canica (2/7)

Dice clattered. The islander rumbled in his islander’s accent, thick syllables and drawling vowels. ‘The Margravine’s desperate, sending her dogs this far west.’

I’m only here to roll dice, I said.

‘Sure you are. Then roll.’

When he caught me cheating he slammed his fist down hard enough to topple his friend’s drink. ‘You Grey whore,’ he snarled. And so on. ‘Get the fuck out before I throw you out.’

I would tell you to suck my cock, I said, but since I don’t have one of those, I guess that you'll have to make do with your mother’s.

He swung. I ducked. Grabbed him. I heaved him across the table, screwed up a handful of his hair and smashed his face into the wood. Coins, dice scattering. Chairs scraped back. A pair of shouts behind me. I shoved him to the floor and drove my boot into his stomach. It was already over. He reached up to cradle his broken nose. The next kick ruined his jaw.

When one of his friends grabbed my shoulder metal sung at my hip as I tugged free my blade and then the world blurred. I danced. I knew none of them. The hilt felt cool through the cloth of my glove.

‘He lives?’ he asked.

Yes.

‘You used the words I gave you?’

Yes.

He nodded and sat back. The ship rocked and creaked and waves slapped at the hull. At that moment I nearly asked him why. Then it struck me how dark that night was, and I looked for the moon. I found it choked by storm clouds.