Marcellus's introspection was abruptly interrupted by a voice that sliced through the din of the inn. He turned his gaze towards the source, finding himself face-to-face with a young woman he had noticed earlier, a helper to the innkeeper.

Her features bore the ruggedness of port towns, shaped by a life lived near the sea.

"You're not from around here, are ya?" she inquired, her tone laced with both curiosity and confidence.

She was petite, a wild mane of chestnut hair framing a face kissed by the sun, marked by the unmistakable glow of someone accustomed to the salty air. Her deep brown eyes sparkled with an audacity that belied her youth. Dressed in a worn black gown, she exuded a quiet authority that commanded attention. Yet, despite her boldness, she stood a foot shorter than Marcellus, a young girl indeed, barely on the cusp of womanhood.

Marcellus's retort, laden with a hint of defensiveness, escaped his lips before he could rein in his reaction.

"Shouldn't you be working?" he remarked, his tone dripping with condescension, letting loose the bitterness that had been fermenting within him.

The young woman's eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint dancing within them. Her voice carried a firm edge as she corrected him.

"I may be younger than you, but you seem very foolish"

Marcellus's cheeks flushed with embarrassment and surprise slight effect of the ale.

He quickly realized the error of his assumption, chastising himself for his hasty judgment. The girl's words hinted at a wisdom that belied her youthful appearance.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to offend. How should I address you then?"

The young woman's lips curved into a playful smile, the mischievous glint in her brown eyes softening.

"Call me Anne. That will do just fine. Now, tell me, sir, what brings you to our humble inn? You don't strike me as a local." she said as she sat between his legs.

Instinctively, he considered pushing her off. However, he hesitated, intrigued by the audacity and nonchalance with which Anne carried herself, plus she called him 'sir' this was not a bad feeling.

Marcellus maintained his composure, deciding to let Anne maintain her impish perch as he gathered his thoughts to respond.

"I am passing through Lutton Marsh."

Anne's eyes glimmered with curiosity, her position on his legs seemingly enhancing her mischievous nature. The close proximity between them brought a sense of intrigue to their interaction.

Marcellus panicked slightly as he knew his member was slowly but surely getting erect, he hoped she would not notice as they kept talking.

"Where are you..." as they kept talking about mundane things he felt he was wrong and that she did not feel it despite his throbbing.

Alas, those hopes were crushed as she subtly shifted and smirked in response to a comment he had made about adventure.

"Ah, you're from Wisbech, a landlubber, I imagine life must be quite hard" he couldn't help but notice that she emphasized the final word.

Marcellus and Anne locked eyes, their expressions starkly contrasting—one filled with disbelief, the other radiating composure. Anne rose gracefully while Marcellus fumbled anxiously fixing his clothes, and she spoke with a serene smile, "May you find glory in the forthcoming battles."

Marcellus did not respond to the casual greeting of those who believed in the church of combat.

As Anne departed from the inn, Marcellus's gaze followed her, leaving him dazed and bewildered. He found himself in unfamiliar territory, unsure of how to proceed or where to position his restless hands.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Marcellus hastily adjusted his clothing, and his fingers instinctively ventured towards a customary spot where he kept his coin pouch. However, his searching touch encountered nothing but empty air—a disconcerting absence that elicited a perplexed smile, a moment of disbelief washed over him, swiftly followed by a peal of unexpected laughter—leaving him astounded at the audacity and finesse employed, completely evading his notice.

With a swift gulp of his ale, propelling him to rise with an amused expression.

Marcellus, aware of his own status in an unfamiliar town, acknowledged that while his quarry may be less formidable, he himself was also lacking in experience.

Nevertheless, undeterred by this realization, he pressed on with his pursuit, stepping out of the inn and onto the lively streets.

With focused determination, Marcellus meticulously surveyed his surroundings, meticulously examining every passerby and the interplay of light and shadow.

His sharp gaze scanned each face, searching for any telltale signs of recognition or stolen glances. Adjusting his pace to blend seamlessly with the crowd, he moved strategically, positioning himself to catch even the slightest glimpse of Anne's distinctive features.

