A Pirate's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 20 - "As long as you say what I like, then I won't kill you."

Isla gripped the handle of her sword, needing to pace but unable to do so. Beside her, Hawk was a pillar of calm while Isla wanted to tear the world around her to shreds.

The tailor's shop smelled sweetly of pipe smoke. Spaced about were mannequins dressed in the latest fashions. Along the walls were bolts of fabric. Water soft silk, shimmering satin, heavy wool, supple leather, crushed velvet. Behind the counter, a boy about Sparrow's age busied himself with mending and cutting.

Isla stared at his bent head and the mop of blonde hair. It was too easy to see the boy as Jakks and how his life would have been different if he hadn't joined her father's crew. She squeezed the handle, trying to bury her memories. All they produced were a riot of doubts.

Jakks had offered to pay her debt, to save her from Lord Sutherland and she refused. Only now she was in Talvin putting her trust in a man that she hardly knew and trusted far less. Growling in frustration, Isla spun towards the door, drawing Hawk's attention.

"I'll be at the tavern when you're finished," she said, storming out of the shop.

On the street outside, she released a tense breath. Though in the heart of summer the sun barely warmed the city. It's pale light reflected off the sides of buildings, the white harsh to look at.

Around her, Talvin was washed out. The people with their light skin, light eyes, and light hair looked like they were bleached. The only bit of color was the peach, lavender, butter yellow, dusty pink, and tan that they wore. Isla cut her way through the crowded roads towards the tavern. With her sun-darkened skin, she was the only flame of life in a current of ghosts.

The smell of ale and a simmering fish stew wrapped around her as she stepped into the establishment. Except for the barman, and two grizzled patrons it was empty, the day not yet into the afternoon. Tek paused in his wiping of the counter, to nod at her in greeting.

"What can I do for you?" he asked.

"Mead," she said.

Whipping away the cloth, he grabbed a glass and uncorked a bottle, pouring a good measure. Isla laid a coin on the counter and accepted the drink. Taking a table halfway to the door, she sat. After a single sip, she set the drink down, knowing she needed all her wits about her.

There was a silence in the tavern that spoke of the morning. The two men in the corner murmured to each other, as if afraid to be overheard. The pattered of the barman's steps filled the room with a soft tap tap as he bustled about, cleaning glasses, polishing bottles, and stirring the stew.

Isla looked to the empty chair beside her. For a breath, she imagined her father sat there, his strong countenance staring back at her with warmth. She stared, waiting to hear his voice in her head, telling her what to do. Telling her she wasn't damming herself and the crew with their presence in Talvin. But all she heard was the low rumble of voices and the soft tap tap.

The drink remained before her untouched. It had taken them four days to repair the ship and for the crew to be back in a place where they could climb the rigging and man the sails. It was four days that plagued Isla with indecision. Raif had not repeated his offer but she knew that it still stood. When she told Hawk that they would accept, she felt as if she were signing a death warrant. But still, they had come to Talvin.

The door to the tavern opened and Hawk strode in followed by Raif. On docking, he had explained that clothes and a cut would be needed. To show up at Lord Sutherland's looking like a ragged sailor would not work.

So there he stood with his hair trimmed, jaw clean-shaven, and wearing a fresh shirt and trousers. He was the embodiment of all Isla hated. Noblemen with wealth and power. They held the livelihoods of men in their hands but held no regard for their lives.