Eye of Sun, Dragon Soul (Book 4)
One of the crewmen sharing the long table leaned over toward Fallyn. He was a skinny seaman with brown hair that looked like it had been cut by a blind man. His nose was crooked and he was missing his front teeth. “How’s yer mash? Good ain’t it?”
Fallyn nodded and pushed away his empty plate. “We’ve been living on old bread and watered oats, compliments of the governors.”
“It weren’t fish, anyway,” stated the young man.
“Percy got fish nigh up to his gills,” explained a blonde man. He sat beside Percy on the aisle. “Name’s Hywel and that’s me brother, Malven.” He pointed to the blonde man sitting across from him.
“Fish mornin’, noon and evenin’,” muttered Percy. “Can’t tolerate it no more.”
“Stop cookin’ fish then,” exclaimed Malven. “Yer the blame cook.”
“Pull up somethin’ aside fish an’ I will.” Percy grinned.
“Mutton would be good,” suggested Hywel. “Hook us a good shank a sheep off Ramsey.”
Percy thought that was worth a laugh and ordered more ale.
“Don’t mind the fish stew,” said Hywel. “Like it with potatoes. Good when they come in again.”
“Still fish,” muttered Percy.
“Good crab off Ross and Whitnee,” offered Hywel. “Crab’s worth the work.”
“Still fish,” muttered Percy.
“Crabs not fish,” corrected Malven. “It’s crab.”
“It’s a sort of fish,” insisted the skinny cook.
“It don’t got fins, Perce.”
“Neither do a clam, ya idiot.”
“A clam ain’t a fish neither.”
Percy downed his ale. “If it’s from the sea, it’s a fish.”
“Lot’s from the sea that ain’t fish,” Hywel reminded him. “Rocks and weed. Sand.”
“We’re talkin’ about fish, not sand!” shouted Percy, grinning.
“Just sayin’ not everything in the sea is fish,” explained Hywel.
“If it come from the sea, looks like fish, tastes like fish, is fish.” Percy pushed back his chair, hitting the back of a bald warrior at the next table who growled and gave him a shove. Percy stood up. “Now, that weren’t necessary. We’re just talkin’ about what’s fish.”
“I’m heard enough,” snarled the bald man. “Fish have gills. That’s how you know they are fish.”
Percy’s face turned bright red. He suddenly lifted the edge of the table, spilling every tankard the length of it. He took an off-balance swing at the warrior who popped him in the nose. Percy howled, turned and smashed a tankard into the cheek of a blonde-bearded warrior. The man shoved Percy back so hard he flew off his feet, landing on the suppers of the Gale Breaker’s crew.
“He pushed me on ya!” shouted Percy, his arms protecting his face. “Blame warriors, wrecking yer supper.” The crew of the Gale Breaker shoved Percy back toward the warriors, but Hywel caught his arm and yanked him out of the path of a right hook that would have taken his head off. A man from the Gale Breaker spun around and thundered a punch into the belly of the bald man and head-butted him in the face, breaking his nose. Another warrior with a scar across his chin picked up a chair and threw it at the Gale Breaker’s crew. The crewmen erupted, climbing over the tables and throwing their fists at any warrior in range. The proprietor roared from the end of the room, but it was too late.