Her brother stared at her, half out of his chair. “Maine? What are you doing here?” He grabbed her arm, as if to reassure himself that she was in fact standing in front of him. “You’re supposed to be back at the Factory!”

She shook off his hand. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

“Maine!”

She huffed angrily and crossed her arms. “I’m trying to find the Firstborn, of course. Somebody had to!” She watched as her brother started to grind his teeth.

“That’s what the Marshalls are supposed to be doing!” He pressed his palms into his face and dragged them down. “I can’t believe this! I really can’t believe this…” He sighed and cracked one eye open. “And I see you brought Dandy along again…”

Dandy waved his hand nervously. “Uh, he-hello Mr Maierson… How are you doing?” Her brother didn’t answer, just stared at him. “Ummmm… Can you promise not to tell my parents I was here?”

Maine tapped her foot impatiently. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell us what you’re doing here?”

Her brother flushed suddenly, as if embarrassed. “No!”

“No?!”

“No, because I don’t have to,” he told her, starting to smile. “I’m an adult and I can go anywhere I want to, unlike some people.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him for a moment as he gloated, then an impish smile spread across her face. “Ok, fine. I just wonder what Miss Imi’s going to think about this…”

His mouth fell open in shock. “You wouldn’t!”

She leaned in close, enjoying the moment. “Try me.”

There was a small bang at the door, and Donovan poked his head through. “Keep it down in here!” he warned them with a glare. “Not a peep from here on out!” Then he slammed the door shut.

Maine and Matthew both glanced furiously at the other, then rushed to the door, pushing and shoving to find a spot to watch.

“Let me see!”

“Move over!”

Her brother rose up on his tip-toes, peering through a crack in the wall, while Maine ended up having to crouch, squinting through the keyhole. Dandy sighed, then laid down on the floor, looking under the crack in the door.

On the other side of the door, the bar was all in a stir, patrons chattering nervously and looking around. The security Trolls were moving away from the walls while Donovan had moved to the center of the room, his hands raised.

“It’s alright, remain calm,” he told the room, all smiles. It seemed to work, the crowd went silent, though Maine thought that was probably more due to the Trolls distributing weighted clubs and brass knuckles to each other.

Oskar then shuffled in front of the office door, blocking their view. “Is everything ready?” Maine heard him whisper to Donovan.

“As it’ll ever be,” he said tensely. He took a waiting shot from Holly and downed it swiftly. “Make sure everyone knows that whatever happens, we won’t be the ones to start it. Tell the lads the Lady will personally see to whoever does so.” Oskar nodded and shuffled away.

Donovan took a moment to ready himself, then turned and nodded towards the doors. One of the Trolls guarding them turned and pushed them open.

There wasn’t a sound in the bar as the group walked in. Four large men led the way, rough, canvas sacks over their heads and clubs in hand. They were beefy men, with heavy arms and barrel chests. They pushed their way in, shoving the crowd aside and clearing the space in front of the doors. Aside from the sacks, each wore rough working clothes, and a red bandanna tried across one arm.

“Just like the men at Hennas!” Dandy hissed.

Maine nodded. “And like the ones who chased us out of the market!”

Matthew started. “What was that about the Market?”

The door shook gently as someone kicked it. “Quiet down!” they heard Holly hiss.

The men had spread out in a rough semicircle now, slapping their clubs in their hands as they waited. The crowd was eyeing them warily. A few customers, notably those in the back, were bold enough to shout insults, but they were few and far between.

“Adams go back where ya came! Old Coney don’t want ya!”

The men slapped their clubs harder in response, but Maine could see the sweat dripping down their necks, and the gleam of their eyes as they flicked back and forth behind the crude holes in their masks. They were outnumbered here, and they all knew it.

Apparently Donovan could see it too, for he laughed aloud. He walked to the center of the room, and stopped in front of the largest man, staring him up and down boldly. “Now, now, let’s not turn away these brave boys here!” he told the crowd. “Not without a gander first, at least! I mean, look how well they dressed up for all of us!”

On cue, the Trolls began to laugh, deep and heartily, and then so did the rest of the crowd. The men shifted nervously, obviously unused to this kind of reaction. A few more insults started flying as the crowd grew bolder. Donovan let it go on for a moment, then waved his hand and the laughter slowly died out.

“You can always tell when men have come to do the Lord’s work,” he said, his voice strangely chilling. “Wearin’ masks, ridin’ in the dead of night, yeah… I’ve seen plenty of your type before…” He leaned close to the larger man, staring him in the eye through the mask. The man had several inches on him, and from the way his arms were straining the stitching on his sleeves, probably twenty or more pounds, but there must’ve been something in Donovan’s gaze that he’d been lacking, for he swiftly jerked his head away.

Donovan nodded and stepped back. “Well, we’re done admiring your men, and you’re wasting valuable pouring time,” he called loudly towards the doors. “So will the big cheese enter please!”

