The
ship bucked around in the waves, making a large thudding sound as it grazed the
edge of the wharfage. While a passer-by might be alarmed at the sound, it was
as if he hadn’t felt it all. He was accustomed to the heavy thump of wood on stone,
accompanied by the abrupt jerk of the vessel docking. Even so, he couldn’t
suppress the slight upward curve of his mouth whenever he saw a fresh deckhand jump
at the loud thud.
As
the ship pulled into harbour, he prepared to disembark with what little he had
brought along for the journey. Were it a long voyage across the endless expanse
of the Boundless Blue, he might have had trouble unloading and carrying
everything himself. But moving along the coast, from one settlement to another,
did not call for much, especially when, if all went as planned, he would put
out to sea again in a few days, headed home.
It
was good to touch land again. There was no greater reassuring feeling than the
familiar solidity of the ground under his boots. He would miss the sea, but
only for a while – the longing for the Blue would gradually erode with the demands
and distractions of the city. And of course, there was his errand, the reason
for his return. The trunk slowed his progress through the streets, inviting
calls of anger as it inadvertently bumped, banged or stamped nameless thighs,
hips, feet and arms.
Ignoring
the jeers as his chest brushed against a score of people, he contemplated the
latest news that was on every lip and seemed to have stirred the entire city
into a frenzy. Since setting foot on the receiving platform, it was all he
heard. Something about rumblings in the south and what it bode for the rest of
the region. It passed on, from brother to brother, mother to daughter, wife to
neighbour. Even the children knew that something was in the air, even if they
couldn’t possibly comprehend the gravity of what it was they were getting
excited over. He mused whether this may have been the reason for his recall.
Can’t be bothered with
this right now. People will go after anything…
The
murmurs had germinated much earlier, of course, rooted in the idle gossip of
the palace that had somehow trickled down to the common peddler and idle
housewife. He had dismissed it then, as he was bent on doing now, but it seemed
that matters had snowballed into something bigger. Much bigger. And if true, it
threatened to consume them all.
All
he was preoccupied with for now was finding lodging for the night, pushing
aside anything that might hinder a good night’s sleep. His knowledge of the
city’s layout left much to be desired, but a half-decent inn could easily be
found at a reasonable price in a place this massive. His hands almost felt numb
from the effort of dragging the travelling chest – being at sea, with only
intermittent trips ashore, meant carrying enough for months at a time. One
never knew when one might run short or what the local establishments offered
along the way.
As
he continued down the path, almost losing his balance and toppling over a pair
of running children, his eyes caught a flash of something on his right.
Following the direction of the disturbance, they fell upon a dark alleyway
where an old man was being accosted by three younger men. The men seemed to be
in their prime, two of them brandishing sticks in the face of the white-bearded
man. The rays of the midday sun cast a tall shadow, as they fell over a tarp
hanging directly over the spot where the men were arguing. Thus, they were
hidden from the multitude of people passing by on the main street. The three
had cornered the old man and formed a tight semicircle around him, leaving almost
no room to manoeuvre.
From
where he was standing, the man could not make out what the disagreement was
about. All he could catch were was faint snatches of “give it…”, “harder for
you…”, “no resist…”. All of a sudden, one of the young men slapped the old man
on the temple and the other two joined in. Before he knew what was happening, a
flurry of pushing and pulling ensued and the four figures constantly shone and
dimmed as they emerged from and sank back into the overhanging shadow of the
tarp. At that, the man dropped his belongings and charged into the fray.
He
did not think before he ran. He didn’t need to. It was not his way. The old man
was putting up quite a struggle, determined not to go down without a fight. It
was futile and the man knew that time and age were against him. Eventually, Whitebeard
would succumb. There was no way that he could break out against three
attackers, all far younger than him – one among them seemed no older than
sixteen or seventeen. The man wondered whether the boy had been forced into
this.
Reaching
just in time, the man caught one of the attackers just below the elbow and
flung him down, just as the assailant was about to sink his fist between Whitebeard’s
nose and right cheek. Almost as quick, he ducked down as one of the other
attackers, stick in hand, was running towards him and caught him by one of his
legs, thrusting him upwards. The attacker was surprised and went down, his back
hitting the paved street as he was flung upwards. The third attacker, who had
had his stick against Whitebeard, now came for him. The first attacker was
beginning to stir, his eyes flaming.
It
went like clockwork. The man did not have to think at all, and did not hesitate.
Compared to the others, his movements were fluid. As the attacker clumsily brought
down his stick, the man ducked aside and snatched the stick, bringing it up in
the same movement and sending the other crashing down. He turned to the first
attacker who, by now, was fully up and awaited his move. The attacker decided at
another attempt and came thundering all out, with his head aimed at the man’s
chest. But the man was ready. He turned aside, while grabbing the man in a headlock
and hitting the back of his leg so as to send him sprawling again. The attacker
tried to get up only to find the man’s leg on his throat, effectively pinning
him down, making him taste the hard, uncomfortable touch of stone. And right
there, in the heat of the melee, it happened.
