A Debt To Faceless Men-Part II (Rated MA/Strong Language)

The next morning, the Inn of the Green Eel was abuzz even before the sun had fully revealed itself from behind the horizon. Men were already filling the tables, stuffing down fried sardines and washing the spice from their pallet with bitter wines; trying to recover from a night of drunkenness or working on a day on it. The air was ripe with the scents of baking bread, stale ale and sailor musk, and the talk was that of this port or that, western rebellions, shifty traders or wonton women all spoken in a dozen different tongues. Only a few noticed the moment the well dressed youth entered. They gave him a quick go over, a loathing squint, then quickly went back to breaking there fast and drowning their ailments. His golden hair was fine and neatly combed flowing in waves to his shoulders, and beneath it, piercing eyes of bronze. He wore a silken tunic of the same color as his locks, seamed with white and trimmed with a lighter shade of violet. Dark brown trousers covered his legs, with knee-high boots of blacked leather to shield his feet. A longsword hung from his belt with an ebony hilt carved in the likeness of a serpent. Too pretty to be a sailor, the men could see that clearly; perhaps the son of some wealthy trader, or a traveler from the west looking for some grand adventure in the lands beyond the sea, full of pride and a young fools bravery.

The Inn keeper seemed the most leery of him, it was plain to see in his beady eyes when the dapper youth requested wine. The Inn keep was an ugly, portly man with the lips of a fish and hair as wild and black as a boars. He had a boars nose as well, tilted upwards and flattened against his pudgy red face, and he smelled as though he had some dead and rotting creature buried in the folds of his neck. The youth had to ask him twice before the Inn keep finally broke his glare with a grunting response. “Coin first, Don’t trust no stranger no matter how much silk they wrap up in.” The youth tossed a silver stag at him, but even that he did not trust. He had to bite at it with the remaining few teeth he had to be sure of its authenticity. He still scowled at the youth begrudgingly but took the coin all the same. The youth found himself a table near the back of the Inn seating himself with his back to the wall, allowing for a good view of anyone coming or going. When the Inn keep finally brought the wine, the youth stopped him before he could wobble away. “A cog named The Busty Gal has taken port in Ragmans Harbor, set to sail west near dawn. I have heard her Captain frequents here, favors your smoked fish to take with on his voyages. Do you know of whom I speak?” The Inn Keep looked around to be sure nobody was noticing him conversing with such a fancy fellow. “I might. Depends upon who’s ask’n?” The youth grinned, pulling a golden coin to dance across his fingers. “A dragon.” The inn keep licked his lips as his sausage like fingers reached for the gold, but the youth closed his palms around it could be claimed.

“Aye.” the Inn keep said, sweating at the prospect of reward. “Soggy Jon they call em. But if ya come to kill em, ya best go right back where ya came from. He’d eat a pretty lad like you ta break his fast.”

“I have no need of his life, Only his ship. I must book passage west as soon as yesterday. The Busty Gal is worn but swift I hear.”

“Aye, that she is. And not a finer Captain in Braavos to sail er.”

The youth opened his palm, But again before the man could grab it, his palm closed to the Inn keeps increasing dismay.

“And where would I find this captain?”

The Inn keep leered at him, until the youth revealed the coin once more, this time the Inn Keep was quick to grab it less it be hidden once more. He pointed to a table next to the door where three drunken men sat laughing.

“...There.” he grunted, before wandering off to his business, one dragon wealthier.

Of the three men siting at the table, one was massive Braavosi merchant with skin as black as coal and a buttocks so large it needed two chairs to support it. He was slapping at his belly with one hand, pouring wine messily down his throat with the other, letting the majority of it miss his lips and soak his braided beard, dyed purple and orange. What escaped his whiskers was absorbed into his silken robe of lilac and maroon, and he didn't seem to notice or care about the dark red stains that were growing larger on his chest with each sloppy swig. His companion, seated next to him, was a twig in comparison though equally flamboyant in appearance. Dressed in silken finery with a rainbows array of colors, and jewels of jade, aqua and ruby graced each of his finger. He had the face of a buzzard, dark eyes with a long hooked nose, thin pink lips and prickly white scruff covering his sunken cheeks. His old age was undeniable, though his head was still full of black hairs, weaved into a braid so long that he could wrap it about his neck as one might wrap a scarf. When he grinned, his smile revealed a mix of gold and silver false teeth with a sparkling red jewel on his incisor. The smile was always followed by a wheezing laugh that reminded one of either a madman, a dying man, or both. Across from merchant and his associate, was a broad chested man of fifty or so, who the youth immediately identified as the Captain he sought. His thick beard hadn't yet gone completely over to gray, but was well on its way with only a few strands of black left within it. His attire wasn't near as luxurious as his Braavosi friends, in fact, he looked a ragged man in comparison; A simple dingy white linen shirt beneath a faded leather jerkin with a thick collar. Too much wine had turned his cheeks red and slurred his speech, but he seemed joyful enough and coherent enough, even as he swayed gently in his seat.

