When he’d entered, no one had lifted their head or paid any attention at all except an older man behind the long bar on the far side of the room. The rest of the space stretched wide, low tables scattered between evenly spaced pillars. There was a fire going in a hearth to the left. To the right of the bar, stairs curved upward to an open second floor. A wooden railing encircled the space above, overlooking the room below.
About half the tables were occupied, groups of two to four, all men, with the look of common laborers and middle class merchants. Maybe a dozen men in all. There was one barmaid serving, not Pink Sally, and the barman who was still watching him, casually wiping the same mug over and over.
He paused at the door and concentrated on his Blood Sense. Nothing unusual stood out, every thread looking more or less the same.
He crossed the room and as he reached the bar, the barman spoke before he could. “Good evening, M’Lord.”
“Are you Pete?”
The man wiped his hands on the stained cloth he’d been using and nodded. “I’m ol’ Pete.” He leaned in a little, resting his elbows on the bar. His eyes ran up and down Harry. One brow lifted, slow and deliberate. “What can I help you with, my lord?”
Harry fought the urge to straighten his waistcoat and cleared his throat, “I’m looking for Pink Sally.”
Pete’s grin widened. “Ah, I see…” He dropped his voice, leaning closer. “Would you be the gentleman who ‘rescued’ her out back this past night?”
Harry shifted on his feet. “Err… yes. We met last night.”
“‘Met.’” Pete chuckled, glancing around the room. “Good one. Wish I could meet our Pink Sally.”
Harry felt his ears go hot. The joke grated. He opened his mouth to answer…
:: System: Use skill [Mesmerize]? (Y/N)
No. He’s just being crude.
He took a calming breath, but didn’t try to remove his scowl and met Pete’s eyes. “Is she here?”
Pete raised both hands in mock surrender. “Now don’t go getting angry at ol’ Pete.” He gestured toward the stairs. “Let me see if she’s receiving at the moment, m’lord.” He came around the bar and headed up the stairs.
Harry waited, nerves chewing at him.
System, is this a good idea?
:: System: Current data is inadequate. Alternative courses of action are limited.
True enough.
The bar noise pressed in from behind him. Muted laughter, mugs clinking, the pop of the fire. It didn’t make waiting any easier. Harry turned, scanning the room.
One man shoved his chair back. It scraped loud against the floor as he rose, pointing an accusing finger with one arm. The other was splinted and bound tight to his chest.
“Oy, it’s you.”
The noise faded as heads turned.
Harry blinked. The face looked vaguely familiar. “Stan?”
He looked bigger than Harry remembered, or maybe that was just the two men rising beside him, flanking him like hired muscle.
Stan’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted into a scowl.
“What’d ya do with my mate Oliver?”
Harry frowned. For a moment he was completely thrown. “Why do you sound Cockney?”
Stan shrugged off the hands of his friends, who seemed to be encouraging him to stay in place, and stalked toward Harry. “What? Are you mocking me?”
“No, I was just surprised.”
“Where’s Olly, then? What’d ya do with ’im?”
Harry spread his hands in what he hoped looked calm, though his pulse said otherwise. He eyed the splinted and bound arm. He’d injured this man once already. Thug or not, Harry didn’t want to do it again. Or anyone else. Especially not anyone else.
“I’m not sure… he was still in the alley when I left.”
Stan’s friends slowly trailed behind him and took up their positions on either side.
Stan’s face darkened. “He weren’t there later. Nor in his room. You did somethin’, I know it.”
:: System: Use skill [Mesmerize]? (Y/N)
No. If it fails, he’ll know… and then the whole bar will know. They’ll know what I am.
:: System: Worst case he would know he failed a save check. He would not be notified of your class.
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Just wait. Too many witnesses when something goes wrong.
Stan loomed over him now, his two friends a step behind to either side, their faces tight with discomfort. One of them muttered, “Come on, Stan. He’s noble. You’re gonna get us in trouble.”
Over Stan’s shoulder, Harry saw every eye in the room watching them as men leaned back in their chairs to watch. A few grinned, waiting for trouble to start.
Stan’s jaw worked. “I'm gonna give this little lording trouble if he don't answer what happened to Olly.”
Harry lifted both hands, palms out. “I feel like we got off on a bad foot.”
Stan and his friends glanced down at Harry’s boots, confused.
When they looked back up, Harry cleared his throat. “How about I buy you gentlemen a drink?”
One of the friends brightened. “There ya’ go, Stan. He’s a friendly sort. Let’s have a drink and hear ’em out.”
