2.510 words
The small, blurred patches of yellow lights that trembled behind the curtain of rain became visible, announcing the fact that White Agate had arrived at Damir Harbor. As it got closer, the harbor began to seem uglier and uglier.
Rainwater was streaming from the tiled roofs and was running brown between the cobblestones, carrying scraps of paper, fish scales and whatever else was spewed out from the overflowing gutters.
Dockworkers in dark oilskins hurried beneath swinging cargo nets while sailors shouted instructions mixed in with every kind of profanity. Somewhere beyond the warehouses, a bell rang twice. Its sound was dull and strangely distant beneath the ceaseless drumming of rain.
White Agate turned slowly alongside the berth and thick ropes were thrown across the narrowing gap, striking the wet stone before several men rushed forward to secure them.
However, before they could dock it, a figure wearing black shirt, black trousers, calf-length leather boots and knee-length long-coat jumped from the deck and arrived on the platform. He did not look back and instead only corrected his coat before ignoring the frightened men and made his way ahead.
Running his thick fingers through his short black hair, Hyde looked around with his chain raised. He had a calm look on his face as he analyzed the entire area and then began walking.
It had been two weeks now since Kiyotaka had used Hubris to create Hyde out of a Beyonder who appeared almost the same as his made-up persona. During this time, his own habits had more or less melded in with the host.
Hyde walked calmly, his heavy steps causing water to jump up.
Before long, he spotted a bar. The name of this place was Flying Fish and Wine.
Peeking through the window, he saw a bunch of men, some of which looked ordinary and some of which looked as if they were up to no good.
Pushing the door inwards, Hyde entered the establishment. The employees turned their heads for a few moments to take in the newcomer and then shook their heads in pity before returning to their respectful jobs.
Hyde took in the faces of the people who were gawking at him and then turned away. With his chin raised, he made his way to one of the walls which had various pamphlets on them. These pamphlets were either advertisements for restaurants, brothels or hotels, small commissions and finally bounties.
Extending his hand, he touched the pamphlets corresponding to the bounties and began reading them.
The first one was rather low, against someone named Cooked-Tooth Lemm for £46. Lemm was previously a dock thief who turned pirate after finding other crewmates like himself. The other names were quite menial and Hyde almost felt insulted looking at them.
He ignored the names such as Red-Ear Colm with a bounty of £85, Morris "The Rat-Catcher" Vale for £120 and Salt Hound Ferrick for £340. Soon, however, he arrived at two interesting names.
The first one was Laughing Jackal Orven and the second was Red Knuckle Garris, with bounties of £1.150 and £820 respectively.
A rather disturbing smile graced Hyde's face as his eyes turned thin and predatory. While he was thinking over a few things in his mind, a voice made him return to reality.
"You look new here. What are you looking at?" A drunk man who smelt of alcohol and sweat stood close to Hyde. Following his line of sight, the drunk man looked at the wall. "Oh, what are you, bounty hunter?!" He raised his voice, causing a lot of heads to turn towards Hyde.
Taking out a handkerchief, Hyde placed it on his nose. "How strange. I didn't realize Damir's gutters were capable of speech."
The man took a moment to realize what Hyde said. It was only after a few people snickered did he understand what was going on. "You think you're funny?"
"No." Hyde's eyes moved toward the hand gripping his coat before returning to the man's face. His words and actions somehow seemed to anger the man even more.
The drunkard's hand dropped toward the revolver at his waist. The man took it out, pulled the chamber and pointed it towards Hyde's skull.
Hyde looked down at the man who was more than 6 inches shorter than him and turned his attention towards the bounties on the wall. Hyde looked down at it. His thumb traced a circle around Laughing Jackal Orven and Red Knuckle Garris' name.
"£1.150 hmm. This should be a good opportunity to compare the proportional relationship between actual danger level, combat proficiency and bounty amount." he whispered to himself.
"So you're fucking ignoring me?!" The man pushed the barrel against the side of Hyde's head.
Several conversations around the tavern died down and those who had been laughing earlier were no longer doing so, though none of them appeared particularly concerned for Hyde. If anything, a few had leaned back in their chairs, seemingly interested in seeing how the stranger dressed entirely in black would respond.
Hyde finally moved his eyes away from the other pamphlets.
"Tell me something." His gaze lowered towards the revolver before slowly moving toward the man's reddened face. "Do you have a bounty?"
The drunkard blinked. "What?"