It
manifested itself in the inexplicably rapid blinking of the eyes. At first, it was
nothing but a wisp, insignificant, within the grasp of his will. It was like
the slightest drip in his mind, a scarlet gash across his consciousness. Before
long though, and he was sure of this, the incessant chirping would soon gather
steam and become a raging storm, insatiable, trenchant in its drive, holding
the strings to his every move.
And
bringing the worst with it.
No, not now. Not here. Not
this time.
In
the sheer chaos of it all, the man noticed that Whitebeard had not fled and was
standing there, either frozen in astonishment or unwilling to abandon the man
who had saved him. For the most part, he seemed relatively unharmed and if anything,
appeared to be egging the man on, pausing only to taunt the attackers when ,
inevitable, one of them would go down, victim to the man’s glaring finesse, and
failing to see the wisdom of abandoning the assault.
Now
the fighting devolved into brutal, street hacking. With his leg still keeping
down the first attacker and the stick firmly in his hand, the man challenged
the other two. They tried to come at him but he violently shoved aside their
arms with the stick. Swinging the stick kept them at bay, but he finally let go
of the first man to face them all head on. Time
to finish this. Had enough for one day…come at me, you miserable bastards.
The
first attacker was still coughing and massaging his neck from the man’s counter.
As the second attacker came to his comrade’s rescue, the man ducked under one
of his swinging arms and hit him hard on his back. As the attacker stumbled,
the man hit him again on the same spot and ended with a forceful blow on the
upper arm. The third attacker had become wary and after seeing what had
happened to his friends, decided it wiser to keep his distance from the madman.
The other two came to as well.
The
man grinned, but it was not aimed at the hopelessness of the others, who were,
at best, amateurs at their honourable profession. To his surprise, he found
that it was at the abscess within.
It
was reeling. It had tried to suffocate him, as it had before, but this time, it
hadn’t succeeded and he would make sure it would not again, even if it meant
his death. This wouldn’t be the last time, but it was a start. It was not
beyond his control, and he knew now that it could be tamed.
Ha. I have you now.
He
just had to find the right way.
One
by one, the man helped the attackers up by the arm but would not drop the
stick. They seemed to think the better of it and withdrew, glancing back at
him, unsure whether he would jump them while their backs were turned.
Wouldn’t blame them, the
way they turned out.
After
following the departure of the attackers and making sure they were well and
truly gone, the man went over to Whitebeard.
“You
alright, good sir? I must get you some help,” he asked, his hand reaching out
towards what he could make out were faint bruises on the old man’s temple and
forehead.
“Fine,
I’m fine, young man, don’t you worry about me. Spectacular! Absolutely
spectacular! Boy, you sure showed them. Unbelievable, man! What are you, eh?” the
old man said excitedly.
“Please
good sir, did what I had to. My only regret is that I didn’t jump in sooner –
probably wouldn’t have turned as nasty as it did,” the man said.
Whitebeard
reassured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Ah it’s ok, these things happen
all the time. Such a big city, who’d miss another old guy? Don’t worry son, you
did more than enough – certainly more than most would have done. Those men
would’ve cleared me out if you hadn’t come charging in. Probably worse.”
“Well,
it gladdens me that you’re fine and in good spirits. If you’ll allow me, I must
be on my way and…gather my things,” the man finished, looking around and
finding his still-intact chest. Throughout the fight, it had remained secure.
“Ah,
you new in the city?” Whitebeard asked, catching sight of the chest and
noticing the man’s attire, slightly crumpled with flecks of dust after what had
happened only moments ago.
“No
sir, not new, been here a handful of times before. Got a job to carry out and
then I’m gone. For a while, anyway.”
“Ah,
I see. How’d you get here? Surely something of that size would require a
carriage, but you don’t seem to have one. At least not one that I can see.”
“Came
in by sea, sir. Ship just docked, not too long ago. I’m just looking for a
place to stay. I remember there was an inn somewhere here. Would be nice to
find it quickly, this handle is killing me,” he said, tapping the chest.
“Oh,
a sailor. Adventurous, eh? Always wanted to go out and experience the Boundless
Blue, but could never muster the courage. I mean, what’re you supposed to do if
the boat springs a leak? At least when you’re on land and a wheel pops off or a
horse’s leg gives out, well…you’re on land.”
The
man was amused and laughed at Whitebeard’s words. He was exactly how he
appeared: simple and unassuming. Unlikely there was anything else beyond that. The
man liked such people, and in these times, they were missed.
“You’re
right, sir. But…oh, what can I say, I love the sea. That part of me will never
die. And when you’ve been on deck as long as I have, those misgivings vanish.
Come to think of it, not sure whether I even had them, to begin with.”
“I really must be getting on my way now. It
was nice meeting you, sir, hopefully we’ll cross paths again. In different
circumstances, I pray.”
As
the man walked away, straightening his travelling chest and making sure all the
latches were still in place, Whitebeard called out after him, “Wait, wait! Your
name. You did not tell me your name!”
But
all he saw was the back of the receding man, his dark cloak flowing out after
him.