Nessa looked at him. His russet brown skin was heavily tattooed, the skin art peeked out from under a light grey, worn linen shirt and trousers in the same colour. Cai and Fyhre wore the same outfits. All snugly fitting and with their sleeves rolled up high, showing strong arms. Those were the uniforms the city gave to anyone who came and agreed to work in whatever factory needed workers. It was meant to be an incentive to work in industry. That and a midday meal of bread and honeyed water. Nessa had heard that many people came to Nightport without more than the ragged shirt on their back and would be thrilled for a job and some whole, clean clothes to wear. The tattoos were not usual fare for those workers, though. Those cost heavy coin to have made.
“I see ye’re admirin’ my ink,” Sanjero said to Nessa. He sounded different from other Nightport citizens she had met. The words were the same, the casual, fast-paced slang which the city folk prided themselves on. But the cadence sounded different, more melodic. It reminded her of the accent Layden’s grandparents had, meaning somewhere from the Western Isles. Everyone seemed to move between the four continents after a few generations on the same landmass. Leading to a great blend in the populace. Stuck in Ground Hollow, it had been a comfort to see that, at some point, everyone had emigrated and immigrated. It made her feel like moving around was her fate, too, no matter how nervous she was about it. She decided to ask Elise about Sanjero's accent when they were alone.
“Huh? Oh, yes. I was thinking that it’s rare to see those on factory workers. It looks like you have an impressive collection. Oh, and call me Nessa. And this is Elise.”
“Well, Nessa, I thank ye. And yes, I’ve my fair share. Six years on the wild seas. A nice, big tattoo for every port.”
The man who had spoken to them first, Jac, ran his fingers over the tattoos on Sanjero's neck. His fingernails were black and there were a few cuts and scars on his calloused hand.
“Aye, pretty they are, too. I always wanted me a man with tattoos an’ the gods provided,” Jac said dreamily.
Sanjero reached over and gave him a peck on the lips.
Nessa wanted to stay. These people seemed nice and had offered that they could join them. But was it wise to sit with strangers in a place like this?
Without warning, Elise took Nessa’s hand and sat down on a proffered chair. The hand-holding meant that Nessa had to sit down on the chair between Elise and Jac, but she would have done that anyway. Elise’s hand was cool, and her grip was just on the right side of tight. Confident and comforting, not painful. Flanking Elise was the mysterious Cai, who must be in a relationship with the surly-looking Fyhre.
Jac didn’t wear the uniform of the factory workers but he must work with his hands considering the state of them. Nessa’s curiosity was bursting through her shyness. Her stomach fluttered at the thrill of meeting new people. It was another bonus of city life. Another bonus of Elise making her try things.
Nessa let go of Elise’s hand and sat forward to be heard over the noise of the tavern. “So, what do you do for a living, Jac?”
“I’m a blacksmith. An’ hope to be one for as long as I can ‘fore factories an’ their new, fancy steam-powered machines takes the place of my skills an’ my forge,” he replied with a sigh.
“Aye, and ye can see what we three do,” Sanjero said, indicating their clothes. “What about ye? How do ye earn yer coin?”
Some hair had broken loose from Nessa’s braid and was tickling her cheek. She was about to brush it away when she felt Elise’s gentle fingers caress it into place behind her ear.
That’s nice. She wants me to be able to focus on answering the question. So thoughtful.
“I’m a glassblower’s apprentice for Master Brownlee and… well, the other Master Brownlee. Elise is working for a printer at the moment. The way things are going, we might end up having to compete with factories one day, too. It seems like they can make machines do just about anything these days.”
Jac nodded soberly. “Aye, but it still needs people to put in the blood, sweat, an’ tears.”
Fyhre cleared her throat and spoke for the first time. “I’m thirsty. Want more ale. I s’pose ye’d like me to ask the barmaid to bring us a pitcher an’ two more glasses?”
“Yes, please,” Elise piped up immediately.
Nessa evaluated how drunk she was. The brandy was still in her body, dimming her mind and relaxing her tired muscles. But she was sobering up. She should be able to have some ale without becoming legless.
