Legendary by Amelia Kibbie

Author:Amelia Kibbie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Wild Press
Published: 2019-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

After a bit of asking, they managed to find the Hawk and Chick, a tiny pub squeezed between a wireless repair shop and a closed-up bakery. It was a brick blight with filthy windows. Inside was cramped and strange — the nook of a bar stood off to the right, tucked against the far corner. It was sectioned off from the rest of the pub by a half-wall that ran almost to the doorway they had crowded into. The tables and chairs and darts board were crammed on the other side of the partition. There were only two stools at the bar itself, and one of them was broken, laying on its side like a wounded warrior.

The walls were lined with built-in shelves, which suggested the little space had been something else before, a shop perhaps — but instead of tearing them out, the owner had filled them with things. Objects lined every available space: books, taxidermy, dusty fake plants and flowers, and decorative plates and beer steins as well. However, fish and fishing dominated over all else; tacked to the wall were old lures, poles, baskets, nets, and hats, as well as some trophy bass and other species James couldn’t identify. A shapeless, beige man and his equally drab female companion lounged at one of the tables staring silently at their pints.

Behind the bar, sitting on a stool, was an old man in a green wool sweater vest and a brown cap. He had a lush white beard kept trimmed close to his jaw. “Evenin’,” he greeted, and thumbed up the bill of his brown cap. As they moved inside, he extinguished his cigar stub into a small golden trophy cup that sat among the whisky bottles on the shelf behind him.

“There it is,” Lance mouthed at James, and jerked his head in the direction of the football cup. Aloud, he said, “Why don’t you all get a table? Drinks are on me, mates.” He winked.

James selected a table as far away from the dour-looking regulars as possible, in the back near the dartboard. Arthur lowered Mrs. Wylit into a chair and propped her against the shelf behind her, which rattled the collection of dusty porcelain figurines of fishermen and fisher boys.

“Surprised he didn’t call the place Fish and Tadpole or the like.” Arthur sank himself into a chair in increments. James listened to the groans and pops of the old wood in hopes it would hold Arthur’s weight.

“He didn’t seem like a... well, he didn’t seem grumpy.” James rested his suitcase beneath his feet. “Lance is so charming. I’m sure he’ll have the cup back in a heartbeat.”

Mrs. Wylit’s back stiffened, and her eyes shot open. “Charm isn’t everything, young man,” she scolded as she rubbed her temples and forehead. “They say Hitler was charming.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Vi,” James hissed as the drab couple shot questioning glances their way. “Are you really comparing him to Hitler?”

“I’m only... saying,” she grumbled, and shoved her hand into her bag to rifle through for her flask.

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