Page 17 of The Searching Songbird

“Wait!” she cried, hurrying after him. He stopped, hesitating a moment before turning around and facing her.

“Yes?”

“Who are you?” She shook her head. “I mean, thank you. You saved us.”

“Like I said, it was nothing.” He started to turn again, then added over his shoulder, “and the name's Grant. Draven Grant.”

Chapter Nine

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Draven forced his shoulders to relax as he strode off toward the harbor. Cool and casual. That's what he needed to be. Just a nice guy helping one of his fellow passengers. Anyone else would have done the same. It was nothing.

Except it wasn't nothing.

They'd spoken. She'd looked him full in the face, heard his voice, knew his name. Why had he told her his name? Cause it would have been even stranger if she ran into you on the ship and you hadn't.

Of course, he could have just done nothing. Let her deal with the thugs on her own. She was the one who'd willing placed herself in such a dangerous situation to begin with. It would probably have done her good to see what happened to overly confident fools who fancied themselves heroes. A lesson worth learning.

Yeah, sure, like that was going to happen. The moment he'd seen her approach them, he'd started making his way closer. The very thought of those two... cretins... placing their hands on her had made his blood boil. By the time he'd reached them, he'd been itching for a fight.

He smirked, allowing himself a moment of satisfaction. He'd gotten his pound of flesh, after all. Well, maybe not a pound... how much did ears weigh, anyway? He chuckled to himself. The brainless oaf had probably seen him as an easy target. He wouldn't have been the first person to underestimate him. But five years of forced military training combined with two years of dealing in the black market for the boss had provided him with a very specific skill set. One that enabled a person to avoid untrained attackers without batting an eyelash, turning the tables before they even knew what was happening.

Satisfying, indeed.

But his heroic act could very well throw a wrench into his carefully wrought plans. He was on her radar now, and all hopes of staying anonymous had flown out the window in a matter of moments. Not his finest work.

Spying a familiar building, he slipped through the door and took a place at the bar. The Drunken Monkey had proven to be an excellent place to meet with shady business men who dealt in the black market, selling so-called enchanted objects. A few of which actually were. It was also a fine place to sit and have a pint. Which sounded pretty good right about now.

“What're ya havin'?”

The tavern's barkeep, a hulking man with several small scars marking his grizzled face, looked at him expectantly. Draven looked up, lifting his cap a bit higher as he did. “A pint of ale and a favor would be great.”

The barkeep's lips turned up into a slow smile as recognition dawned. “Is that Draven I spy 'neath all that hair? Hardly recognized ya with that dead animal ya have growin' on yer face.”

Draven ran his hand over his beard. “What, you don't like it? I think it makes me look distinguished.”

The barkeep snorted. “More like it makes ya look like a half drunk sailor come straight off the boat.”

“Hmm. Mayhaps I'll need to rethink it, after all.” Draven pretended to give the matter some serious thought before breaking into a broad grin. “How've you been, Grady?”

“Never better. It just so happens that yer lookin' at the proud papa of a bran' new boy.”

“What? Mary had the baby already? I missed it?”

“Whaddya mean, 'already'? Ya ain't been round for half a year. Surely ya didn't think she was gonna hold it in till ya decided to make yer lazy way back, did ya?” The barkeep, Grady, shook his head in exasperation before pulling out a metal pint glass and filling it with ale from the tap. He slid the drink over to Draven. “There's yer pint. Now what's this about a favor?”

Draven accepted the glass, taking a long pull of the frothy beverage before responding. “I had a little run in with a couple of your finest residents. Two thugs named Gus and Hops. Ring any bells?”

Grady narrowed his eyes, clenching his fist around the dirty rag he'd taken out to wipe the counter. “Aye, I know 'em. Started a fight in here a few weeks ago, banged the place up quite a bit. Bloody assholes. What'd they do to ya?”

“Not to me, but to someone I'm traveling with. They were harassing one of the town's troubadours, an older man by the name of Willie. Giving him the shake down. A young lady who happens to be on the same ship as me decided to play the hero and stick her nose in the thing. When it looked like it was going to get violent, I stepped in and put a stop to it. It's all settled for now, I just wanted to ensure they didn't go looking for revenge on the old man after I leave this afternoon.”

“Any particular reason they'd been lookin' fer payback?”

Draven shrugged. “I may have sliced off one of their ears, but it was all in self-defense, of course.”