(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 15 by Secret Scorpio

Author:Secret Scorpio [Scorpio, Secret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I felt a hot resentment. I’d come out for a quiet evening bellowing out the old songs and this rast wanted to stir up trouble and spoil it all. I determined, mean and vicious, that I’d spoil his fun, that I’d not react, that he could cuss until he was blue in the face and I’d give him no satisfaction. I’d ruin his enjoyment and he could jibe and mock and insult all he liked.

I said to Laka and Nidar, “I’ll play the cramph along. Take no notice.”

Laka knew me and so laughed, falling in with the ploy. Nidar favored me with an old-fashioned look, but said nothing.

The fellow who got his kicks from being unpleasant wore too much gold lace about his buff. His face was lean and marked by a scar, and his mustaches had been clipped. I noticed the emblem he wore at his throat, a little gold strigicaw and swords, swung on a golden chain. He did not speak directly to me but insulted me through his cronies, in the way of these fellows.

“He perhaps thinks we are woflos who come here. His senses probably do not even understand that small thing.”

Nidar leaned across fiercely and said under his breath to me: “Let me blatter the fellow, Nath.”

“Tsleetha-tsleethi,” I said, which is to say, “softly-softly.” Nidar’s offer to bash the fellow in for me amused me. Normally quick to avenge an insult, on this night I wanted to bash this insulting fellow with more subtle weapons than a set of knuckles or a rapier in his guts. He persevered. His cronies tried to help his game. They called him Rumil the Point. I turned my back on them and bellowed for more ale. The song had changed and so we could all sing The Worm-eaten Swordship Gull-i-mo which is a Vallian sailor’s song, for a few swordships are employed in sheltered waters. That song is known in many anchorages in Kregen, and I’d sung it as a render up in the Hoboling Islands.

A hand touched me on the shoulder. I turned. I stopped singing.

Rumil the Point stood up, leaning over me, his lean face black with his sense of insult, because I took no notice of him whatsoever.

“Rast!” he shouted, thumping my shoulder, speaking thickly, either drunk or pretending to be drunk.

“You do not insult me and stand on your own stinking feet!”

I shook his hand off and started to turn back to the two Pachaks, determined to play my part out to the end. By Zair! But he was in a paddy! He just couldn’t believe that I didn’t consider him important enough to worry over. He felt at a loss, puzzled, reduced in dignity, his pride shredded.

“Then I’ll settle you, you zigging cramph!”

I saw Laka’s face go hard and I heard the scrape of steel and so knew I had miscalculated. With a motion I trusted would be quick and fluid enough I slid aside and turned back. This Rumil the Point stood glaring at me.

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