Jimmy said, “Laurie plays what is popular, not always what is good. That way he eats.”
Laurie finished to a loud round of applause and began another song. It was a bright, ribald chanty, sung by sailors throughout the Bitter Sea, telling of a drunken seaman’s encounter with a mermaid. A group of sailors fresh off a ship set up a clapping accompaniment to the song, and one took out a simple wooden pipe and played a clever countermelody. As the rowdy mood of the room increased, Laurie slipped into another bawdy chanty regarding what occupies the captain’s wife while her husband is out to sea. The sailors cheered at this, and the one with the pipe danced before the bar while he played.
As the festive feeling in the room increased, the front door opened and three men entered. Jimmy watched them as they slowly made their way through the room and said, “Uh oh, trouble.”
Martin looked to where Jimmy was watching. “You know them?”
“No, but I recognize the type. It’s the big one in front who’ll start it.”
The man in question was the obvious leader of the three. He was a tall, red-bearded fighter, a barrel-chested mercenary who had let most of his powerful frame run to fat. He wore two dirks but was otherwise unarmed. His leather vest barely closed over his gut. The two behind him looked like fighting men. One was armed with a variety of knives, varying from a tiny stiletto to a long dagger. The other wore a long hunting knife at his belt.
The red-bearded man led his companions toward Arutha’s table, speaking rudely as he pushed all aside who blocked his way. His manner wasn’t entirely unfriendly, for he exchanged loud, coarse jokes with several men in the inn who obviously knew him. Soon all three stood before Arutha’s table. Looking at the four seated there, the red-bearded man let a grin spread slowly across his face. “You sit at my table.” His accent betrayed him as being from one of the southern Free Cities.
He leaned forward, fists on the table between the plates of food, and said, “You are strangers. I forgive you.” Jimmy’s mouth dropped open and he instinctively pulled away, for the man’s breath betrayed a day already spent drinking and teeth long gone to rot. “If you were Ylithmen, you’d know when Longly is in town, every night he sits this table in the Northerner. Leave now, and I won’t kill you dead.” With that he threw back his head and laughed.
Jimmy was the first on his feet, saying, “We didn’t know, sir.” He smiled weakly as the others exchanged glances. Arutha indicated he wished to quit the table and avoid trouble. Jimmy made a show of being scared to death of the fat fighter. “We’ll find another table.”
The man called Longly grabbed Jimmy’s left arm above the elbow. “This is pretty boy, no?” He laughed and looked at his companions. “Or maybe it’s girl, dressed like boy, he’s so pretty.” He laughed again, then looked at Roald. “This boy your friend? Or is he pet?”
Jimmy’s eyes rolled heavenward as he said, “I wish you hadn’t said that.”
Arutha reached across the table and put his hand upon the man’s arm. “Let the boy go.”
Longly swung a backhanded blow at Arutha with his free hand, knocking the Prince backward.
Roald and Martin exchanged resigned looks as Jimmy quickly raised his right leg so he could reach the dirk in his right boot top. Before anyone could move, Jimmy had the point of the dirk placed firmly in Longly’s ribs. “I think you’d better find another table, friend.”
The huge man looked down at the thief, who barely reached his chin, then at the dagger. With a roaring laugh, he said, “Little fellow, you are very funny.” His free hand shot out and gripped Jimmy’s wrist with unexpected speed. With slight effort, he forced the dirk away.
Jimmy’s face became beaded with sweat as he struggled to escape the viselike grip of the red-bearded man. In the corner Laurie sang on, ignorant of what was occurring at his friends’ table. Others nearby, used to the activities of a seaport inn, were making room for impending trouble. Arutha sat on the floor, still groggy from the blow, then reached down and loosened his rapier in its scabbard.
Roald nodded to Martin and both slowly stood, making a show of not pulling weapons. Roald said, “Look, friend, we mean no harm. Had we known this to be your usual table, we’d have stayed clear. We’ll find another. Let the boy go. “