The East Wind

The ship bucked around in the waves, making a large thudding sound as it grazed the edge of the wharfage. While a passer-by might be alarmed at the sound, it was as if he hadn’t felt it all. He was accustomed to the heavy thump of wood on stone, accompanied by the abrupt jerk of the vessel docking. Even so, he couldn’t suppress the slight upward curve of his mouth whenever he saw a fresh deckhand jump at the loud thud.

As the ship pulled into harbour, he prepared to disembark with what little he had brought along for the journey. Were it a long voyage across the endless expanse of the Boundless Blue, he might have had trouble unloading and carrying everything himself. But moving along the coast, from one settlement to another, did not call for much, especially when, if all went as planned, he would put out to sea again in a few days, headed home.

It was good to touch land again. There was no greater reassuring feeling than the familiar solidity of the ground under his boots. He would miss the sea, but only for a while – the longing for the Blue would gradually erode with the demands and distractions of the city. And of course, there was his errand, the reason for his return. The trunk slowed his progress through the streets, inviting calls of anger as it inadvertently bumped, banged or stamped nameless thighs, hips, feet and arms.

Ignoring the jeers as his chest brushed against a score of people, he contemplated the latest news that was on every lip and seemed to have stirred the entire city into a frenzy. Since setting foot on the receiving platform, it was all he heard. Something about rumblings in the south and what it bode for the rest of the region. It passed on, from brother to brother, mother to daughter, wife to neighbour. Even the children knew that something was in the air, even if they couldn’t possibly comprehend the gravity of what it was they were getting excited over. He mused whether this may have been the reason for his recall.

Can’t be bothered with this right now. People will go after anything…

The murmurs had germinated much earlier, of course, rooted in the idle gossip of the palace that had somehow trickled down to the common peddler and idle housewife. He had dismissed it then, as he was bent on doing now, but it seemed that matters had snowballed into something bigger. Much bigger. And if true, it threatened to consume them all.

All he was preoccupied with for now was finding lodging for the night, pushing aside anything that might hinder a good night’s sleep. His knowledge of the city’s layout left much to be desired, but a half-decent inn could easily be found at a reasonable price in a place this massive. His hands almost felt numb from the effort of dragging the travelling chest – being at sea, with only intermittent trips ashore, meant carrying enough for months at a time. One never knew when one might run short or what the local establishments offered along the way.

As he continued down the path, almost losing his balance and toppling over a pair of running children, his eyes caught a flash of something on his right. Following the direction of the disturbance, they fell upon a dark alleyway where an old man was being accosted by three younger men. The men seemed to be in their prime, two of them brandishing sticks in the face of the white-bearded man. The rays of the midday sun cast a tall shadow, as they fell over a tarp hanging directly over the spot where the men were arguing. Thus, they were hidden from the multitude of people passing by on the main street. The three had cornered the old man and formed a tight semicircle around him, leaving almost no room to manoeuvre.

From where he was standing, the man could not make out what the disagreement was about. All he could catch were was faint snatches of “give it…”, “harder for you…”, “no resist…”. All of a sudden, one of the young men slapped the old man on the temple and the other two joined in. Before he knew what was happening, a flurry of pushing and pulling ensued and the four figures constantly shone and dimmed as they emerged from and sank back into the overhanging shadow of the tarp. At that, the man dropped his belongings and charged into the fray.

He did not think before he ran. He didn’t need to. It was not his way. The old man was putting up quite a struggle, determined not to go down without a fight. It was futile and the man knew that time and age were against him. Eventually, Whitebeard would succumb. There was no way that he could break out against three attackers, all far younger than him – one among them seemed no older than sixteen or seventeen. The man wondered whether the boy had been forced into this.

Reaching just in time, the man caught one of the attackers just below the elbow and flung him down, just as the assailant was about to sink his fist between Whitebeard’s nose and right cheek. Almost as quick, he ducked down as one of the other attackers, stick in hand, was running towards him and caught him by one of his legs, thrusting him upwards. The attacker was surprised and went down, his back hitting the paved street as he was flung upwards. The third attacker, who had had his stick against Whitebeard, now came for him. The first attacker was beginning to stir, his eyes flaming.

It went like clockwork. The man did not have to think at all, and did not hesitate. Compared to the others, his movements were fluid. As the attacker clumsily brought down his stick, the man ducked aside and snatched the stick, bringing it up in the same movement and sending the other crashing down. He turned to the first attacker who, by now, was fully up and awaited his move. The attacker decided at another attempt and came thundering all out, with his head aimed at the man’s chest. But the man was ready. He turned aside, while grabbing the man in a headlock and hitting the back of his leg so as to send him sprawling again. The attacker tried to get up only to find the man’s leg on his throat, effectively pinning him down, making him taste the hard, uncomfortable touch of stone. And right there, in the heat of the melee, it happened.