She nodded up at Fyhre who was now standing, showing that she was as tall as she was muscular. “Yes. Ale for me too, please.”
Fyhre gave a curt nod before walking off with the empty pitcher from their table.
Sanjero leaned over to be out of Fyhre’s earshot. “Excuse ‘er behaviour. She might seem rude, but she’s just the big, silent type. She’s a kitten, really. Ain’t that so, Cai?”
“Aye, she certainly is. My big, grumpy kitten. So, since ye two are so steadfast on not bein’ flirted with, are ye lovebirds as well?” Cai asked in a low, hoarse voice.
Nessa could have sworn that she physically felt Elise’s gaze on her. Intently, intensively fixed on her. Strange.
“No. We’re friends. Travel companions who have become living companions,” Nessa answered.
There was a tense moment as the three peered over at Elise. Nessa looked over, too, and found Elise examining her fingernails very raptly.
Suddenly, Cai laughed. It was a raspy laugh, almost like a cough. Nessa saw that Cai was still looking at Elise who appeared to be rolling her eyes and laughing back.
“Am I missing something amusing?” Nessa asked.
Jac watched her with what looked like pity. “Ye certainly seem to be missin’ somethin’, sweetest heart.”
Nessa was about to ask what when Fyhre came back with two stacked glasses and a large pitcher filled with dark brown ale. It smelled like bread and sweet spices.
“Ah, Goblin’s Tavern ale. The quickest way to get a meal, get drunk, clean out yer belly, and wreck half yer mind – all in one badly washed glass,” Sanjero said.
“Ordered another pitcher. Barmaid will be bringin’ it over soon,” Fyhre muttered.
She sat down and began to fill everyone’s glasses. The ale ran out before she got to Cai and she mumbled, “Sorry, my cherished.”
“No bother. Me an’ our two new friends will be gettin’ the fresh stuff from the next pitcher,” Cai said with a smile and a nod to Elise and Nessa.
Sanjero swallowed a mouthful and said, “Ha! This stuff ain’t never been fresh, mate. T’was born gritty an’ well-aged.”
The barmaid brought over another pitcher. Fyhre thanked her and took it to fill the three empty glasses.
“To new acquaintances,” Elise said as she lifted her glass in a toast.
They all echoed the toast, with Fyhre only mumbling the last word. Then they drank deep. Nessa found that the ale didn’t taste as much of bread as it smelled. It was earthy, thick, and tasted of spices and honey. She liked it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Elise make a face which showed that she didn’t.
Jac laughed. “It’ll taste better after the third glass, Miss Elise. Even yer posh soundin’ tongue will get used to it.”
Elise held up her glass. “If it gets me inebriated, then yes, I believe I can get used to just about anything.”
With chuckles and clinked glasses, they had another toast to that and another large gulp of the cellar-chilled ale.
Nessa heard a gruff, very obviously drunk voice behind her say, “Hey, ’scuse me. Me an’ me mates over there have been lookin’ at yer scruffy crew. We saw three women an’ two men an’ then we saw ye.” He pointed to Cai. “We have a bet goin’ on if ye’re a lad or a lass. Settle the bet for us.”
They heard laughter and cheering from the table over, clearly the drunken man’s friends.
Cai, looking like this happened twice a day, sat back and smiled. “I’m not sure what that matters. Or if it’s any of yer busi
ness, friend. Say ye all lost the bet and I’m a goblin!”
Both Nessa’s table and the drunken man’s erupted in laughter. Nessa assumed that would settle it, the drunk would stagger back to what looked like a glass of brandy and they could return to talking. Sadly, the drunk man wasn’t smiling. He drew himself up to his full height and his sunburnt, wrinkly face frowned to a mess of reddish creases. His grey factory uniform was just as creased and had stains down the front.
“Don’t ye be tellin’ me what is or is not my business. Answer the gods-cursed question,” he snarled at Cai.
A tense and uncomfortable mood crept in. People at the surrounding tables were casting wary glances, squirming, and scowling. Even the harpsichord seemed to sound less joyous.
Cai blew out a long breath. “Fine, to keep the peace an’ to get us all back to our drinks… I’m a little bit of both. There. I’ve shared more than I liked, be pleased with that and get back to yer friends.”