There was a moment’s hurried conversation, and then a thin, sneering young man walked stiffly into the bar. His suit was fine, though it seemed a bit baggy on him, and his hair was slicked back so fiercely it might as well have been cast in lead. He came to a stop behind his men and waited, as if letting the crowd admire him.

“Trimble!” Matthew whispered, the words slipping out between clenched teeth.

“From the Auction?” Maine asked. “What’s he doing here?”

“Shhh!!” Dandy hissed at them both.

Donovan was looking with disappointment at the younger man. “Why you’re just a little cheddar! I was expecting your father to show up at least.”

Trimble sneered. It seemed to be the only expression he knew. “My father has more important things to do than visit a little bar like this one.”

Donovan bowed, and the Trolls laughed crudely again. The masked men shifted nervously and Trimble seemed to flinch, and he eyed the door.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Off to a great start,” Donovan told him. “But, there, there, as long as you and your men behave, I promise no harm’ll come to them.” He spread his arms wide. “The Lady has a strict rule: she visits no trouble on those that haven’t started it first.”

The crowd didn’t seem to agree with that though; Maine could hear angry murmurs and some shouts from the back of the room. The security Trolls glanced about, hefting their weapons in warning, and Donovan raised his hands.

“I mean it!” he shouted. “Anyone who starts something unprovoked will answer!”

There was a sudden shouting match in the crowd, and a dark-skinned angry Dryad pushed his way through. “Unprovoked! Look at what they did to me!” he shouted. The skin on his face was badly charred, and his oak-like branches of his hands and antlers were broken. He pointed his cracking fingers at them. “They rushed my cart, pushed me down into the road! They beat me, tried to set me ablaze!” The crowd roared in anger, people pushing forwards, and for a moment, it looked like Donovan might lose control.

At that moment, the ocean seemed to roar and the building rocked. Maine stumbled against her brother as they heard the waves crash against the piers below them. “What’s going on?” she yelled.

Matthew shook his head, confused. Dandy was huddled on the floor. “It’s Miss Tilly!” he cried. “She’s gonna gobble us up!”

“Get a grip!” Maine told him. As the building continued to rock, she pushed her way back to the door. Looking through the keyhole, she could see the rest of the bar fighting to remain upright. Waves were splashing in through the open hatch, soaking much of the crowd. Many were on their knees, crying out, just like Dandy, but for the moment, it looked like a general riot had been averted.

Slowly, the waves died down and the building ceased to rock. People began to gingerly pick themselves up. Donovan was gripping the bar, his face a bit waxy. “Always grateful for your assistance, my Lady,” he muttered as he climbed unsteadily to his feet, checking around. Sweet Pea was clinging upside down to one of the upper beams, hissing softly with anger. Oskar lay in a tumble of chairs, groaning softly. Donovan leaned glanced at Holly, who had braced herself against the wall. “Are you alright, love?”

She nodded, though a bit too quickly. “Well!” he said, turning around. “Let’s not push our luck any further!”

Trimble was lying on the floor, clutching fearfully at the leg of one of his men. “What?”

Donovan gestured impatiently for him to get up. “Come’on! Say your piece, Junior!” Trimble continued to stare at him. “You came here with a purpose, didn’t ya? Get on with it then! I’m sick of ya stinken’ up my bar!”

With effort, Trimble’s men got him up to his feet. “The Second!” he yelled, as they hoisted him up.

“Beg pardon?”

“I’m Harry Trimble the Second,” he corrected him, stamping his foot in anger. “Not Junior! Get it right!” At that moment, the waves broke outside, splashing over the open railing and soaking the bar floor. Trimble gave a shout and lunged for the doors, but all he managed to do was get himself tangled in his men and fall once more. Donovan rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath in Gaelic

As his men pulled him back up to his feet, Trimble was shaking, though with fear or fury, Maine couldn’t tell. His fine suit was now soaked and dripping, and his hair was pressed down one side of his face. His lips trembling, he pulled a dampened piece of paper from his coat pocket and faced the muttering crowd.

“A new day is coming in Old Coney!” he shouted. “Your old guardians are either dead or too weak and can no longer protect you. Your only hope–”

“No! No speeches,” Donovan interrupted suddenly. He yawned and removed a red bandanna from his pocket, one that looked suspiciously similar to the ones on the arms of Trimble’s men. He blew his nose loudly and tucked it back into his pocket. “Just say what you mean to say and get on with it. My patience is already a wee bit thin.”

Trimble stared at him; he was clearly unused to having someone speak to him in that fashion. He awkwardly folded up the paper and put it away, looking a bit sullen. “Fine, fine…” he muttered. Glaring a final time at Donovan, he looked back out at the crowd. “A thousand dollars for the Firstborn!”

The crowd went silent all at once. Maine heard her brother’s sharply indrawn breath. Trimble now had everyone’s attention.

“The Firstborn stole something yesterday, something that’s mine by right! My men are searching for them right now, and we won’t stop until we find them,” he promised, “but… there’s an opportunity for you to end it now, and make yourself a bit of money in the process.”

