“Not even the woman?”
“I know her. She’s from the Diamond, so she’s not an idiot. Not stupid enough to seek retribution, and she was adequately cooperative.”
“Really?” Hadrian wondered if he were dreaming, or perhaps dead. He should have been lying on a lonely road outside of town, his body burned with tar and covered in feathers, not waking up in a cozy private room.
Royce saved me but didn’t kill anyone? Apparently the world has forgotten how life works.
Spotting a washbasin on a dresser, Hadrian went over and splashed water on his face, then dried himself with a folded towel. He turned around, and his hands went to his sides. “Where are my swords?”
“No idea. Where’d you leave them?”
“What d’you mean where’d I leave them? I—”
I dropped them. And I took off the spadone before that. They were all near the bar.
“Didn’t you notice they were missing?” Hadrian asked.
Royce nodded.
“You didn’t think to get them back?”
Royce scowled. “Don’t see why I have to do everything. Need a hand when you piss, too?”
Hadrian threw the towel at him. Royce dipped his head, and the cloth flew out the window.
“How late is it?” Hadrian grabbed his cloak and hung it over his arm.
“Midmorning. You had a good rest. We missed breakfast.”
“Excuse me while I get my things.”
Royce stood up.
Hadrian stopped him. “No—stay here. My turn.”
Heading down the stairs, Hadrian noticed that the barroom was different. Morning light flooded in through the windows as well as the door, all of which were open to admit the breeze to the otherwise stuffy room. Gill was the first person Hadrian saw. The kid wore a stained apron and was rushing to clear tables where recent breakfast patrons had left plates and cups. Fearful that the ones who had taken his weapons would be long gone, Hadrian was pleased to see Bull Neck and his orange-clad partner at the same table where they’d sat the night before.
Wagner was still there, too, behind the bar, the same towel hanging over his shoulder. With his attentive publican eyes, Wagner was the first to spot Hadrian. Concern flooded the barkeep’s face as he glanced toward Bull Neck’s table to check if they’d seen him. Hadrian recognized two other faces at a different table. Not the men that had held up the post—not Brett and Larmand—but these men had been there. Scarlett wasn’t.
Getting up late had the benefit of a sparse crowd. Decent folk had come and gone. Aside from the ones he intended to speak with, Hadrian saw only one table of bystanders. A small family near the door was finishing up their porridge. The boy tilted a bowl to his lips, and his mother and father scolded him for bad manners. A girl in pigtails sat on a chair too big for her, swinging her legs.
Hadrian walked past Bull Neck and company to the bar, where Wagner pretended not to see him.
“I want my swords back.”
“What swords are those, friend?” Wagner smiled and pulled the towel from his shoulder to wipe dry hands or perhaps wrap around knuckles.
Hadrian smiled back. He’d hoped it would go this way. While he didn’t normally seek revenge, he didn’t appreciate being taken for an idiot.
Besides, a fight ends when one person hits the floor. This fight hadn’t ended. It hadn’t even started, but it was about to.
“Seriously?” Hadrian turned from Wagner and walked over to the family. Fishing out a silver tenent, he clapped it on their table. “This breakfast, and the next one, is on me.”
The man stared at him, looked at his wife and kids, and then asked, “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m going to ask you to take your family and leave. Right now.”
The man narrowed his eyes and glanced at his family once more. “Again, I have to ask why?”
“Because none of you were here last night when I was drugged and robbed.”
The man didn’t look as shocked as Hadrian expected. When the man leaned over and looked at Bull Neck, Hadrian realized the fellow wasn’t as innocent as he’d first appeared. Hadrian had spoken loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, and Bull Neck and his orange-clad pal were grinning. The kids’ mother was already up from her seat. She scooped up the coin, and without waiting for her husband, led her children out the door.
Hadrian waited.
“I think I’ll stick around,” the father told him, an amused, almost eager, glee in his eyes.
Hadrian nodded, then closed the front door to Caldwell House, sliding the bolt across. Turning back to the room, he saw that Bull Neck and his friend had risen to their feet.
“You, in the orange,” Hadrian said. “What’s your name?”
The man adjusted his belt and rolled his shoulders, making a show of loosening up. “Mostly, I’m called Bad-News-for-Bloody-Strangers.” He laughed.
Bull Neck laughed with him. The rest smiled. “But you can call me Clem for short. I’m tellin’ you so you’ll know who laid ya low.”
“Ah-huh.” Hadrian nodded. “Well, Clem, you’re gonna want to take that nice tunic off. Red and orange clash, and bloodstains are difficult to get out.”
Clem laughed again. No mirth in it, but rather the sound of cruelty being fed. “Don’t worry, I think I can avoid getting your blood on me.”
“No blades,” Bull Neck said, punching one fist into a palm. “And no creepy friend.” He glanced toward the stairs to make sure that was true. “And no woman to protect you.”
Woman to protect me? Isn’t she the one who drugged me?
Hadrian couldn’t figure out what had happened after he passed out. Bull Neck mentioned a creepy friend, but if Alverstone had come out to play, there would have been a lot of blood and more than a few bodies.
“You’re in for some serious trouble, struth, yes—I can tell you that!” Bull Neck nodded his sincerity. “Weez gonna pound you to flour, boy. Weez surely are. Gonna mash you down to wort. You gonna be nothing but paste.”
“You lads want to take this outside?” Wagner asked.
“I’d be happy not to do this at all,” Hadrian replied. “Just return my swords, and we can all have breakfast.”
“Breakfast is over, tosser,” Bull Neck declared. He was cracking his knuckles and smiling so wide his gums were showing.
Hadrian ignored him and stared at Wagner for an answer.
“Don’t know anything about no swords, mister.”
“I think it’ll come back to you after a few of these nice tables are broken.” Hadrian moved to the middle of the room, the most indefensible place he could find. He hated starting fights and didn’t think he’d have to this time. Presenting himself as an easy target was like laying out steak in front of hungry dogs. These men had wanted to beat him senseless since he’d arrived.
Bull Neck came at him first. He’d gone to the trouble of shoving Clem aside so he could have the first strike. Hadrian intended to indulge Bull, even though he had nothing against the man. There had been a lot of Bulls in Hadrian’s life—big, loud, demanding men who expected respect based on size and volume alone. A few could fight, but most never bothered to learn because they assumed superior bulk was all that combat required.
Bull was the latter. Not the sort to use weapons, he probably had a fondness for fists and chokeholds. Hadrian wasn’t going to make his point with Bull because he disliked his brand of fist-first thuggery, but because Bull looked like he could take a beating. The best way to change minds was to break the biggest bones first.
Bull took three lumbering steps, punching out with his big left fist in a wide roundhouse swing.
A lefty.