The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [111]
"My position is according to the manual," the man answered, annoyed. Little fool, thought the baron, the manual says first and foremost that you must not talk to me. His 'g's are soft, he must be from Lebennin… well, that's totally unimportant; what is important is that he's not directly behind me but rather a step to the left, and is six feet tall less a couple of inches… Is this it? Yes; the head did what it had to, now it's Fortune's turn.
A second later Tangorn, still carelessly slouched on his chair, reached the bowl of powdered red pepper with the fingers of his left hand and tossed it behind his back in a swift casual movement, straight into the Lebenninian's face, simultaneously slamming the toe of his boot into the leg bone of his vis-à-vis.
It is a well-known fact that a startled person always inhales, so the peppered man was now out of commission for the foreseeable future; the one in front gurgled: "Aw shit!" and collapsed under the table in a twist of pain, but not for long: the baron failed to break his leg. The other two were already charging at him from the door, one wielding an Umbarian dagger, the other a flail, knocking chairs over, while Tangorn was still fishing inside the jacket of the Lebenninian convulsing on the floor, thinking detachedly to himself: if he only has some toy like brass knuckles or a spring knife – game over… But no – praise Tulkas! – it was a large Umbarian dagger like the ones the mountain men of the Peninsula carry on their belts: a half-yard pointed blade good for both stabbing and slashing blows; not that much, but still a weapon of a warrior rather than a thief.
He engaged the pair and quickly saw that he would not get away cheaply: these guys were no cowards and knew their short weapons almost as well as he did. When his left arm went numb from a glancing blow with the flail, while the third opponent came up from behind, limping but still in fighting shape, the baron knew that this was serious, and began fighting in earnest.
…The glum gondolier, paid with a silver castamir, tied up at a decrepit cargo pier and returned a few minutes later with new clothes for his passenger – rags when compared to a player's cockatoo garb, but with no blood on them. Tangorn changed on the run to save time, putting away the captured dagger and the silver badge he took off the neck of one of the 'skuas' – Karanir, Sergeant of the Secret Guard of His Majesty Elessar Elfstone, had no further need of it. The third sword of Gondor had escaped, leaving a dead body and two wounded behind; actually, the wounded were most likely already dealt with, since the patrons of the Seahorse Tavern liked secret policemen no better than those of any port dive in any of the worlds.
He himself got away with two minor wounds – scratches, really; the numb arm was a bigger problem, but it was the least of the baron's current worries. After all, he had a few remedies from Haladdin's medkit with him. So what's the situation? Four 'skuas' have disappeared without a trace: they won't be missed for two or three hours, but this timing advantage is all he has. Pretty soon the entire Gondorian spy force will start hunting him, along with – and this was much worse – the local police. Corrupted as they are, they know their business second to none; in less than two hours their informants will let them know that the performance at the Seahorse Tavern was given by none other than their old friend Baron