The drunk laughed and was just about to say something which promised to not be very nice, when Fyhre pushed her chair away and stood up.
“Go back to yer table. Let’s all have a good night ‘fore we have to go to bed and prepare for another shitty day of work tomorrow,” Fyhre said through gritted teeth.
Now the drunk was smiling. “Lookin’ for a fight, big girl?”
A little of Nessa’s love for humanity drained. This was never about Cai or any bet. This man was miserable and wanted to punch his hate and venom into someone’s face. She had seen this far too often in Ground Hollow. Unhappy people loved nothing better than to make others unhappy. And if they were big, brawling men who couldn’t talk about their problems, they drunkenly brawled about them instead. She could see no way out of this. No matter what they did or said, this man was going to hit someone. Soon.
Elise leaned in and whispered, “This, well he, is gods-cursed unacceptable. Should we tell the people who work here?”
“They won’t get here in time, and they might not even care. This is a big, busy place – they can’t police every fight. Don’t worry, this will sort itself out,” Nessa replied.
She was trying to calm Elise’s temper so she wouldn’t cause more trouble. But this wasn’t going to sort itself out. She could feel her fists clenching under the table and she was wrapping her thumb between the second and third knuckle. She remembered how to angle her wrist and was ready to throw a punch if she had to. That was the thing about being from Ground Hollow, you learned early on how to throw a punch.
“Not lookin’ for anythin’ but a good time and bein’ left in peace. Go fight someone else, knucklehead,” Fyhre answered slowly.
Her conversation with this man was the most she had spoken tonight. It was impossible to miss that her body was speaking as well. Feet planted firmly, her shoulders squared, her biceps twitching as she tensed her arms and fisted hands.
Elise clearly couldn’t stand the silence. She glared daggers at the man. “This is utterly ridiculous. Surely you have better things to do with your time.”
Nessa looked over at her and saw that the mask of rage was back on Elise’s face. A vein pulsed in her forehead. An explosion wasn’t far off. Nessa took a shaky breath and placed a warning hand on Elise’s arm.
Sanjero stood up and held his hands out to the drunken man. “C’mon, mate. The two ladies on the other side of this here table are new to Nightport. Let’s show ‘em that it doesn’t live up to its violent reputation. Let’s show ‘em that we city folk are more civilised than the country-dwellers.”
Sanjero was smiling kindly at the would-be brawler and to Nessa’s surprise, the wrinkled, soused man smiled back. Then he threw a jab which hit Sanjero square in the jaw. Nessa was surprised it had hit home considering how the man could barely stand up without swaying. He must have some practise at this. Even over the din in the tavern, Nessa heard the blow connect. Sanjero's head flew back and he lost his footing, half from the punch and half from the surprise, by the looks of it.
Fyhre didn’t hesitate. She clocked the drunken man straight in the chest with her fist. The man coughed and splattered before he began to scream obscenities. His friends from the table next to them were on their feet in an instant and one of them rounded on Cai and Fyhre.
Wheels were set in motion. It was easy to see how this would play out. They’d all be covered in spilled ale, splattered blood, and bruises soon enough.
Nessa saw it all happen in her mind’s eye and once more went through how to make a fist and throw a punch. But she never had to use her fists.
Lady Elisandrine Falk climbed up on the table… and screamed. She screamed so loud that it would have shattered her ale glass if it hadn’t been so thick. It was a good thing that it didn’t shatter, because she was clearly gearing up to use it. She threw the glass, contents and all, in the face of the drunken man. The ale went all over him and the heavy bottom of the glass hit him on the bridge of his nose. After doing serious damage to his nose and forehead, the thick glass fell to the ground and cracked in two.
The drunken man screamed. The scream wasn’t as high-pitched as Elise’s but just as loud. He covered his heavily bleeding nose with his hands and, with a wobble, fell to his knees.
When his scream died out, Elise used the shocked pause to her advantage. She put her hands on her hips and loudly and clearly said, “We do not want a fight. We wanted some drinks and to make some new friends in peace. As that is not likely to happen, we simply want to leave here unharmed. So, I and my friends are going to walk out of this tavern and then you can all fight, or make insulting bets or whatever it is you wish to do.”