It manifested itself in the inexplicably rapid blinking of the eyes. At first, it was nothing but a wisp, insignificant, within the grasp of his will. It was like the slightest drip in his mind, a scarlet gash across his consciousness. Before long though, and he was sure of this, the incessant chirping would soon gather steam and become a raging storm, insatiable, trenchant in its drive, holding the strings to his every move.

And bringing the worst with it.

No, not now. Not here. Not this time.

In the sheer chaos of it all, the man noticed that Whitebeard had not fled and was standing there, either frozen in astonishment or unwilling to abandon the man who had saved him. For the most part, he seemed relatively unharmed and if anything, appeared to be egging the man on, pausing only to taunt the attackers when , inevitable, one of them would go down, victim to the man’s glaring finesse, and failing to see the wisdom of abandoning the assault.

Now the fighting devolved into brutal, street hacking. With his leg still keeping down the first attacker and the stick firmly in his hand, the man challenged the other two. They tried to come at him but he violently shoved aside their arms with the stick. Swinging the stick kept them at bay, but he finally let go of the first man to face them all head on. Time to finish this. Had enough for one day…come at me, you miserable bastards.

The first attacker was still coughing and massaging his neck from the man’s counter. As the second attacker came to his comrade’s rescue, the man ducked under one of his swinging arms and hit him hard on his back. As the attacker stumbled, the man hit him again on the same spot and ended with a forceful blow on the upper arm. The third attacker had become wary and after seeing what had happened to his friends, decided it wiser to keep his distance from the madman. The other two came to as well.

The man grinned, but it was not aimed at the hopelessness of the others, who were, at best, amateurs at their honourable profession. To his surprise, he found that it was at the abscess within.

It was reeling. It had tried to suffocate him, as it had before, but this time, it hadn’t succeeded and he would make sure it would not again, even if it meant his death. This wouldn’t be the last time, but it was a start. It was not beyond his control, and he knew now that it could be tamed.

Ha. I have you now.

He just had to find the right way.

One by one, the man helped the attackers up by the arm but would not drop the stick. They seemed to think the better of it and withdrew, glancing back at him, unsure whether he would jump them while their backs were turned.

Wouldn’t blame them, the way they turned out.

After following the departure of the attackers and making sure they were well and truly gone, the man went over to Whitebeard.

“You alright, good sir? I must get you some help,” he asked, his hand reaching out towards what he could make out were faint bruises on the old man’s temple and forehead.

“Fine, I’m fine, young man, don’t you worry about me. Spectacular! Absolutely spectacular! Boy, you sure showed them. Unbelievable, man! What are you, eh?” the old man said excitedly.

“Please good sir, did what I had to. My only regret is that I didn’t jump in sooner – probably wouldn’t have turned as nasty as it did,” the man said.

Whitebeard reassured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Ah it’s ok, these things happen all the time. Such a big city, who’d miss another old guy? Don’t worry son, you did more than enough – certainly more than most would have done. Those men would’ve cleared me out if you hadn’t come charging in. Probably worse.”

“Well, it gladdens me that you’re fine and in good spirits. If you’ll allow me, I must be on my way and…gather my things,” the man finished, looking around and finding his still-intact chest. Throughout the fight, it had remained secure.

“Ah, you new in the city?” Whitebeard asked, catching sight of the chest and noticing the man’s attire, slightly crumpled with flecks of dust after what had happened only moments ago.

“No sir, not new, been here a handful of times before. Got a job to carry out and then I’m gone. For a while, anyway.”

“Ah, I see. How’d you get here? Surely something of that size would require a carriage, but you don’t seem to have one. At least not one that I can see.”

“Came in by sea, sir. Ship just docked, not too long ago. I’m just looking for a place to stay. I remember there was an inn somewhere here. Would be nice to find it quickly, this handle is killing me,” he said, tapping the chest.

“Oh, a sailor. Adventurous, eh? Always wanted to go out and experience the Boundless Blue, but could never muster the courage. I mean, what’re you supposed to do if the boat springs a leak? At least when you’re on land and a wheel pops off or a horse’s leg gives out, well…you’re on land.”

The man was amused and laughed at Whitebeard’s words. He was exactly how he appeared: simple and unassuming. Unlikely there was anything else beyond that. The man liked such people, and in these times, they were missed.

“You’re right, sir. But…oh, what can I say, I love the sea. That part of me will never die. And when you’ve been on deck as long as I have, those misgivings vanish. Come to think of it, not sure whether I even had them, to begin with.”

 “I really must be getting on my way now. It was nice meeting you, sir, hopefully we’ll cross paths again. In different circumstances, I pray.”

As the man walked away, straightening his travelling chest and making sure all the latches were still in place, Whitebeard called out after him, “Wait, wait! Your name. You did not tell me your name!”

But all he saw was the back of the receding man, his dark cloak flowing out after him.