Chapter 77: Second Mate Boris
Before the drunkard could finish his words, Bronn's laughter echoed through the hall.
Bronn had been wanting to laugh for some time, but Ser Lucien had warned them not to make any conspicuous gestures, so he'd remained silent. But now that Ser Lucien had spoken, Bronn had no reason to hold back.
"I love her!" the drunkard practically roared, then glared at Bronn fiercely. "Are you laughing?"
"No, I'm not." Bronn dipped his bread into the soup, as if the drunkard's threatening glare didn't exist.
"You are laughing!" the drunk roared, his fists pounding the table. "No one laughs at Boris of the Cinnamon Wind, no one!"
Bronn suddenly felt a tug at the hem of his shirt. He turned back and saw Ian whispering in his ear, "Provoke him, but don't kill him."
"Truly? Well, I am laughing," Bronn laughed even more brazenly. "And I laugh whenever I want. Not even the old gods and the new, the Red God, or any other god in existence combined, can deny me that right."
Boris stood up and glared at Bronn fiercely. Bronn calmly placed his right hand on the dagger at his belt, ready to open the man's throat if he took another step.
Perhaps sensing the killing intent in Bronn's eyes, or perhaps seeing that none of the people at Ian's table seemed easy prey, Boris suppressed his impulse in a rare moment of clarity.
He stopped advancing on Bronn and stood still, attempting to save face. "So you're not curious how I managed to escape from three gold cloaks and still sit here today?"
"Is defeating three gold cloaks, who any whore could easily handle with a stick, something you'd boast about?" Ian challenged him again.
Ian wasn't about to give this man a graceful exit; he wanted him to take offense, so he could subdue him later.
Seeing the embarrassed expression on Boris's face, Ian added, "But it looks like you didn't defeat those three gold cloaks at all—you ran away like a whipped dog."
Boris hadn't thought much of it at first, but after hearing Ian's words, he felt instantly humiliated. He even sensed mockery in the looks his crewmates gave him.
Under the influence of wine, Boris's anger surged, and he reached for his sword. Unexpectedly, Bronn sprang to his feet, shoving him against the table with his left hand and pressing the dagger in his right hand against his throat.
Then, both tables drew their weapons, causing the other patrons in the tavern to retreat hastily. A sellsword who'd been rushing from his seat was caught in the worst position. The sudden surge of violence in the tavern froze him in place, unable to move.
The crashing waves outside, mournful and distant, echoed through Blackwater Bay like a nighttime dirge.
The din of the tavern vanished, leaving only the sound of the sea breeze against the shutters.
Bronn applied slight pressure, and the cold kiss of the blade's edge instantly sobered Boris. He quickly released his grip on the scabbard at his waist and gestured to his crewmates to lower their weapons.
"Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, m'lord, a misunderstanding!" Boris immediately admitted his error and begged Ian. It was obvious that Bronn wasn't the one in charge. "Please, let me go."
"By my usual temper, I should have him cut your throat for the way you lunged at my man just now," Ian said with narrowed eyes. "But you mentioned just now that you're from the Cinnamon Wind?"
The Cinnamon Wind was the ship of the Summer Islander captain Quhuru Mo. The moment Ian heard this information, he suddenly had an inspiration.
He needed to fabricate a story, one that would both explain to his sellswords the circumstances of his upcoming treasure hunt in King's Landing and leverage these sailors.
"Ah? Yes, yes!" Boris said, as if seeing a ray of hope. "I'm the second mate aboard the Cinnamon Wind. My captain is Quhuru Mo, m'lord. I..."
"So you're one of Captain Quhuru's men?"
"Yes, my captain, Quhuru Mo," Boris breathed a sigh of relief when Ian seemed to recognize the name. "From the Summer Isles."
"You're a fortunate man," Ian said, setting down his wine cup. "Your captain just saved your life," Ian said, raising his cup to the still-shaken Boris. "Let's drink to the health of Captain Quhuru."
Ian's men and the sailors on the other side exchanged uncertain glances before raising their cups in response. The tense atmosphere, at least on the surface, dissipated.
This made the tavern keeper, who was hiding on the second floor and secretly observing through a crack in the boards, breathe a sigh of relief.
He quickly ordered the serving girl who was also hiding there to bring the remaining wine and food to the gentlemen at that table, then continued to observe from his hiding place.
Seeing Ian's attitude, Boris breathed a sigh of relief as if he'd been granted new life, then approached Ian's side in a fawning manner: "M'lord, are you acquainted with our captain?"
"You're confused because I don't look like someone who would be friends with Summer Islanders." Ian placed his longsword on the table—he was about to add a new chapter to the identity of "Ser Lucien." "Isn't that so?"
"I dare not say, m'lord."
Ian was momentarily speechless. This sailor's wit was clearly lacking. Didn't "dare not say" mean admitting it? But he didn't point it out and began weaving his new backstory.
"We certainly didn't seem like the type to become friends," Ian nodded. "Our first encounter was on the Summer Sea. Captain Quhuru's ship intercepted my father's vessel, forcing us to heave to and become his... guests."
Boris's smile froze. What kind of blood feud was this?
"Relax! If we hadn't finally made peace and become friends, you'd be dead now," Ian said, patting Boris's shoulder in mock reassurance.
Boris forced a smile, uglier than weeping. The brief encounter had made him fully aware of Bronn's deadliness. He knew the young lord's words weren't empty boasting. If they'd intended to kill, his table of crewmates would have been no match.
"Because we identified ourselves and agreed to pay compensation, Captain Quhuru didn't harm us. Instead, he provided us with comfortable accommodations," Ian continued, knowing Boris didn't doubt his tale. "Of course, the coin for those comforts was separate. That's sailor custom."
The crewmen smiled knowingly at his words.
(End of Chapter)
[+500 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[+10 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]
If you enjoyed this chapter, leave a Review!
P*atreon/Soulforger (25+ advanced chapters)
Buy me coffee - ko-fi*com/soulforger01