Drawing upon his understanding of human behaviour from the dream-like realm, Marcellus engaged the local residents in discreet conversations, carefully crafting his inquiries to extract valuable morsels of information.

Skillfully probing for clues, he sowed seeds of curiosity and copper within the minds of those he encountered. Whispers and murmurs about a person resembling Anne began to circulate, slowly spreading throughout like intertwining tendrils.

It was not hard to pick up clues she worked at the inn after all at least she helped the innkeeper, surely others recognized her.

Marcellus's relentless hunt guided him to a peculiar structure that stood apart from the traditional huts he was accustomed to. Though it didn't possess the typical appearance, the gathering of people hinted at its potential inn-like nature. He found himself closer to the bustling docks, where the ebb and flow of activity heightened his anticipation.

Approaching the enigmatic building, Marcellus noticed a watchful figure stationed at its entrance. The man's presence suggested a certain level of guardianship, his purpose veiled behind a simple nod of acknowledgement. Undeterred, Marcellus continued forward.

Stepping inside, Marcellus's gaze was drawn to a man and a woman engaged in a clandestine conversation, their hushed whispers barely audible at the base of a circular staircase.

There is no lower floor? Marcellus wondered.

Ascending the stairs, Marcellus's ears caught the sound of playful giggles, filling the air with an atmosphere reminiscent of a party. His intuition hinted at the possibility of a lively gathering beyond.

Progressing along a corridor flanked by closed doors, he noted the silence emanating from each room, except for one. Ajar, that door beckoned him with the enchanting strains of music seeping through its threshold.

The room was dimly lit.

...

"She's as pure as the snow on St. Day," the plump woman boasted, her voice barely carrying over the tune a young girl played nearby.

"And what’s your price? So I might have her," asked a rotund man in livery.

The woman shot him a wry look. "Yer a valued patron, Gibbons, so pardon my bluntness—but I’d sooner mount that harpsichord meself than sell ya my daughter."

"Surely ya’re toying with me, woman," he replied with a sly grin. "Dangling somethin’ I can't have?"

"She’s worth plenty, Gibbons. And like anythin' worth somethin', she’s got a price," she said with a smirk.

"So ya are namin' a price, then?" he quipped, eyes glinting.

She sighed, like she'd said it a hundred times. "There's always a price, Gibbons. Whether ya can pay it, well, that’s another story."

"Clawin’ yer way up in the world, are we?" he sneered.

She smirked. "Aye, soon enough, I’ll be takin' a fine house in Upper Lutton. Once we’re settled, I’ll be acceptin’ sealed bids for Anne’s purity."

"Twenty-five coppers," Gibbons persisted, undeterred. "I’ll have her now."

Anne glanced up briefly, her focus remaining on her musical performance.

"As I did for my older daughter, Charlotte, I shall entertain sealed bids. She shines brilliantly among Lutton's, and I have no lesser aspirations for Anne," the plump woman reiterated, her tone filled with pride.

Just then, a heavier-set woman entered the room through the same entrance Marcellus had used, further increasing the gathering to four men and three women.

"Lady Ruby! at last, fanny this sailor would cherish a voyage on your peaks" the fat woman said.

"At your service, sir," the fatter woman said as she escorted a man out.

"I will give you thirty-five coppers to have her, now on that stool," the fat man said in desperation.

Anne's eyes drifted back to them, her fingers continuing to dance effortlessly across the harpsichord keys. Yet, despite the unbroken melody, a shadow of doubt began to etch itself across her expression, subtly altering the serene focus that had previously dominated her features.

"That's absolutely out of the question," retorted the corpulent woman, her voice resolute.

"Forty," pleaded the overweight man, his tone laced with desperation.

"I understand her worth," the rotund woman replied, locking eyes with Anne.

"Fifty, fifty copper coins!" Gibbson persisted.

The hefty woman appeared momentarily tempted, her resolve wavering.

"Anne," she called out, causing Anne to cease playing, her face draining of colour.

"What is keeping Carter?"

Anne rose to her feet and departed without a word, to find Carter Marcellus assumed.

"You're a wretched spider bound for damnation," Gibbson sneered.

The plump woman chuckled softly, her belly dancing. "I claw my way upwards, Gibbons, not down."