Page 53 of Apple Boy

Adam stepped forward and faced up to my attacker “Let him go and get outa the way, or I swear to the Gods—” The burly sailor just looked him in the eye and then laughed out loud his hot putrid breath stinging my eyes. Damnation! I could not let this get out of hand. I snuck my hand into my pocket and clutched the Star-fall. It warmed to my touch as if greeting an old friend. I schooled my features and gave the sailor a determined, withering glare.

“Take. Your. Hands. Off. Me!” I said, using my voice to punch each word into his pea-sized mind. At once, the sailor unhanded me.

“Now, move and let us pass or it will be the worse for you,” I said, my voice pitched dangerously low. The sailor’s companions once again erupted into bellows of drunken laughter, but this time, of disbelief. The sound was cut-off and replaced by gasps of dismay as the sailor suddenly bowed to me and then simpered apologetically. He righted himself and then held the tavern door open for us to enter. I could feel Adam by my side, his shoulders shrugging up and down in silent mirth as we stepped through the door and into the drinking den.

The Half-Mast Tavern was not as I’d expected. The décor was carved timber of a surprisingly high quality of artistry, and there was a definite ship theme. I looked left and right, then up at the ceiling and realized then that the establishment itself was made from the interior of a broken down hull, and the tall, thick timber pillar in the center of the crowded taproom was indeed a ship's mast.

Adam gripped hold of my cloak so as not to lose me as we eased through the crowd of raucous seafarers who were standing around low tables where games of Crown & Anchor, Craps, and Liar’s Dice were in full swing. A roar of disdain rose from one table to our left, and two men stood swiftly, knocking the table over, fists and curses flying and in the process the dice and coins skittering across the straw-strewn floor. Suddenly, the barkeep appeared from the crowd having leapt over the counter with a most nimble, athletic display. He rushed forward, the crowd parting at once to let him through. Large rough hands grappled with handfuls of homespun shirt fabric, and he separated the two sailors.

“You knows I’ll have none of that in my pub!” The barkeep scolded as he dragged both drunken sailors through the jeering crowd and toward the door. He then pushed them through the door and into the rain-soaked street.

“I ain’t barrin’ ye Jem Barclay and Pete Naylor. Not yet! Ye can come back when you’re sober if yous got the stones to apologize!” Turning back into the tap room the barkeep made his way through his patrons and leapt back over the bar. The pin-drop silence was cut by the barkeep’s announcement of: “Gentlemen, if you choose to game here be sure to know three things: the rules, the stakes—and when to quit!”

This was met by raucous laughter, and then the barkeep grabbed for a cloth started to wipe down the counter. The atmosphere eased, and the patrons continued with their games.

Adam was frozen at my side through all of this. I gave him an elbow in the ribs to wake him from his fugue. “Is it him?” I mouthed. Adam nodded eagerly and his mouth hitched to a broad grin that made his whole face light up. A dart of happiness ran through me. I was so relieved we would not have to scour the whole damn city to find Evan Sewell. I was also thankful we had not located him locked in the city gaol, or hanging from a gibbet.

The description that Adam had given of his brother was not quite accurate. Evan’s hair was no longer in a warrior’s tail, but cut to jaw length and hanging loose. His skin was not as tanned as Adam’s, probably because he was no longer working the land, and he now wore a close-cropped beard. Beneath the rough dark stubble, his bone structure was as fine as his mothers, but he had his father’s small, dark, suspicious eyes.

I placed my hands on Adam’s shoulders and steered him forward through the crowd until we reached the bar. The barkeep was drawing two flagons of cider for a pair of dark-skinned Terrian sailors. They pushed their coppers across the counter; Evan grabbed them and pressed the coins down into the front pocket of his leather apron.

“What’ll it be?” He said, not directing the comment at anyone in particular as he fisted a cloth and cleared a spill from the spigot of the cider barrel.

I took the initiative and spoke up before another customer could steal his attention.

“Cider, for two if, you please.” Evan’s brows rose at hearing my clipped Thornian accent, but he did not look at me directly. He drew two more flagons of cider. Adam pressed to my side, and I could feel his excitement tingle on my skin. He was sure this man was his errant brother. The barkeep turned and delivered the drinks to the counter and then, at last, he made eye contact.

“Evan” Adam exclaimed. The barkeep’s eyes darted to meet Adam’s, and then he turned away. He picked up a rag and a bottle and made to clean it.