The crowd was stirring. Maine could still see a lot of angry faces among them, but there were some that looked a bit… speculative.

“This is bad…” Dandy muttered.

“A thousand dollars if you can give us the location of the Firstborn!” Trimble shouted again. “Two if you can lead us right to them!”

A few people in the crowd were beginning to jeer. “I hope they lead you right off a pier!” someone shouted. “Down with the Adams!” came the call again. Trimble sneered inside the protective ring of his men, who started to shuffle nervously. Maine was watching the crowd though; was that Goblin licking his lips as he looked sharply at Trimble? What about that pair of Elves, whispering quickly to each other? This really wasn’t good.

Donovan started to wave his hands, trying to establish order, but even he couldn’t rein in the crowd this time. The shouts continued, with people pounding on tables and empty glasses flying through the air.

Trimble ducked, edging backwards, but there was a triumphant look on his face. He waved sardonically to the crowd. “If you want to do the right thing, just find any of my men,” he promised them. He gestured to his men and they began to retreat back through the doors, bottles and glasses shattering against the floor. “We’ll be out here all night! Just come find us!”

Donovan shouted after him, but Maine couldn’t hear him over the crowd. They were too wound up, they continued to roar and stamp even after the doors had swung shut behind Trimble. Holly ducked behind the bar as a glass shattered near her head. Someone pushed someone else in the pitch, and before Maine knew it, there were nearly six or seven fights breaking out. Chairs started to break and the Trolls looked quickly to Donovan, who seemed to give up.

He cupped his hands loudly and started to bellow. “Clear the floor! Bar’s closed!” The Trolls nodded and started to herd the crowd out the doors.

Maine stepped back from the keyhole. “This is bad,” she said again.

Her brother was chewing at a fingernail nervously. “No one’s going to take Trimble at his word, will they? I mean, a thousand dollars! Surely…”

“A few might,” she shrugged.

Dandy rose to his feet, his face grim. “They will,” he promised the Maiersons. “For a thousand dollars there’s a lot of people that would sell out their own mothers.” Maine and her brother looked nervously at each other.

After a moment, the office door opened wide. “Get out here,” Donovan said bluntly.

He led them out to the now empty bar, where Oskar and Holly were busy sweeping up the broken glass. A few Trolls lumbered around, righting the tables and chairs, while Sweet Pea watched them, perched up in the rafters.

“Well, you’ve led a mess of trouble to our roof, Maiersons, make no mistake,” Donovan told them.

“We didn’t lead them here,” Maine protested, but Donovan waved his hand.

“She’s right,” Holly spoke up. “She didn’t bring them here.”

“All three of them came here asking the same question, ‘Where are the Firstborn?’” he reminded her. Maine started and looked at her brother in surprise. “Does that sound like a coincidence to you?”

“You shouldn’t have let them all leave,” Sweet Pea said from the ceiling. “You know the greedy ones are going to go right to Trimble now.”

“What did you expect me to do? Keep them here the entire night? They’d have torn down the bar! And the greedy ones would’ve snuck out regardless.”

She shrugged. “They can’t hurt anyone if there’s no one to listen to them,” she suggested. Her knife was in her hands and she fingered the point suggestively. “Trimble’s probably still close, you could let me go out and…”

He shook his head quickly. “Pull your fangs back, girlie. The Lady’s given strict orders for us not to go escalating the matter, and somethin’ tells me you opening their throats falls into that category.” Up in the ceiling, Sweet Pea rolled her eyes, while Maine fingered her own neck, swallowing dryly.

Matthew stepped forwards. “What are you going to do about Trimble?” he asked.

Donovan rubbed at his chin for a moment. “That’s up for the Lady to decide. I’ll tell you one thing though, I think it’s best if you spend the night here for now.” Her brother opened his mouth to protest, but Donovan raised his hands. “Don’t argue. I don’t like the idea of you Maierson’s finding your way home in the dark, especially with Trimble’s men crawling around out there. Call it a favor to your old Grannie. She and the Lady never saw eye to eye on many things, but there was respect between the two.”

“Well I think you should at least go out there and deal with Trimble,” Maine said loudly. She moved to stand in front of Donovan, hands on her hips like Miss Imi in the midst of a lecture.

He fingered his scar in amusement. “Oh ya do, do ya?”

“They’re hurting people out there on the streets!” she told him. “People are frightened, scared. You need to be out there, protecting them! It’s your responsibility!”

The sound of the waves came behind her, splashing against the docks.

Donovan smiled. “Just like your Grannie would’ve done?”

Maine stamped her foot. “Yes! She’d be the first one out there! She’d drive back Trimble and his men, probably turn the whole lot of them into frogs or…” she trailed off as she realized that no one was listening to her. The waves crashed again and water ran past Maine’s boots, carrying bits of seaweed and tiny crabs. Everyone was staring behind her, to the wide open space in the floor of the bar. She saw their heads slowly trail up, as water started to drip around her. Fish flopped from somewhere above her, bouncing wildly on the floor, till they fell back through the hatch.

Slowly, she started to turn around.