Chapter 84: The Calm After the Storm

The rest of the night was exhausting. It wasn't boring, but it would be boring to recount. The whole thing was Wynnie using ice magic to tend to burns, and me using high-proof alcohol to sanitize wounds. Lady Talia and Shivai helped direct cleanup and recovery efforts.

By the time we were wrapping up, the first light of day was breaking over the sea. The faint glimmer of blue-green flashed as the sun rose, and the rain finally petered out and stopped. Steam rose off everything, banishing the water back to the atmosphere.

My buzz had long since worn off. Part of me wanted to run down to the Breakwater and refuel, but I knew that was just delaying the inevitable. At some point, I would have to deal with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Hangover included.

"I have to take the big guy to the infirmary. Then jail." Lady Talia looked over at the still-breathing husk of the Dreaded Pirate Robertson. "If you're headed back to the inn, can you send Donald back up this way?"

"Sure."

I wanted to say more. But also, I didn't. It felt like a vow of silence might be fitting for a week. The weight of violence hung heavy around my neck like an existential anchor. Seaport could probably use a decent therapist. A real one, not a bartender. I knew it’d just make things worse to talk to myself.

And this time, after all the blood on my hands, I couldn't just go to The Good Inn to wash it away. They'd made out rather poorly. Wooden beams stood alone like dead trees, still crackling with the last of dying embers. A ceiling beam fell, crashing into ash underneath.

I didn’t feel the need to wash anything away, though. Maybe the rain had done its part, but I suspected it was something far simpler.

I felt pride. Not for killing. That still didn’t sit right with me. But I felt proud that I’d saved the town once more, against all odds. My fireballs went toe to toe with a magical conjured trident and came out on top. A Molotov cocktail put a barbarian under. Every time I thought of myself as just a simple bartender, I proved to myself that I could be so much more.

Several of The Good Inn's employees simply sat nearby with vacant stares, no doubt mulling over their next moves. Most huddled together, separated by a few inches. A couple remained alone, apart from the others.

I wished there was something I could do for them. My mind raced through possibilities, each more unlikely than the last. Still, it felt like I was narrowing in on something. At the very least, I could pledge a helping hand.

Wynnie and Shivai huddled up next to me, both ready to call it a day. I couldn't wait to get back to our room and sleep. I could save my existential hand-wringing for later. A good night's rest would give me some much-needed perspective.

But there was something I needed to do first.

I recognized one of the employees sitting against a nearby rock. It was Mel, Wynnie's frenemy from the first visit to The Good Inn. She'd served us kindly, but with a bit of pity aimed at Wynnie. The tension between the two elves was polite but unmistakable, though it felt more complicated than whatever I could detect on the surface.

Her hair was tangled and wet, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. I knew that look. It was the one that said if she wasn't given direction, she'd sit like that for hours, trapped in her own head.

"Hey. Mel?" I approached her and raised a hand in a half-hearted hello. "How are you holding up?"

"Hey." No life bubbled under the flat affect of her voice.

"I'm really sorry about tonight. I feel like it's all my fault." In a way, it was. If I'd just left well enough alone at the start. “The Black Ship Raiders were looking for me, and—”

"No. We know it was only a matter of time."

"Well, listen. I don't know what's going to happen with The Good Inn. I know the Black Ship Raiders claim they run protection—that they'll help people rebuild if something goes wrong. But if they're the ones who tear something down, then they can't be counted on." I knew I was stating the obvious, but I was winding up to something. And given her state, I wasn't sure she'd follow my logic otherwise. "The way I see it, folks in Seaport have to stick together. If we can rely on each other, then we won't need any protection from the Black Ship Raiders."

"What are you saying?"

I took a deep breath. "I'm saying that we'll help you rebuild. Hammering nails, painting, whatever you need. You can count on us to be there."

"Thanks." She nodded, then tilted her head toward a stout, matronly elven woman with curly auburn hair. "That's Glenda. I just work here, but she owns the place. Maybe see if she wants a hand."

After she finished speaking, her shoulders sloped. A touch of breeze flapped at her lacey short sleeves, and she huddled against the first chill in well over a week.

Frenemy or no, I hated seeing her like that.

"Is there anything you need? Personally?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I’m out of a job—probably for weeks. You’d think someone of my station would have more resources set aside, but…” She chewed at her lip as she trailed off, mind wandering into dark places.

I nodded. "Tell you what? Why don't you come see us after you get some rest? We'll help you figure it out."

"Sure. Thanks."

She didn't sound enthused, but I wasn't expecting that. She'd just been through hell. I was having a hard enough time myself, and my livelihood hadn't just gone up in flames.

But a plan was forming in my head. First, I wanted to make the same offer to Glenda. Then I wanted to check in with the girls. If we were going to do something meaningful for the town that didn't involve killing pirates, I was going to need a team to pull it off.

Fortunately, I had the best team a guy could ask for. And if I could get Lady Talia on board, perhaps with the aid of her deputies, we’d have enough hands to make a difference for everyone who’d lost something.

***

A few minutes of conversation later, and Glenda waved us off with a bittersweet farewell. The girls and I made our way back to the inn, our steps hushed by a somber mood that seemed to affect the senses on an almost arcane level.