She stepped off the table with poise, took Nessa’s hand and led them out the door. Walking, but doing so briskly. Nessa saw that Fyhre, Cai, Jac, and Sanjero followed suit.
“How in the name of the gods did you know how to do that?” Nessa asked.
“What? Stand on a table, scream, and throw the nearest thing in the face of someone who annoyed me? Normal day at court, heartling,” Elise said with a shrug.
They were almost at the door when one of the drunken man’s friends, a tall, gangly man with greasy hair, decided that he wouldn’t let them leave so easily. He came running after them. They all rushed out into the street with the angry, lanky man right behind them. When he made it out to the street, he was met by a nicely crafted, burgundy leather boot which was extended out to trip him. He fell face first onto the cobbled street with a mighty thud. He rolled onto his back, groaning while wiping blood and splotches of horse manure off his face.
Nessa turned to look at who had tripped up their attacker.
“Why am I not surprised that you two have managed to find yourselves some real Nightport trouble?” Asked a grinning Hunter Smith.
Elise didn’t bother replying or greeting Hunter. She was busy using her own boot. The much smaller, heeled black boot was firmly placed on the fallen man’s neck.
“If you move, I will stand on your throat. I might not weigh much, but I wager that my bodyweight will be enough to crush your windpipe. The same will happen if any of your buffoon friends in the doorway come out here.”
The last words were directed at the drunken brawlers standing in the doorway, staring open-mouthed at what was happening to their friend. Clearly, this fight wasn’t turning out the way they expected. Clearly, they had never met Elise.
“I might also mention that I have this,” Hunter said and pulled a long, gleaming knife from a hidden sheath inside his coat.
The men looked from Elise to Hunter and then backed up, grudgingly retreating into the tavern.
“I’ll stay down. Just get yerself off my neck, lass,” the lanky man spluttered.
With some hesitation, Elise stepped off him. He stayed on the ground, wiping away more of the blood pouring from a gash on his chin.
Elise adjusted the complicated flares on the lower part of her dress which created the traditional bell shape. “Good evening, Hunter, thank you for the assistance.”
&nb
sp; “Looks like you did not require it,” Hunter said merrily, tucking the knife back into its hiding place.
As if following unheard orders, they all quickly, but with dignity, walked further down the road. They heard the lanky man scramble up and presumably back into the tavern. Soon they had a safe distance between themselves and the Goblin’s Tavern.
Nessa laughed. “Fancy running into you, Hunter! What are you doing here?”
“I go where the action is.” He bowed to the group. “Allow me to introduce myself. Hunter Smith, the night-time version, at your service. If you want gambling - I know the best dens. If you want drinks - I know the least toxic taverns. If you want adventure - I know of things that do not quite fall within the law but that will make your night very memorable.”
“Mm, and I’m sure all these places pay you handsomely for gatherin’ up some customers for ‘em?” Cai asked.
“A man must eat, gorgeous,” Hunter said. He looked Cai up and down with over-exaggerated appreciation.
Nessa caught Elise rolling her eyes at him and bumped her shoulder to keep her from saying anything.
“Well, at least now we know what it is you do at night,” Nessa said.
“I did not explain that to you before? Strange. I could have sworn I did,” Hunter mumbled, busying himself with wiping imaginary lint off his burgundy tail coat.
“Hang on, I know ye! Ye took me to that there card game by the port last week,” Jac said excitedly. “I made a killin’ that night. Enough to buy new tools an’ a romantic meal for me an’ the better ‘alf.”
“Aye, sadly that ‘romantic meal’ gave me a bad case of the shi… hrm… food poisonin’. If my memory serves, Jac got the name of the restaurant from ye as well,” Sanjero added with a glare at Hunter.
He sounded furious. Probably as much due to the memory of the food poisoning as the pain from the blow he had taken. Nessa looked closer. Sanjero didn’t look particularly injured but it was likely that one hell of a bruise was starting to form as they spoke.
Making a Tinderbox (The Tinderbox Tales Book 1) Page 20