Following Ruby Jack with haste didn’t give me much time to soak in the atmosphere of the bustling port, but I was able to steal a glance at a few signs which told me the town we were in was called ‘St Karlsand’. The name pulled an old memory from my history class, and I was reminded of a legendary admiral who led a small fleet to wipe out the criminal element in the rook isles 200 years ago. He died in battle, but devastated over half the ships around the islands. Even among criminals the legend of ‘Crazy’ Kip Karlsand’ is to be respected.

As we got closer to the edge of the town, the smell of brine was slowly replaced with an assortment of foods and spices from the seaside market stalls. The sloshing rhythm of the mostly calm waters was blanketed with the chatter of the diverse peoples of the port. My own town of Estoc’s population was almost completely human, so when I saw large numbers of elves, halflings, dwarves and possibly a few demonfolk walking among the crowd, I was taken aback. Despite my culture shock, the moment my feet stepped off the wooden floorboards and onto the solid pavement, I felt a surge of relief. It was damn good to be back on land.

“The booze isn’t going anywhere, Ruby-Jack, they’ll still have plenty by the time we arrive,” I snarked gleefully.

“Shut it pleb, the thought of that rum is the only thing preventing a mass murder at the docks."

She was probably right. I felt a natural urge to meet her sass with my own, but knowing I already had a major victory at the port, I decided to bite my tongue. I have no issue with rubbing salt into a wound, but with Ruby it'd be more like rubbing embers into gunpowder.

On the short walk to the tavern, Ruby was catching a few looks, mostly from male dockworkers and street urchins. Ruby lifted her chin ever so slightly and her walk took on the large paces of a proud strut. I reckon she thought they might have clocked her for infamous outlaw status, but I'm pretty sure they were just staring at her shapely behind.

I had almost caught up to her walking speed when she shoved open the creaky wooden doors of the Dry Dagger and barged in like she owned the place. I almost wretched when the odour of stale ale and damp bodies hit me like a cannonball, but I made a spirited effort to look normal.

The Gilgamesh pub back home wasn’t the most pristine of drinking spots, but it was a glistening palace compared to the squalid watering hole we walked into. I was able to catch a glance at a few of the patrons before reminding myself to keep my eyes straight, but every hairy, tattooed lump I peeked at looked absolutely psychotic. I thanked myself for tossing my shield to knives on the way over, as its shining surface would have been the focal point of this shithole and I’d probably have to be fighting for it.

“Find us a table.” Ruby grunted as she accelerated to the bar, already pushing past bodies wider than her to be served immediately.

“Aye-Aye, not-captain,” I snarked half heartedly as I hopelessly looked for an empty table that looked somewhat clean. As I wandered around confused like an elf in an iron mine I managed to make out some words being grumbled by a few of the patrons on a table behind me.

“Fucking tourists. First that foppish brat from the sky-lands, and now these two. I drink here to get away from these types.”

The title foppish brat was a title that could be applied to almost anyone with a vocabulary depending on the beholder, but for some strange reason, I pictured a face and a voice in my head when I heard it. However I didn’t have long to process the identity in my head before a loud ruckus at the bar stole my attention.

Beyond the swaying river of sweaty large bodies I could see some sort of 'shoving' commotion. Even before I saw the glimpse of red hair in motion, I knew Ruby was probably involved.

"You saw me standin' here, slag. Watch where yer barging," said a heavy, cigar damaged voice which was surprisingly audible over the chatter of the pub.

"I saw your fat ass taking up space where I could be ordering. You already got a drink, you ain't gonna block me getting mine!"

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Ruby's threat had conviction but little emotion, probably because she starts shit like this every day.

"HAH! You want a drink? Why didn't you say so!" The heavy voice retorted.

I had heard that line enough times at enough pubs to know what was coming next. I was able to peek through a canyon of shoulders and earlobes to see the owner of the voice was a heavy set, stumpy bald man swinging his jug of beer at Ruby's head.

He was sluggish and obvious with his attack but there wasn't much room for Ruby to dodge, and while the glass shattered on some poor bloke's skull behind her. She still got drenched by the lager.

Her brilliant eyes seared through her wet mop of darkened red hair, before the glassing victim slumped to the floor, she had already snatched an empty bottle from a side table.

