Page 25 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“How about that be your last drink, mate? Eh?” Lincoln said to Hill evenly. He took the buccaneer’s empty mug from his hand and placed it on the bar.

The Sybil Curse’s crew was used to the days and nights of getting sloshed until they passed out. However, given they needed to leave Brecken Port that evening and journey to the Eastland Forest, Captain Lincoln had to get Hill sober. Even just for a few hours while they left Zemiran waters.

Hill braced himself on the corner of his chair, nearly tipping it over as he maneuvered his way back to the bar. “Fill ’er to the brim, wench,” he said sluggishly to the barmaid, ignoring his captain’s request.

The skinny pirate flinched, bracing himself for the slap that did not come.

“Aye,” the captain muttered quietly to himself, “this isn’t goin’ to end well.”

The barmaid yanked the empty mug from the counter and gritted her teeth. “Who ye callin’ wench, ye bilge rat?”

Hill flashed his yellow teeth and looked down, staring at her full and voluminous bosom. “Are ye flirtin’ wit’ me, darlin’?” he asked, speaking to her chest.

Her shoulders stiffened—her nostrils flared. “Get out of me tavern!”

A slow smirk reached Hill’s lips right as the woman’s brother, Edgard, walked in from the back, folding his arms over his puffed-out chest. Lincoln had met the lad a time or two during their visits. He owned the bar with his sister, Sarah, and they had not encountered any issues for the most part. Until then.

A stern glare rose on Edgard’s face. He growled at Hill, his lip curling up to show his teeth.

Hill’s smirk faded quickly to a flat line. And though he had seen the look in Edgard’s eyes, he did not step back, only stood stiff, swaggering back and forth on his heels.

“Edgard, he ain’t worth it, Brotha. We’re just dealin’ with another drunken princock.” Sarah leaned forward, so close that Hill was forced to look into her eyes. “I said, get out of me tavern, worthless spine.” She smirked at her remark while the pirate lusted after her pink, heart-shaped lips.

Tipsy Penny was not a fighting man, nor sharp-witted. And, despite the woman’s brother glaring him down and being three times Hill’s size, he leaned forward, placing his elbows against the bar. She, too, moved closer, meeting him halfway.

“What’s the matter, pirate,” she said, the smile on her lips grew wider, “had yer tongue pruned?”

No, Hill was not a fighting man, but he sure knew how to start one.

Hill closed the gap between them and planted a kiss upon her lips. Then he decided to push his luck, wrapped his fingers around her shirt’s collar, and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

With the kiss lasting longer than Edgard could handle, he rushed to land a blow on Hill’s gut as he pulled him from Sarah.

Then, the fight broke out.

Kitten and Mazie watched the encounter from a distance, staring at Edgard, who lunged at Hill. Boots pulled his peg leg off and brought it savagely at the back of his head like he was swinging a bat.

As any other harbor tavern, at the fall of one man, the ones around engaged in the brawl. Fight. Fight. Fight. The crowd chanted. Beer soared through the air. Empty rum bottles crashed on the floor, and one or two teeth flew by as the punches arrived.

Kitten drew her sword as Edgard lurched at Boots, but she quickly realized it was just another bar fight.

Tipsy probably deserves the floggin’,she thought, before shoving her sword back into the leather scabbard.

Mazie shone Kitten a look, her teeth flashing a half-smile before her fist came out and crashed into the nose of a male patron at the table next to them. He had only been minding his business.

When the man sprung forward to defend himself, she raised her knee, connecting with his nose. Lincoln watched as the lad tried to flee the assault, wailing and throwing his hand up while red spewed from his bloodied face. Mazie gripped the clothes at his shoulders and hurtled him across the table with one heave.

“Bloody hell, Mazie!” Lincoln shouted.

Ardley slapped his knee and tossed back the last of his drink as Edgard struggled to hold Hill and defend himself from Boots.

“—bloody hell to the lot of them,” Lincoln shouted to his redheaded matey as they watched Tipsy, who wobbled around every time Edgard swung his fist at Boots.

“We should really break this up and finish here. We ought to get our supplies,” Ardley reminded the captain, still gripping his mug tightly in his fist, shouting over the banter. “We only have three hours before we head out to sea. As fun as this is, Captain, we don’t want to draw any more attention to us.”

Lincoln nodded, pulled his boucan from the sheath, and hurled it across the room until it hit the bar, the blade sticking into the wooden surface. Boots and Edgard broke their fight, both staring at the weapon that stood upright between them.

Sarah pulled Hill from her brother’s grip and slapped the lanky pirate hard against the cheek. “Scallywag!”

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