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Booth grew serious. “You have made your point,” he replied. “I won’t even attempt to engage your sister in a conversation.”
“Very good,” Oliver muttered before he turned to leave.
As he made his way through the gambling hell, his alert eyes scanned the room, looking for anything suspicious. But he found nothing out of the ordinary.
He opened the door and stepped outside. The pungent odor in the air assaulted his senses as he started walking down the worn cobblestone street. He kicked at a rock that was near his boot and watched it take flight across the pavement.
Oliver had just turned the corner when he heard booted steps behind him. He stopped and turned back around. A brawny man in threadbare clothing was standing a few yards back, gripping a small dagger in his right hand. A prominent scar ran the length of his sunken-in left cheek.
“Give me all of your money,” the man ordered.
Oliver sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, debating whether to retrieve his muff pistol from his right boot.
The man gave him a questioning look. “Why have you not emptied your pockets?”
“Here is the thing,” Oliver started, “I am not going to give you any of my money.”
“Then I will kill you.” The man took a commanding step towards him and brought up his dagger.
Methodically, Oliver removed his jacket and laid it on the ground. “I could have already killed you where you stand, but I find I am curious about something.”
“Which is?” the man asked as he glanced down at the jacket on the pavement.
“How good of a fighter are you?” Oliver asked, bringing his fists up.
The man’s eyes flickered in surprise. “It is a shame that I will have to kill you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, because I don’t want to kill you,” he explained. “I am just attempting to rob you.”
“We shall see,” Oliver said.
In the next moment, the man lunged at him with his dagger, but Oliver easily stepped to the side. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it, causing the dagger to drop to the pavement.
“What are you going to do now that you don’t have a dagger?” Oliver taunted.
Rearing back his fist, the man punched him in the jaw. Oliver staggered back and brought his hand up to his face. He smiled as he spat out some blood onto the pavement.
“That was a lucky shot,” Oliver admitted.
He ran forward and plowed his right shoulder into the man’s stomach, then stepped back and jabbed him in the nose. The man fell to the ground and stared up at him in amazement.
“Who are you?” the man asked as he kept his hand on his bloody nose.
Oliver extended his hand towards the man. “That is not important.”
The man accepted his assistance and rose. “I’m sorry I attempted to rob you of your coins,” he said as he moved to retrieve his dagger.
“Don’t be,” Oliver said. “I haven’t had a good fight in a while.”
“I’m happy to be of assistance then,” the man remarked as he wiped blood onto the sleeve of his once-white shirt.
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Oliver removed a few coins and extended them towards the man. “I have no doubt that you need these more than I.”
The man clutched them in his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Oliver retrieved his jacket and shrugged it back on. “You may want to sharpen your dagger,” he advised. “It appears rather dull.”