“Evan Sewell, fer God’s sake. Don’t ye dare turn away from me, ye shite! I’ve come all the bloody way from Mallowick te find ye. Ma’s going mad not knowin’ if her first born’s alright or dead in a ditch!” Adam fiercely blurted out. The bottle slipped through Evan’s hands and smashed onto the timber deck floor. The whole tap room erupted into roars and cheers at the misfortune. Evan gave a flourishing bow as if he had just performed a jest for them.

“Next time I’ll be charging, ye dogs!” He hollered at the sailors roared with laughter in response.

I was perplexed. I witnessed the anxiety and longing etched on Adam’s face at his brother’s rebuttal. He wanted so much to be recognized and welcomed by his kin. I understood that feeling all too well. Why was Evan behaving in such a way towards his brother? I was sure there was more to this story than I had been made aware of. Adam told me Evan left after an argument with his pa and traveled to the city for work. But I was confused as to why had he not even sent a missive to his mother?

Evan turned back to us and stared at Adam. The look Evan sent was not one of happiness and welcome; it was stricken. Adam’s hopeful smile dissolved and my heart near broke for him. It was more than clear to me that this meeting was unwanted and Evan did not wish to be found.

Evan pursed his lips into a scowl and gave a near imperceptible shake of his head from left to right. Of course! It hit me then that for whatever reason he was not using the name Evan Sewell here and Adam had been calling that name out, loud and clear for all manner of ruffian to hear. Evan fixed Adam with a murderous glare and then loudly said,

“Ah, yes, you’re here to inspect the barrels. Jake, watch the bar for a minute”, he called to an older fellow who was seated at the end of the counter supping from a tumbler of dark amber liquid. He slid off his stool and made his way behind the bar as Evan passed the rag to him.

“This way!” Evan said a narrow-eyed glare and sharp nudge of his head directing Adam to follow to the back of the common room.

“Will you be alright on yer own? This lot is rough old dogs!” Adam whispered.

“Aye, I can look after myself. Off you go!” I insisted. I watched with trepidation as Adam and Evan sauntered through a carved archway and down a narrow ship's corridor. They entered a room together, the door closing succinctly behind them.

I sat on a tall stool at the bar, minding my own affairs, supping tangy cider for something to do. Some moments later my hand instinctively moved down to my left pocket where fat fingers were attempting to push in. I swiftly grabbed the two middle index fingers and pulled them back sharply. A raw, raspy holler of “SHIIIIIT” made me turn to see that one of the sailors had been trying to pick my pocket. I recalled where he’d been sitting—at a table with three other men where a game of Liar’s Dice was in progress. They were now all howling, one of the men sweeping coins from the table and distributing them amongst himself and another sailor. It appeared they had wagered this old fool could not pick the pocket of the pretty lordling. They were correct!

“Lemmie go, lemme go. Yous broke me bleedin‘ fingers!”

I gave his fingers one last pull to make him squeal a little more, “Serves’ you right!” I said reproachfully, “Now be off with you before I call my friends over from The Bargewright to give you a good hiding!”

I knew that with my fine attire and golden blond hair I stood out like a third nipple. It had been so much easier to integrate with common folk back in Mallowick when I was as beaten down, starving and as disreputably clothed as they were.

The laughter and raucous banter ceased all of a sudden, and flagons thudded onto tabletops with finality. The tavern fell into an unnatural silence. I wondered if I was the cause of this, but then the tavern door banged closed, and I turned to see three men had entered. They were covered in rain dampened road dust and appeared bandy-legged as if they had ridden a long way on horseback to find The Half-Mast Tavern. The men were all heavy set, with thick beards in black, brown, and red and dressed in weather-worn black leather skirts and knee-high boots in the style of Corvayan mercenaries. I was familiar with their ways as my father’s man; Gregor Mackier schooled me in hand-to-hand combat as a lad. He had hailed from the Brech Hills of Corvay and told me many tales of his traditions.

The atmosphere in the tavern immediately changed from jovial and sporting, to the anxious feeling of standing on a knife’s edge. Players were sweeping coins from the tables and pocketing them as if they knew something I did not. I wished I had taken a booth, because I was seated at the bar counter with the two Terrian sailors and in my finery I was like a beacon seen from the crow’s nest out at sea.