The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

20-2: Seven Sevens [continued]

FIRE

"Deklow," she insisted, "I want to buy the inn. I have a whole bag of gold. How much do you want for it?"

"I told you, Merilyce, The Perfumed Fisherman is not for sale."

"Fine. You know what. It stinks of fish, and I'm done with fish. I will find another inn to buy, and I will be your competition."

Merilyce stormed out of the inn, and kept marching to the rhythm of the persistent arguments within her mind. She didn't stop until she reached The Spotted Seahorse, a tavern well known for not having any dealings with the criminal underworld. She stormed right in and went straight to the bar.

"I want... Deklow? What are you doing here?"

"Me? I work here. What are you doing here?"

"I... What? I just saw you in The Perfumed Fisherman?"

"Yes. I run a few places, actually."

"Well... I assume you aren't planning on selling me this one either?"

"Afraid not."

"Fine," she spat, and rushed out of the door.

On she went, determined to purchase a tavern, and still be able to settle in before the evening rush. She crossed the market square and followed a seedy road filled with women wearing barely enough to satisfy Constable Pektyne, should he happen to be in the neighbourhood. It wasn't the most reputable area, but men looking for paid company were prone to reducing their inhibitions before doing something their wives wouldn't be too pleased about. She stormed into The Old Unfaithful with renewed vigour, and slammed the bag of gold on the counter.

"I want to... Deklow? What the... How the hell?"

"Merilyce? Nice to see you again. Would you like a drink?"

"Would I... No! I would like an explanation! Just how many taverns are you working in... at exactly the same time?"

Deklow sighed.

"Look, if I tell you, will you leave it alone?"

"No, of course not," she said. "But if you tell me, and show me how to do it, then I won't tell anybody else about your little secret."

*    *    *

ICE

Pektyne was furious. It wasn't that he was completely against crime. No, crime had its place in society. It was disorganised crime that riled him. Makyron wasn't working for someone, he was just an opportunist. It was up to Pektyne to stop these heinous acts of unsanctioned crime.

"Wha'?" exclaimed Tyke. "Issa broken compass. Wha' you wanna go chasing him down fa?"

"It's my compass!"

"You foun i' onna ship."

"Yes, well, it's still mine."

"Bu' it don' even work."

"I know that."

"Jus 'ave an ale and forge' it, please," rasped Tyke. "Deklow?"

The innkeeper brought another round of drinks, two for the city watchmen, and one for Rendyle. The navigator had taken to drinking with them instead of the wrecked ship's crew. Deklow had a strange expression on his face as he surveyed the three of them.

"You alright, Deklow?" asked Pektyne. "You seem... worried."

"No. It's nothing. Just... not what I expected."