Donald greeted us with a nervous hello as we entered, pushing himself upright after leaning against the desk near the bell. His eyes practically glowed red from being so bloodshot, and a mostly full cup of coffee sloshed with his fumbling movement.

"Everything okay? Did you find the fire?" He looked nervously between the three of us. "Where is Lady Talia?"

"Found the fire, found the pirates," I said. "Lady Talia has the Dreaded Pirate Robertson in custody. She requested a hand in bringing him to jail.”

“A hand!?”

“He’s big. Heavy. Hard for just one person to carry him.”

"Surely, she didn’t mean me? Right?" he stammered, backing up a step.

"He is not in fighting shape," I promised. "I hit him with a few fireballs. Honestly, I'm surprised he's still alive."

His eyes widened in sleepy, anxious awe. “Fireballs!”

I didn’t want to explain. They weren’t real fireballs, but they certainly did the trick.

Donald excused himself after a bit more nervous babbling, giving the three of us our first moment of quiet since the day before. Finally, I felt like I could relax. Tension dropped from my shoulders. A tightness unwound from my chest. The homey comfort of the Breakwater Inn wrapped around me like a blanket.

There was still a lot of ground to cover. I had no idea whether the Black Ship Raiders would be back. Even if they weren’t, we couldn’t simply go back to life as usual. With merfolk warriors rising from the Deeps, we had plenty to worry about.

There was also the issue of The Good Inn. I wanted to share my ideas with the others.

Yet before I could, the plodding, sleepy footsteps of a guest came from down the hall. The door to the rooms opened, and a teal face peeked out.

"Y'all serving breakfast yet?"

It was Freya, the burly mermaid princess. I was almost surprised to see she hadn't slept in her clamshell bra. Instead, she was dressed in a sensible, oversized tank top and loose, flowing black pants.

Before she and her crew left, I’d want to pick her brain about what we’d just seen. I got the sneaking suspicion she’d want to know. With any luck, she could help us understand what was going on.

But first, breakfast. Our guests would all wake soon, and they’d probably be hungry. Service goes on, whether convenient of not.

"We were just about to get started," Wynnie said, forcing the brightest smile she could onto her face. "You're welcome to sit anywhere you'd like. Do you prefer your scones cold or warm?"

"Cold is fine, but I wouldn't mind some hot coffee if you have it."

"Let me go see what I can do."

Wynnie excused herself into the kitchen. Shivai and I set about the main room, preparing tables for morning service. The mermaid gave us a quick smile and padded back to her room to put on some more respectable clothes.

With the serving area set and no other guests yet out, it was just me and Shivai. Something in her expression seemed off, as though she was asking permission to reveal a secret.

So, what the hell. Why not just ask.

"Everything okay?"

"Not really. That was all kind of a lot."

What an understatement. "Yeah. In my old life, nothing like that would ever have happened. It was so simple." Somehow, I resisted the urge to brag that the most excitement I saw was a Friday night rush or a Wednesday evening game session.

"I’ve seen too much of all that in my past. The Silver Coast has a tarnished underbelly.”

"Which part? The stabbing? The giant structure fires? The evil merfolk warrior with a magical water trident?”

"Not all that, per se, but close enough." She paused, steadying herself. "I like how quiet Seaport is. Lady Talia’s a bit rigid, but the worst she’ll do is slap someone on the wrist for stealing, or put someone in the clink overnight for being too drunk.”

“But now that people are fighting in the streets?”

She shuddered. “There was a reason why I tried to stick to the woods rather than the back alleys. If Seaport turns into just another port city with violent slums and overbearing laws…”

The implication hung heavy in the air like a cloud of black smoke. Shivai took a heavy breath and leaned against a table. Her tail uncurled from her leg and hung loosely behind her. 

Rays of dawn sliced through the windows, lighting up the main room of the Breakwater Inn. Suddenly, instead of tastefully minimalist, it just felt bare and empty.

A clatter of dishes came from within the kitchen. A “Drat!” followed. Then, another clatter.

A muffled, “Oh, sugarplums!” 

“Think we should give her a hand?” I asked.

“We’d better. Unless we want a third place to burn down,” Shivai said, putting on her usual roguish charm.

Suddenly, more things clicked into place. Her bravado, sharpened to an edge from years ground down on hard streets. The slippery charisma, earned from years of begging or talking her way out of trouble. Everything she did, everything she was, had been forged in flight.

She'd never had a stable home. Never even had a chance at one. And the whole time, she kept running, searching for someplace safe. For just long enough to give her hope, Seaport had been that place. Especially since she met me.

And tonight, everything she’d been running from had caught up. Everything she thought she’d found was vanishing.

Yet I didn't feel powerless. Hardly. I may have just been a bartender, but I was an isekai hero bartender, dammit. Instability might make her feel anxious, but we could figure something out. I was sure of it.

All I’d need from Shivai was a bit of faith. Maybe a bit of patience, too. Because at the moment, I was drawing blanks on good ideas. And even though she swaggered a bit as she walked toward the kitchen to help Wynnie, I could tell that it was forced.

Worse, the light set of her steps looked like a sprinter in their marks before they ran.