"A bounty." Hyde repeated patiently. "Are you wanted by the Loen military? The Church? Perhaps there is some obscure island willing to pay for your corpse?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"I see." Hyde returned his attention towards the pamphlet, which angered the man even more. His finger tightened over the trigger, but before it could move any further, Hyde's right hand rose.
There was no obvious preparation nor any exaggerated motion preceding it as his fingers simply closed around the cylinder of the revolver while his thumb pressed against the hammer, preventing it from descending even if the trigger was pulled.
The drunkard's eyes widened and he instinctively attempted to pull the weapon backwards, but it refused to move.
For several seconds, the drunkard pulled with both his arm and shoulder while Hyde continued reading the pamphlets with his other hand, paying more attention to Ferrick's listed crimes than the drunkard.
A few seconds later, Hyde turned his wrist and a sharp metallic crack sounded out.
Immediately, the drunkard cried out as his wrist bent with the weapon, his knees nearly buckling from the sudden pain. Hyde released the revolver only to place his hand on the man's face.
His hand was big enough to cover his entire face. Gripping it, he lifted the man above the ground as he thrashed, feeling his big and rough hand tearing at his skin. Then Hyde threw him down on the ground hard enough for several nearby mugs to jump on their tables.
Silence filled the tavern as Hyde gripped a mug full of water to dilute the alcohol from a nearby table and washed his hand before wiping it with his handkerchief. He looked down at the man who had his eyes wide open, completely sober now.
"If you intend to threaten someone you should possess either the ability to carry out the threat or enough value to make the attempt interesting. Unfortunately, you appear to have neither." He tucked the pamphlet in his pocket and stepped over the man's face before kicking him on the side of his skull, making him unconscious.
As a few employees began to pick the drunkard's body up, the conversations slowly resumed behind him, although they were noticeably quieter than before. He could feel several pairs of eyes lingering on his back.
A few were openly studying the crimson bracelet on his left hand while others seemed more interested in the fact that he had dealt with an armed man without drawing a weapon of his own.
Hyde paid them little attention as he walked over to the counter and sat down. Placing the pamphlets down on the table, he saw the barman come towards him, but hesitatingly.
"W-What can I s-serve you...?"
Hyde stayed silent for a long time, enough for the man to shift in his spot. When the barman was about to ask Hyde once more, he did not lift his head from the piece of paper and spoke up, his voice even deeper than before. "Did I call for you?"
"No..."
"Then you have answered your own question." The man remained there for another moment, seemingly unsure whether he had just been dismissed. Hyde turned one of the pamphlets over and looked up, his eyes oddly frightening in the dim lightning. "You're obstructing the light."
That was enough to dismiss the man who wounded up his belongings and trotted away.
Hyde returned his attention towards the matter at hand.
'There is no time to waste.'
Laughing Jackal Orven. Red Knuckle Garris. Salt Hound Ferrick.
Keeping their names side-by-side Hyde studied them. The first two were objectively more valuable targets.
After all, their descriptions also suggested that both possessed considerably greater influence than Ferrick, especially Orven, whose appearance differed depending on which witness had been questioned.
Yet Ferrick was the only one whose pamphlet openly mentioned the possibility of him having supernatural abilities.
Bounty amounts were determined by far too many variables to be treated as direct measurements of strength. Murder count, political importance, affiliation, the wealth of whoever issued the bounty and even simple notoriety could distort the number considerably.
If Hyde intended to operate within the sea for any meaningful amount of time, he required a baseline and Ferrick was the unfortunate one who could provide it.
"Salt Hound?" A voice came from somewhere to his right.
Hyde turned his head.
In front of him was a broad man who stood behind the counter several meters away. His skin was darkened by years beneath the hot sun, and although he had not joined the earlier confrontation, he more or less knew what had happened.
"You are the owner." It was more of a statement than a question.
The man nodded in affirmation.
It was, indeed, White Shark Hamilton, the owner of Flying Fish and Wine. Hamilton wiped the inside of a glass with a cloth before placing it beneath the counter. "Wouldn't have expected you to pick him after staring at Orven and Garris for that long. He's got a lesser bounty, after all."
"I'm not picking him for the money."
"Figured. A man looking for money doesn't ignore eight hundred pounds to chase three hundred."
"And what does a man who does that look for?"
"Depends on the man." A faint smile returned to Hyde's face. At least this one possessed some intelligence.
