The atmosphere was dark and boisterous. Men sat on beer barrels at the bar. Women sat on men’s laps at the tables. Coins jingled, bills waved in the air, darts and daggers sailed through the air—men flaunting death and women drawn to danger.
Voices hushed and bodies stilled when they saw Nick.
His heart galloped. This was the right place. They knew something.
He stepped toward the barkeep, but a big man stepped in front of him, knocking Nick to the side with the force of his shoulder.
Richard whispered behind him. “We should leave.”
“Not ‘til they tell us what they know,” Nick replied, giving the brawny man breathing on him his stoniest glare.
“They shall start a fight,” Richard hissed into his ear.
Nick grinned. His eyes were still fixed on the brute. “Do I look like I’m afraid of a little fight?” He stepped back, getting a better look at his first opponent. Stocky, thick fingers, well-built, and about the colonel’s height. There was a pistol tucked at his waist, but Nick saw no knife, though he knew the man must have at least one hidden on his person.
The ruffian leaned against a thick beam that ran up to the ceiling, protecting one side of his body. Smartman. Of course, he did not know how handy that beam would be for Nick.
Over his shoulder, Nick muttered to Richard, “Stick to the wall. Cover yer back.”
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Richard mumbled under his breath, patting his pocket. Nick understood the motion. The colonel had a pistol.
Nick turned back to the brute.
“Who are you?” the man asked.
Nick weighed his options. He couldn’t reveal his real identity. Word would spread, and young blades out to make a name for themselves would seek him out to challenge their skill against his, much like the muscled oaf sneering at him. Nick couldn’t do that. Darcy would never be safe.
However, Nick couldn’t rightly pretend to be Darcy either. He evidently looked and sounded like him, but that was where their similarities ended. He shrugged. He had to try. Imitating Richard’s finer speech, he said, “Nobody of consequence.”
The ruffian’s glance darted over to the bar, and the barkeep shook his head. He was the one calling the shots, then.
“We don’t want no trouble.” The brute jutted his chin toward the door. “Out with ye.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched the barkeep. He leaned against the bar, his fingers splayed against the polished wood. He was the one Nick needed to speak to. Nick took in a deepbreath, steeling his nerves and steadying himself on the exhale.In for a penny; in for a pound.
Keeping one eye on the man behind the bar and the other on his bruiser, Nick placed himself between the two, praying the man with the beefy fists would shift his position against the beam.
People clambered out of the way, knowing what was going to happen.
Finally, the man turned to face Nick.
Perfect.
Taking another deep breath, Nick held it at the top.
Quicker than a viper strike, he crossed his arms and reached under his coat. Flinging the blades to his left side, he heard the metal thud into the wooden bar. He reached into his boots. Wasting no time to see if he had hit his targets, and knowing very well that he had (because he always did), Nick drew a shiv from his boot and flung.
The ruffian would have stumbled back had the post not been behind him. And he might have sunk to the floor had some of his hair not been pinned to the beam along with his hat.
Several gasps echoed through the room, and a few guffaws erupted when the henchman looked cross-eyed up at the dagger vibrating in the post above his head.
Nick took pride in his aim. Close enough to the man’s scalp to pin his hair to the beam without parting his skin. Nick turned to the barkeep.
He did not feel so smug when he saw the barkeeper’s bloodied knuckle. Barnacles. The other blade was clean, but there was no denying that he had nicked the man. Blast. Alex would not have missed. Of course, she might have pinned the man’s fingers to the bar on purpose.
Pulling out his last knife from his other boot, Nick waved the sharp end at the crowd around him. “Anyone else?” he asked, imitating Richard’s accent. Now that he’d given them a scare, he could continue with his plan. He’d pretend to be Darcy.
The tavern fell silent.