Stan scowled, hitching his belt with his good arm. The movement drew Harry’s attention to the truncheon still hanging from the strap at his side.
“One drink,” Stan said, voice low. “But yer explanation best flow along with the ale.”
His friend clapped him on the back. All three men turned their expectant eyes toward Harry.
Harry patted his pockets. Eyes going wide in realization.
Oh crap.
“Um… hold on. It seems I forgot my wallet.”
Stan’s friends groaned, their brief excitement fading. Stan’s face went from red to really red as he stepped forward, drawing back his arm.
Harry was seeing in slow motion again, just like when Olly stabbed him. Every detail stood out. The twist of Stan’s shoulder. The clenched jaw. The knuckles whitening as the fist came forward. He didn’t move. He watched in fascination as the punch kept coming, wide and heavy, until it filled his whole world.
CRACK.
His head snapped sideways, jaw exploding with pain as he hit the bar and slid to the floor.
:: Damage: -1 [Health], +10 [Stun]
A new counter blinked into view. One he hadn’t seen before.
H: 99 | S: 10 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
Stan howled. “Me hand! He busted me hand!”
Harry blinked up from the floor, watching the room spin. Stan hopped in a circle, cradling his good hand under the splinted arm.
Harry shook his head and the room settled into place.
System, what’s stun?
:: System: As stun damage approaches 100, the probability of losing consciousness increases.
Harry groaned. Perfect. And don’t ask me to use mesmerize.
In the odd way time was crawling, Harry heard a slowed voice from one of the tables, casual and amused. “Idiot hit ’em in the head.”
Someone else agreed, speaking just as slowly. “Aye, always go fur the gut.”
Harry rolled onto his side, trying to get his bearings. He pushed up to all fours just in time for a boot to crash into his midsection. The blow folded him in half and sent him back into the bar before he hit the floor again.
:: Damage: -0 [Health], +5 [Stun]
H: 99 | S: 15 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
:: System: Use skill [Frenzy]? (Y/N)
Harry snarled. “What? No! Don’t ask again.”
That stopped Stan for a heartbeat, but only one.
“Don’t.” He landed another kick.
H: 99 | S: 20 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
Harry’s hands were free. Stan was close enough to grab. He could fight back.
Or the thread coming off him. Easily in reach, waiting.
He curled tighter, arms protecting his head.
Stan timed the next kick poorly. “Ask.” Kick, it bounced off Harry’s legs.
:: Damage: -0 [Health], +0 [Stun]
H: 99 | S: 19 .. 18 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
Stan was already slowing down. Each kick landed softer than the last. Between blows, Harry could see the numbers in his vision flicker, the stun counter dropping even as Stan’s kicks added to it.
“What.” Kick. That one hurt. Right in the middle of his back.
:: Damage: -5 [Health], +10 [Stun]
H: 94 | S: 28 .. 27 .. 26 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
“Again.” Kick. Stan was wheezing.
:: Damage: -0 [Health], +5 [Stun]
H: 94 | S: 31 .. 30 .. 29 .. 28 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
A pause. Then one of the friends spoke. “Don’t do it, Stan. We’re likely already in the clink for certain.”
Harry risked a glance up. Stan was fumbling for the truncheon on his belt, his already swelling hand not cooperating.
Their eyes met. Stan swung a kick at his face, but it hit Harry’s arms instead.
:: Damage: -0 [Health], +0 [Stun]
H: 94 | S: 25 .. 24 .. 23 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
A moment later, the friends seized him by the shoulders and dragged him toward the door, Stan cursing under his breath all the way out of the inn.
Harry flopped flat onto his back. He caught a flash of pink disappearing down the hall above, then the lovely view of Ol’ Pete grinning over the railing like he just got a pony for his birthday.
By the time the barman came down, the stun damage was gone and Harry was pulling himself to his feet.
H: 94 | V: 85 | TM: 15%
:: System: Use Skill [Self-Heal] (Y/N)
Not now.
Pete slipped behind the bar like nothing had happened. He grabbed the same filthy towel he’d been using earlier and held it out. “Quite the show, mi’lord.”
Harry stared at the towel but didn’t take it. He touched his face instead. His upper lip felt split, a little wet, but not bleeding.
Pete shrugged. “Sally’s waitin’ for you. Room two-oh-two.”
Harry turned toward the stairs. Halfway up Pete called out, “Give her my regards.”
There were a few laughs from the tables.
Harry stopped. One hand on the rail, knuckles turning white.
Let it go, Harry. Hide it. Can’t show them what you are.
He let out a long breath and kept climbing.
***
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