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. It was still early enough. that we passed a few sober sailors.
At one point a heavy, black-bearded man with an interesting scar on his
right cheek began to approach us, but a smaller man caught up with him first
and whispered something in his ear. They both fumed away.
"Hey," I said. "What did he want?"
"Nothin'," the smaller man said. "He don't want nothin'." He studied me
for a moment and nodded. Then, "I saw you here the other night," he added.
"Oh," I said, as they continued to the next corner, turned it, and were
gone.
"What was that all about?" Coral said.
"I didn't get to that part of the story yet."
But I remembered it vividly when we passed the place where it had
occurred. No signs of that conflict remained.
I almost passed what had been Bloody Bill's, though, because a new sign
hung above the door. It read "Bloody Andy's," in fresh green letters. The
place was just the same inside, however, except for the man behind the
counter, who was taller and thinner than the shaggy, cragfaced individual
who had served me last time. His name, I learned, was Jak, and he was Andy's
brother. He sold us a bottle of Bayle's Piss and put in our order for two
fish dinners through the hole in the wall. My former table was vacant and we
took it. I laid my sword belt on the chair to my right, with the blade
partly drawn, as I had been taught etiquette required here
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