"You just wasted the last beer you'll ever buy… "

I really wish I was able to see the proceeding fight in all its trashy chaotic detail. But I was clocked by a wild flailing backhand. It wasn’t quite enough to knock me out cold, but it dizzied me and robbed me of my sense of time. A melee that probably went on for minutes seemed like a highlight reel of loud sounds and images in a few seconds. It’s a bloody shame too, I’d have loved to watch a good pub knockabout, it would have made me feel right at home (the home being the Gilgamesh during the racing season).

By the time I had most of my bearings back, I realised I was on my arse and drenched in cheap beer. Palming around to find the floor under me only served to sink my hands into the soft gut of an unconscious patron, who was in his own pool of glass fragments and a puddle pungent ale…at least I hope the puddle was ale. By the time I was halfway to standing, I saw that most of the customers in the vicinity seemed to be laid out like poorly folded bed sheets, the result of alcohol, violence, or both.

I got to my feet with a stumble and was jolted by the hard packing sound of a fist slamming into flesh. Unobscured by an upright crowd, I clearly saw a soggy, roughed up Ruby-Jack holding her original bald antagonist by the scruff and giving him a mouthful of knuckles repeatedly. But there was a rhythm to her pugilism, she was saying something between every punch.

“Say it!” Ruby growled.

“You’re…R-rr-” the bald man slurred before catching another smack across his jaw.

“Say my name!”

“Rube…Rub…” The answer was cut but another nasty blow.

“Say my name, motherfucker!!” Ruby yelled before punching the man so hard, she knocked him out of her own grip and sent him rough into the floorboards. The sound of her fist thumping his skull had an aesthetic quality to it. The amount of weight she could drop into a strike betrayed her toned frame. For a moment I wondered if that made me a bit of a sadist.

“Y-youre! Ruby Jack!” He gargled through a blood-filled mouth, nearly dribbling out a tooth or two.

“Keep going!” Ruby threatened with a cocked fist. “What else?”

“You’re The R-red Menace…The Stick Up Bitch…uhh.”

“Stick-Up Witch, Asshole. But that’s close enough,” Ruby said dismissively before finally releasing him. She raised both of her bloody, bruised knuckles above her head and gave out a mighty roar, like a triumphant gladiator. I’m not proud of it, but despite the insanity of it all, I found the sound a tiny bit sexy.

“Bartender!! Round of drinks for everything my money will buy. I think we all deserve a drink now!” Ruby declared with elated authority.

“Y--your money luv?” asked the frightened bartender, slowly raising his head to observe the full aftermath of the brawl.

"It's scattered all around the floor, some of it’s from my coin pouch, and the rest of it is mine by right. Help yourself after you get those rounds going, I'm fucking thirsty."

There was a moment when time seemed to freeze, and the bartender stared in dumbstruck awe and confusion at Ruby Jack, along with the rest of crowd that were still standing. Ruby went and broke the stasis with a wolfish grin.

“You got me confused with a woman who repeats herself,” she growled with a tilted head.

“Uhh, round for the whole bar…or what’s left of it. Compliments of Ruby Jack!” The bartender declared with a mix of haste and enthusiasm.

“Three cheers for Ruby Jack!” An unseen patron roared, which sent the entire pub into an explosion of slurred but loud acclaim.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. In what must have been less that 10 minutes, the pub was loud with jolly sea shanties (and I fucking hate sea shanties). Men where swaying and singing in honor of the woman who knocked most of their teeth out while clumsily stepping all over their beaten drinking buddies. It was like they were under a spell, and the witch who cast it had red hair…

"I asked ye to buy a couple drinks and wait. Guessing that was too complicated for you folks."

A heavy, calloused hand slapped down on my shoulder and I spun around to confirm the voice as Frank the Dwarf who was clearly wearing a half smirk behind his messy beard. I didn't bother answering with words, and simply gestured my head in the direction of the dancing crowd surrounding Ruby-Jack.

"Did you even get a drink?" He asked with amusement.

"I…got to wear it."

I followed my answer with a quick smell of my new coat, and grimacing at the soaked in stench of low quality ale.

"Figured as much, at least everyone's occupied. Gives us time for a chat," Frank said calmly.

"You calculated the price already?" I asked as I rubbed my head, realising I might have lost some time when I floored. "I thought you were gonna send someone for me?"

"Take a walk with me? I got a different proposition for you, Laddie."

I raised a very curious eyebrow, and Frank's half smirk became a full smile.