Robert Asprin - Wings of Omen

Violent death, however, the act of murder or assassination, was new to him. The casualness with which the people of this new land fought or defended themselves was beyond his comprehension. That was what frightened him the most; not the violence, but his newfound friends' easy acceptance of it. They no more questioned or challenged the existence of random violence than they did the tides or sunset. It was a constant in this Old Man's world... a world that was now his own as well.

The Old Man's comment about assassins was not lost on Monkel. Too many Beysib were being killed-so many that not even the most callous citizen of Sanctuary could pretend it was random violence. Someone, or perhaps a group of someones, was actively hunting the immigrants. Clan Burek was being hit harder than his own clan Setmur, and the theories to explain this oddity were many: the Burek were richer and drew more attention from the local cutthroats; they were more inclined to venture into the town at night than the fisher-folk of clan Setmur; and their arrogance and pride made them more susceptible to being lured into fights against the Beysa's orders. While Monkel acknowledged these reasons and agreed with them to a limited extent, he felt there were also other factors to be considered. His lessons from the Old Man in basic street survival, which he had, in turn, passed on to his clan, had much to do with Setmur's low casualty rate. And perhaps most important was the local fishing community's acceptance of the clan, a phenomenon Monkel had grown to appreciate more" and more as time wore on. As a result of his appreciation, he had privately decided to expand his duties as clan head to include doing everything in his power to further the friendships between his people and the locals, whether it involved endorsing a boat-building project or simply accompanying the Old Man on his weekly visit to the Wine Barrel, as he was doing tonight.

The Wine Barrel had changed, even during Monkel's brief time in town. Much of the new money in Sanctuary was being tunneled into its only readily expandable food source-the waterfront. The fishing community was enjoying an unprecedented affluence, and it was only to be expected that a portion of that wealth would be spent at their favorite gathering point and tavern, the Wine Barrel.

Once a rickety wharfside dive, the Wine Barrel had been upgraded to near respectability. Chairs purchased secondhand from a bordello had replaced the mismatched benches and crates that once adorned the place, and years of grime were beginning to give way to a once-a-month, top-to-bottom scrubbing; still, some of the old traditions remained.

As Monkel followed the Old Man into the tavern, he noted several of his clansmen scattered through the room, all sitting with other Beysib, but there unchallenged nonetheless. There was one table, however, none of them sat at... in fact, no Sanctuary fishermen sat at without an invitation. That was the table that exploded with noise upon their entrance.

"It's about time. Old Man!"

"We already drank your share. You'll have to order more."

"Hey, Monkel. Can't you get the Old Man to walk any faster? The streets are dangerous to those who dawdle."

Sitting at their table were the elite of Sanctuary's fishing community, the senior captains of which the Old Man was the unofficial leader. It was no different from the other tables, but because they sat there, the service was quicker and their drinks arrived in portions noticeably larger than those served at other tables.

Of all the Beysib, Monkel was the only one accepted as an equal at the captains' table, partially because of his status as head of the Setmur clan, but mostly because the Old Man said he was welcome.

Prior to their relocation to Sanctuary, a Beysib scout ship had picked up the Old Man and his son Hort and fetched them back to the Beysa's court for interrogation. Once it became apparent that the Old Man would not willingly yield any useful information about their planned destination, the majority of the court had turned their attention to Hort, who was both more talkative and more knowledgeable about the politics and citizenry of Sanctuary. Only Monkel had continued dealing with the Old Man, plying him with specific questions only a fisherman would ask: questions about tides and reefs, the feeding patterns and nature of the native fish. The Old Man recognized them as the questions of a working man as opposed to those asked by the military or the politicians, and began to trade information for information. Their mutual respect had grown into a cautious friendship, and Monkel had made a point of protecting the Old Man from the curiosity and jibes of his own countrymen. Now they were in Sanctuary, and the Old Man was returning the favor by helping Monkel and his clan settle into their new home.

The next round of drinks arrived, and Monkel started to reach for his purse. The Old Man caught his eye with a glare of stem disapproval, but the Beysib merely smiled and withdrew a small coin barely large enough to pay for his own refreshment. Though poor by comparison with the royal Burek clan, the Setmurs were still substantially wealthier than their Sanctuary-raised counterparts. Soon after his arrival in town, the Old Man had warned Monkel against needless displays of money... such as buying a round of drinks for the captains' table. Rather than a gesture of endearing generosity, he had been told, such a move would be interpreted as an attempt to flaunt his financial superiority, hindering rather than advancing his acceptance by the local fisherfolk. Normally a bit tight-fisted by nature, Monkel had no difficulty following this advice, though the Old Man still tended to fret at him about it from time to time.

The cheap wine favored by the other captains was distasteful to Monkel, who was used to the more delicate, subtle texture of Beysib beverages, but he drank it anyway to avoid appearing overly critical of the tastes of his new-found friends. In a compromise with his own palate, he merely sipped cautiously at one glass while listening to the fishermen gossip.

The Sanctuary fishermen were a close-knit community, caring little for the affairs of the "city folk," and it showed in their conversations. From discussions with his clansmen who had more contact with clan Burek, Monkel had obtained a wealth of rumors speculating on whether or not the Rankan Emperor was dead and the effect it would have on Prince Kadakithis, currently the object of their own Beysa's affection. None of this was even mentioned at the captains' table... their conversation, instead, centered on the movements of various schools of fish, and occasionally touched on the unpredictable winds and storms which seemed to spring from nowhere to threaten the fishing fleet even at anchor. There was also still talk about the solar eclipse, though Monkel's assurances that such phenomena were not unheard of in the chronicles of the Beysib Empire had kept the fishing community from joining the town's panic at the time.

Monkel entered into the "fish" discussions wholeheartedly enough, particularly those concerning the deep-water species he was familiar with, but remained silent during the "storm" speculations. He had his own opinions, of course, but was more than reluctant to voice them, even here. There was a stink of sorcery over the harbor these days, but Monkel had been raised a fisherman by fisherfolk. He knew better than to stir their superstitious nature unnecessarily; He was lost in these thoughts when he suddenly noticed the conversation had stopped... in fact, all talk in the tavern had stopped as the assembled fishermen stared at the front door. Since he was sitting with his back to that door, Monkel had to turn in his seat to see what it was they were looking at.

It was Uralai of clan Burek, resplendent in her guards' uniform as she nervously surveyed the Wine Barrel's interior. She caught sight of Monkel as he turned, and strode through the silent tables to where he sat.