Chapter 5 And the ugly
“I’m not taking you into the Sign of the Three Goats!”
Floriana, currently in the guise of Florek the page, nursed a mead in some resigned resentment at her husband’s protectiveness.
True, the Sign of the Three Goats had a reputation so bad that ‘disreputable’ was left far behind, and ‘wretched hive of scum and villainy’ barely scratched the surface. However, there had been some efforts to clean up a tavern once known as ‘The Church,’ for errant husbands to claim to have been at the church to wrathful wives, and since there had been a brawl in the Three Goats, which had involved Kazimierz and Mariola, there had needed to be some structural repair as well as cosmetic upgrades... or as Dawid Starski, Floriana’s husband had put it, they had been forced to paint the new section of wall required where Kazimierz had thrown a pimp of juvenile prostitutes through the window, taking frame and part of the wall with him. The structure had never been sturdy to start off with.
That, however, was merely incidental, a minor incident in the day of a substarosta. And they were supposed to be covering the more up-market taverns in any case.
“Warszawa has kindly let us know,” Starosta Młocki had said, with biting sarcasm, “That they believe a gang of thieves has fled before the justices in the city and are headed our way. They specialise in taking by surprise those who are half-cut and robbing them, beating those who protest.”
Which was why Floriana was sitting in the Sign of the Golden Bells, one of the most prestigious inns in the city of Większy-Bydlin, which Dawid believed was above the touch of the thuggish thieves, whilst he went to shake down some of the regulars of the Three Goats, who might have information on the newcomers.
When the six thugs with heavy clubs came in, Floriana’s eyes lit up with unholy glee. So much for keeping her safe.
“Right, gi’s orl yer valuables!” said the leader.
“Throw down your weapons and put your hands behind your heads and march straight to the jailhouse,” said Floriana, standing.
“Ho! You want to make a fight of it, you snotty little szlachcic?” demanded the leader.
“You are wrong,” said Floriana. “You ask, ‘Do you want to make a fight of it, my lord, you snotty little szlachcic, sir.’ And as I am of the Raven banner, the answer is, ‘Of course,’ as there’s precious little other entertainment in this tavern, because the band can’t play anything but French ballads and the singer’s vibrato is so extreme it makes her look like a blancmange.”
She took the time in which she was speaking to edge to the end of the table so that only one thug could come at her at a time, unless they went over the table. Her back was to the wall.
“Here! What’s wrong with my vibrato?” demanded the singer, offended.
“If it stuck to your voice, nothing,” said Floriana, whose eyes were watching the brigands. “It’s just that it threatens to vibrate everything out of the top of your French gown.”
“I was enjoying that,” said another of the patrons. “I had a bet on with myself that she’d lose a teat if she went any higher. Did you need to deputise a constable, my lord?”
“If you’re volunteering, I won’t turn it down,” said Floriana. The thugs had begun to move. Her new ally picked up a chair and smashed it, taking up one of the legs, and leaping agilely to the tabletop beside her.
“Now, let’s see you villyuns try to hurt the little boy,” he said. “Name’s Dawidowicz,” he told her. “Your brother and his page saved my son’s life and got a load of stolen furs back for me; Substarosta Bystrzanowski is your brother, isn’t he?”
“Yes, that’s right,” said Floriana.
“Can’t mistake that hell-ring in the eyes, my lord, even though your hair’s lighter,” said Dawidowicz.
The leading brigand flicked a finger at two of his men to take down the furrier, whilst he himself advanced on Floriana. He paused, briefly, as the twin hiss of two sabres being drawn signalled that the boy he thought he was about to bully was not unarmed; but how good could a slender youth be against the strength of a man?
He did not understand the whirling of the two blades, and he was still wondering briefly where to strike the youth with his club when he no longer had a club, because he no longer had a hand holding it. He had little time to ponder on this before the thoughts drained out of his head with the blood as the other sabre swept through his neck. Floriana took sabre drill seriously; and if she was not in the same class as Mariola, she was good enough to outclass any brigand with a club.
Dawidowicz had taken a few lumps but was battling away valiantly, and most important he was preventing any of the thugs from climbing on the table.
Floriana considered, and used the Cossack dancing she had learned to leap up beside him. They tacitly set their backs together and Floriana’s whirling blades quickly accounted for two more. Dawidowicz was keeping another occupied, and the final two, seeing no sense in selling their lives, started to back away.
This was when the door opened.
The newcomer was Dawid Starski, who took in the scene in an instant.
The two thugs going the other way heard twin hissing blades behind them, and froze.
“Going somewhere, precious?” said Dawid, genially.
The thugs slumped, dropped their clubs, and put their hands behind their necks. Floriana moved in on the one fighting Dawidowicz, and he surrendered too.
“My thanks, good Dawidowicz; will you come to have your bruises tended, give deposition, and receive a day’s pay for a special constable?” said Floriana.
“Gladly,” said Dawidowicz. “Er, what about the dead ones, my lord?”
“We’ll send constables to take out the trash,” said Floriana. She turned to the barkeeper. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Think nothing of it... my lord,” he growled.
“Florek, you whelp! Can’t you stay out of trouble?” roared Dawid, beyond grateful to see his wife cheerful and unwounded.
“But, my lord! I thought you sent them from the Three Goats to entertain me,” said Floriana, opening her eyes wide.
“Whelp!” he said. And her eyes laughed at him.
I've a two-part story about Adele after this
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