veins all over it. He flexed his jaw, grinding his teeth. So, the guy wasn't completely emotionless. The rumrunners must've gotten away. Now the town would feel the wrath of a guy who thought he was a slick talker, but had anger issues underneath. Guys like that could get scary.

Two guests approached the bar. One of them mumbled something, did a bit of fuzzy math under his breath that I could barely hear, and then passed the exact change over to me. The coins rested as far away from the reach of the pirates as the person could make them. I grabbed the money and stashed it in my pouch. The thing was getting heavy—conspicuously so. All the clinking weight at my side made me only that much more concerned about my proximity to two pirates. So they were up to no good in Seaport.

Their companions were out doing something dastardly, no doubt. And here I was, making an almost reasonable alibi for what I suspected was the mastermind and his muscle. My heart was pounding in my chest. There was one way I knew to calm my nerves. I grabbed a cup, filled it with ice, and poured myself some punch. The first sip warmed me, like a bath for my soul. Life flowed through my veins. A bit of liquid courage in a time like this was exactly what I needed. I took another sip, then another.

The damn drink was finished all too early. I poured myself another.

"Nice to see that you appreciate your own artistry," Strider commented.

"I'd be no good at my job if I didn't." It was true. It was why I'd gained such a reputation back on Earth. Or maybe it was why I should've chosen a different profession entirely.

"So, you said there were four of you. Where are the other two?"

"Taking a leisurely stroll. They're making sure that the businesses we remember have dues set aside—and the new ones understand what the arrangement is."

"And they're casing the Crown's property," Buckshank added. Strider elbowed him sharply in the thigh. There wasn't much force to it since they were both on barstools, but the message was loud and clear.

"What? The rumrunners got away, so we gotta get what we're owed, right, boss?"

"Shut up, you thick, chatty imbecile!"

"Hey, don't worry, guys. I'm cool," I said. I was, in fact, cool. I was midway through my second punch, and my anxiety had dropped sharply. My heart still thudded audibly in my ears, but I think that was as much from the alcohol as from nerves. Mostly, I was getting amped up thinking about the safety of my newfound hometown and the people I cared about. Another couple skirted around the pirates to pay their tab. I didn't even look at the sum.

Everyone in town was trustworthy, save for the two villains in front of me.

"Is this place new?" Strider massaged his mustache and looked around once more as if this was the first time he was really taking it in.

"It's been around. We finally got enough money to pay for a new coat of paint. Mostly, it's been losing money steadily over the years," I explained, essentially paraphrasing as much as I knew of its history.

"I see." Strider drummed his fingers on the bar.

"You know, an up-and-coming place like this? It'd be a shame if a hurricane came. Or if lightning struck." I held my breath. Here came the squeeze.

"Of course, my people could help you get started again if something like that happened. And under our protection, you wouldn't have to worry about bandits or thieves." Strider leaned.

"Do you understand?" I nodded.

"For a fee, of course."

"Of course."

"I'll have to pass the message along to the owner," I said.

"Please do. She seems like such a sweet young lady. Just make sure she decides before we leave town." What an obnoxious asshole. I didn't like bullies. Ditto for rage-filled idiots who believed they were stable geniuses. And I hated people who threw around economic weight with a military backing to intimidate and cow everyone else. The TTRPG player in me smelled a quest. I just wish I had the stats or spells to handle it.

Best I could do were skills, and things like hospitality and mixology weren't the kinds of things that showed up on character sheets, let alone in bards' tales of heroic victories. My high alcohol tolerance wasn't going to save the town. Fortunately, it was Lady Talia's job to keep us all safe. All I needed to do was keep my head down and stay out of trouble. Perhaps I could charm these guys into leaving her alone while the dragonkin and her deputies handled the rest. Two more brutish thugs entered the room.

One looked human, just like me. We were a rarity in these parts, and both of us acknowledged each other with an immediate, reflexive nod. The other had to be an orc. He was more 5th Edition than Tolkien, I noted. In fact, he seemed largely human—emphasis on large. A grayish-green pallor colored his skin, two small tusks jutted from his lower jaw, and an aggressive set to his muscular frame distinguished him from the other man. Buckshank waved.

"Oi! You two find anything?"

"Aye," the human responded.

"And we found where the bank is storing their coin. Looks like they got a new lock on it and a few extra bars, but it's nothing we haven't seen before."

"Dammit, man! Do you have to talk so loud?" Strider rolled his eyes in exasperation. I poured myself another cup of punch. Then, I offered a ladle to Strider.

"It's okay. Nobody in here but us now. And since the cat's out of the bag with me, it couldn't hurt to join me for a drink, at least." He pursed his lips.

"Not now, I think. It sounds like I have some planning to do."

"Are you sure? Another punch could be fun." He raised an eyebrow, his expression turning sly.

"My friend, I don't drink for fun. I drink to win." I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded fucking cool.