He turned towards him and placed Ferrick's pamphlet in a way that he could see it. "What do you know about him?"
"Enough." Hamilton glanced down.
"Specifics."
A corner of Hamilton's mouth twitched, however, seeing the mountain of muscle staring with murder in his eyes, he couldn't help but clear his throat.
"Salt Hound Ferrick. He runs a small crew, eleven last I heard. Doesn't own anything impressive enough to call a proper pirate ship. Mostly operates off a converted fishing vessel called the Morrow. He raids smaller merchants when he gets the chance, does smuggling work when he doesn't."
"Why Salt Hound?"
"Man can smell trouble." Hyde's expression did not change as Hamilton continued. "Not literally. At least I don't think so. But whenever something goes wrong, Ferrick seems to know before everyone else. A couple of years ago someone tried selling him out to the military and Ferrick disappeared the night before."
"A fortunate man." Hyde traced the outlines of his features.
"Very."
Hyde tapped one finger against the pamphlet. "Where is he?"
"Straight to business." Hamilton laughed once. A few men close enough to hear them glanced over, but Hamilton only looked amused. "Ferrick comes through Damir every few weeks. Usually doesn't stay longer than a day. Takes supplies, sells whatever he doesn't want to carry, finds another job and leaves."
"When was he last seen?"
"Yesterday morning."
As he said that, Hyde's expressions seemed to change.
"Interested now?"
"Marginally."
"I'll tell you this much, he hasn't left."
"Why?"
"Damage to the Morrow. Something hit the underside coming into harbor. They're repairing her near the eastern pier. Should be finished tomorrow."
Hyde looked toward one of the rain-covered windows. Outside, the downpour had only grown heavier, turning the glass almost opaque.
Hyde picked up the pamphlet and placed a few £1 Loen banknotes down. Hamilton took them from under his hand and stuffed them inside his pocket.
"One last thing."
"Yes?" Hamilton began to leave, looking at Hyde from the corner of his eye.
"How are bounties collected?"
Hamilton studied him for a moment, perhaps wondering whether the question confirmed that Hyde really was new. "Depends who issued it. Ferrick's is recognized by the local authorities and several merchant associations. Bring proof he's dead and they'll process it."
"What constitutes proof?"
"Head works." Hyde looked mildly inconvenienced, causing Hamilton to chuckle. "Fingerprints if you want to keep things civilized. Personal effects and witnesses can work too, assuming somebody reputable identifies the body."
"Witnesses." His eyes moved around the tavern and several men quickly looked away. That same disturbing smile slowly returned to Hyde's face.
"Are you planning something?"
Hyde folded the pamphlet and slipped it inside his greatcoat. "If Ferrick possesses an abnormal ability to perceive danger, approaching him discreetly would compromise the experiment."
Hamilton's brows drew together. "Experiment?"
Hyde ignored the question and picked up the other two pamphlets, placing them inside his coat as well. Then he looked toward the door. "Where did you say the eastern pier was?"
Hamilton stared at him before pointing through the rain-covered window.
"Follow the waterfront east. You'll see the repair yards."
Hyde nodded and stood up. As he turned around, he saw that in the corner of the bar, the drunkard who had been laid out by placing two chairs together, had finally managed to sit up and was cradling his wrist against his chest.
Hyde stopped beside him, causing the man's body to visibly stiffen as he looked down. "Your revolver."
The drunkard hesitated before slowly extending it toward him with his uninjured hand. Hyde took the weapon, inspected the cylinder and then pushed it inside his coat pocket before leaving.
Rain and wind rushed briefly into the tavern as Hyde stepped outside, the hem of his black greatcoat immediately caught by a tempestuous gale.
Hamilton watched the door close behind him and then towards the cracked floorboard. His eyes then towards the drunkard. "Poor bastard," he muttered.
One of the men nearby snorted. "Ferrick? This arrogant fucker got no chance. Sure he's strong and all, but Salt Hound has an entire crew."
Hamilton picked up another glass and began drying it without saying a word. Outside, Hyde raised the collar of his greatcoat as rain struck against his face.
The eastern pier was barely visible through the curtain of water as his olive eyes narrowed.
£340—it was an insulting amount. His pride made him not even touch the pamphlet, but if Ferrick truly possessed the abilities the rumors suggested, Hyde would at least be able to determine how badly the bounty system underestimated Beyonders.
And if the man really could sense danger approaching—
Hyde's malicious smile widened.