At the Red Harvest Inn

by Mike Mayak

Ever afterward, barrels sitting outside a building would make him think of pirates. Not that the name “Red Harvest Inn” didn’t speak of dark doings, but despite his youth, he was only nineteen, he had been a member of a pirate crew for several years. He wasn’t here for food or drink, he was on a mission.

He entered the dark, smoky room, filled with loud talk and songs from the various tables. He went to the bar, eyed the bartender who had the attitude of somebody who had just killed somebody elae and ordered a drink; “Something that won’t make me pass out, I have to think this evening,” he had said earlier.

He sat at the small table, sipped from his mug and glanced around. The usual sort one would find in a place like this, he thought. The usual array of motley arrangements of clothes on one man and those in more conventional seafarer’s garb. Various weapons (“Who here would dare forbid it?” he imagined a tavern owner saying.) Long swords, knives on belts, laying beside their owners on tables or even behind ears. Pistols of every shape and size.

And the customers weren’t all men; several women were in the room. And certainly not all “kept women.” He recognized at least one of the women as the Captain of her own ship. And another lady he recognized, he had heard whispers of was planning to be Captain of the ship she served on if she could get rid of its current Captain.

He sat and sipped in silence. He wasn’t sure he recognized the man he had come here to see. Yellow shirt and long hair, dyed yellow. The man glanced back at him and nodded.

Soon he had moved to the man’s table.

“You serve on the Good Queen Bess,” the man said. It was part statement, part question.

“Yes,” he said. “Since I was fifteen.”

“You want a change is what your message said.” the older man said.

“I want advancement,” he said. “I’m not a damned cabin boy, I’m a sailor. I’ve flown under the pirate flag. I’ve been part of a crew that has raided, pillaged, fought and killed. I’ve done all that. I’ve fired cannons, I’ve boarded ships. I’ve stolen.” He shook his head bitterly. “And after the heat of the moment when an extra pair of hands was necessary I’m shunted into the background to serve meals and clean dishes. And I’ve had enough of it…Sir.”

“You realize what pledging loyalty and fealty to me and my ship would mean?” The older man said. “You would be a traitor to your own…”

“They’re not my own!” His voice rose with anger for a moment, he realized a couple of other customers were looking at him. “I have no ties to them. Not loyalty, not friendship, not anything.” He looked into the older man’s face. “I intend to serve you and your ship and crew, and to rise in the ranks…”

“And become Captain?” The older man said with a smile showing broken teeth.

“Someday, maybe,” he said, not backing down.

“Finish your drink,” the older man said. “And we’ll talk on board ship.”

The older man and the younger man stepped out of the tavern and into the dark street. They had walked only a short distance when the younger man pulled the sword from its uncomfortable hiding place in his pantleg and ran the older man through. He was wiping the blade when he heard the voice; his head jerked up in surprise.

“Very good,” said the man stepping out from behind the trees, followed by several other men. The first man was tall, wearing a yellow shirt and had his hair dyed a matching yellow.

There was a sound behind the younger man and he saw another man step forward out of the darkness, large and holding a sword.

“But you should not assume that every man in a yellow shirt with yellow hair is the one you wanted to kill,” the tall man in yellow said.

He nodded.

In an instant, the younger man was run through and fell to the wooden planks of the dock.

“Make sure he’s dead and take him with us,” the tall man said. “We’ll send him as a present to The Good Queen Bess along with our demands.” He glanced down at the man in the yellow shirt with the yellow hair, the yellow shirt stained with blood. “Pitty about Roger but he served his purpose. Leave him there.”

They picked up the younger man and walked off.

Ever afterward, barrels sitting outside a building would make him think of pirates. Of course, that ever afterward was only a few moments, as it was the last image he saw in his head.

—end—