“So I grabbed the bastard by his neck,” he was saying between laughs as the youth approached the trio, “and I said to em, Im'a count them coins again, and if they come up short even a penny you'll come up short a head before I set sail again, be sure of that. Gwahaha. And wouldn't ya know it, I look down to find the bastard done pissed himself and all over my new boots. So I gave his neck another squeeze and said, for your sake best add another five stags before I get to counting. Haha.”

The fat Braavosi burst out in hysterics, choking on his wine and spilling even more on his robes, while the skinny one held his sides not knowing which hurt worse, the laughs or the fits of coughing between them. The captain was wiping a tear from his eye when he looked up to see the youth standing beside him.

“What have we hear.” he said through a chortle, “Cant you see this here is the mens table boy? On with ya, less ya make Zhorin here jealous with that fancy hair of yours.”

The skinny man snorted, running a bony hand down the length of his braid. “Only a westerner would envy hair of gold. Braavosi prefer their gold on coins, not on the head of some flowery scented boy with a woman's face.” Zhorin spoke in his native tongue, and his mocking smirk turned swiftly to surprise when the young man responded in Braavosi as well.

“And a westerner might mistake that braid of yours for a rope old man, and think to wrap it tighter around your neck then you would find comfortable.” Zhorin puffed his chest, showing more of his frailty then his bravery. “Best watch your words stranger, some men here might take them as threats. Men who don't take threats lightly, men who could buy a sword to cut your neck as easily as buying a loaf of bread.”

“I would not know. Where I come from, if one were to be too loose with their tongue, any man of honor would make him answer for those words with his own sword,” the youth tapped his finger on the hilt of his sword, “less he be named a coward. It's a weak and fearful man that must turn to a sell sword to do his dirty work.”

Zhorin answered the insult only by curling his greasy lips inward to lick at them.

“You talk too much boy.” the Captain interrupted, “less you have business here I suggest that ya move on. I won't be kept from my drink by a pretty boy and his puffed up words.”

“my business is with you sir. I seek passage on the Busty Gal, I hear your the man to arrange that.”

“I ain't no sir boy-”

“Locbridge, Timmon Locbridge of Silverhill.”

“Timmon locbridge, Timmon the talker serves ya better with that mouth of yours. Aye, the Busty Gal is my ship, but it won't serve you none. I already got me a pretty boy on-board, don't have no needs for another; less ya have somethin tight and wet beneath them breeches o'yours. The men might appretaite a lil comforting on them long nights. Otherwise, bugger off and find yourself another captain. Might be a Penthoshi or two here that wouldn't mind a pretty young lad to keep their beds warm.”

the fat man bellowed, dumping down the last of his wine before waving the Inn keep over for another.

“Here...” Timmon pulled a pouch from beneath his waistband and tossed it towards the captain, who's eyes widened with delight when he heard it jingle upon hitting the table. “Something better then cunt, and enough to purchase as much of it as any man would care to taste.”

The captain scooped up the pouch, weighing it in one hand. Even the Braavosi seemed intrigued and delighted, each one watching the Captain as two dogs might watch their master waiting for him to drop a few scraps for them to fight over.

“That mouth of yours get ya into a mess you can't handle boy? If so, you can shove this coin right up your pretty arse. I won't have some Braavosi brutes look'n to shove a sword through my belly for help'n a craven runnoft on what he's got due.”

“None enough to leave me sleepless. I seek a woman. She waits for me in Stormsend, though I fear she will not wait much longer, hence my urgency.”

“Give me coin,” The fat man spoke in a mix between Braavosi and broken westerosi. “I get you a dozen fine women, who will all wait for your unto their last breaths, if you wish it. Good woman, jewels in the flesh, serve you better then any western shrew who know nothing of pleasuring a man. Yes, give me coin, and good Galios will make it so.”

“I am sure I could find my share of good whores good Galios, if that were what I sought. But the woman I seek has something to give more valuable then flesh.”

Galios shrugged, “Your loss, more for good Galios.”

“I knew such a woman once.” The captain proclaimed, tossing the pouch from hand to hand. “Long legs, full breasts and eyes like sapphires to steal a mans heart. Aye, I was young as you lad when first we met. She was a Myrish gal, with skin as soft as a babies and lips sweeter then wine. One night before I was to set sail, we spent all the late hours wrapped in each others embrace we did. She said she'd wait for me as well. Next I saw her, she had tits that dragged on the ground, her face looked like a rotting squash and six babes were trail'n after er skirt tails. May be that you come to find the same fright wait'n for you in Stormsend. None of my concern either way.”

Soggy Jon tucked the coins away into a pocket sown into the inside of his jerkin. “We sail at noon, with or without ya. Might be you'll be sleep'n with the crabs in the hold, but I'll find a place for ya. Wouldn't sleep well knowing I left a young man longing for his... waiting maiden.”