Read Online Demons & Pearls (The Razor's Adventures Book 1) by P.S. Bartlett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: P.S. Bartlett
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until they grew closer. The noise pulled me in as well—and there was plenty of it. I imagined even at this ungodly hour of the night, this wasn’t the peak of it. The alleyways I slid through were shadowed by mossy stone walls. I could hear the gentle splash of waves beneath the ebbs and flows of laughter from the taverns, as they beat against the beach and the ships around the wharfs. I knew I was conjuring a cauldron of secrets on this night, but regardless of the stench that arose from the steaming pot I was stirring, there was no way I was turning back.
As I came around the corner of what I discovered was New Street, entering the alley that led to what appeared to be a courtyard full of taverns, I had the unfortunate luck to stumble upon the grunting and groaning of an entwined couple doing their dirty business and rather enjoying it, much to my dismay. Since they were so passionately engaged against a wall behind a cart loaded with empty crates, I decided to make a dash for the courtyard in hopes of not being noticed. However, as I made my pass, the woman had apparently been keeping a watchful eye and cried out, accusing me of spying.
I kept my feet under me, raced to the end of the alley, and ducked my head into a tavern doorway. Something inside of me held me back from going all the way in. I peeked around and saw half the men were passed out drunk, and the rest eyed me like a stray dog. I took two steps to back myself out the door, when I felt something, or someone, hit me hard across the back. I arched my body in pain and stumbled forward from the stoop before I caught myself on one of the wooden tables set up outside. Whoever was behind me kept coming, and I felt an arm wrap tightly around my neck.
My first thought was to reach for my sword, but then I remembered I’d been stripped of my arms aboard the ship. I struggled against the man to free myself, if not to escape his violent assault, then definitely to relieve myself of his foul breath upon me as he pulled my head back next to his in the skirmish.
“Get yer bloody hands off a’ me!” I shouted as I kicked and fought my way out of his grip and turned on him with a crushing punch to his foul mouth. My screwed-on cavalier had come loose, but thankfully my scarf had remained in place. As I scrambled to the ground to retrieve it, the man’s boot met me square in the chin, sending me backwards onto my arse. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth, and I could feel my jaw beginning to swell as I rubbed at it lightly and looked up at the man.
I had had enough. On my way to my feet, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my razor. I flipped it open, and the stranger and I squared off. “I just want a fucking drink, ye bastard!” I shouted at him. We circled each other—crouched forward as if we were two wild dogs. In his right hand, he held a dagger, and his left was outstretched with only three remaining fingers showing.
“If ye want ta’ keep the rest a’ them fingers, I’m suggestin’ ye move along and leave me be ye…ye…ye scurvy bastard!” I did my best to both disguise my voice and speak in the manner I’d heard so many men speak in the past few weeks.
“Wait just a second,” the man said, and he snatched a lantern from one of the tables and swung it out to get a better view of me. I looked at him sideways, shielding half my face in the shadow that fell beyond the light of the lantern. “Ye ain’t Scrawny Pauley Smith!”
I clenched my razor until my hand felt numb and then swiped at him to back off. I gathered my coat across my heaving chest to conceal my clearly less than obvious breasts. Since I’d been mistaken for a man, albeit a scrawny one, I had no intention of allowing my backwards good fortune to run out.
“Apologies, lad. Buy ye a drink?” he asked as he stowed away his dagger.
I relaxed my right hand and flipped my razor closed. “Get that light outta me face, and ye’ve got a deal.”
“Not so
As I came around the corner of what I discovered was New Street, entering the alley that led to what appeared to be a courtyard full of taverns, I had the unfortunate luck to stumble upon the grunting and groaning of an entwined couple doing their dirty business and rather enjoying it, much to my dismay. Since they were so passionately engaged against a wall behind a cart loaded with empty crates, I decided to make a dash for the courtyard in hopes of not being noticed. However, as I made my pass, the woman had apparently been keeping a watchful eye and cried out, accusing me of spying.
I kept my feet under me, raced to the end of the alley, and ducked my head into a tavern doorway. Something inside of me held me back from going all the way in. I peeked around and saw half the men were passed out drunk, and the rest eyed me like a stray dog. I took two steps to back myself out the door, when I felt something, or someone, hit me hard across the back. I arched my body in pain and stumbled forward from the stoop before I caught myself on one of the wooden tables set up outside. Whoever was behind me kept coming, and I felt an arm wrap tightly around my neck.
My first thought was to reach for my sword, but then I remembered I’d been stripped of my arms aboard the ship. I struggled against the man to free myself, if not to escape his violent assault, then definitely to relieve myself of his foul breath upon me as he pulled my head back next to his in the skirmish.
“Get yer bloody hands off a’ me!” I shouted as I kicked and fought my way out of his grip and turned on him with a crushing punch to his foul mouth. My screwed-on cavalier had come loose, but thankfully my scarf had remained in place. As I scrambled to the ground to retrieve it, the man’s boot met me square in the chin, sending me backwards onto my arse. The taste of my own blood filled my mouth, and I could feel my jaw beginning to swell as I rubbed at it lightly and looked up at the man.
I had had enough. On my way to my feet, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my razor. I flipped it open, and the stranger and I squared off. “I just want a fucking drink, ye bastard!” I shouted at him. We circled each other—crouched forward as if we were two wild dogs. In his right hand, he held a dagger, and his left was outstretched with only three remaining fingers showing.
“If ye want ta’ keep the rest a’ them fingers, I’m suggestin’ ye move along and leave me be ye…ye…ye scurvy bastard!” I did my best to both disguise my voice and speak in the manner I’d heard so many men speak in the past few weeks.
“Wait just a second,” the man said, and he snatched a lantern from one of the tables and swung it out to get a better view of me. I looked at him sideways, shielding half my face in the shadow that fell beyond the light of the lantern. “Ye ain’t Scrawny Pauley Smith!”
I clenched my razor until my hand felt numb and then swiped at him to back off. I gathered my coat across my heaving chest to conceal my clearly less than obvious breasts. Since I’d been mistaken for a man, albeit a scrawny one, I had no intention of allowing my backwards good fortune to run out.
“Apologies, lad. Buy ye a drink?” he asked as he stowed away his dagger.
I relaxed my right hand and flipped my razor closed. “Get that light outta me face, and ye’ve got a deal.”
“Not so
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