Dawn's Early Light by Pip Ballantine

matter. “Keep an eye out for Blackbeard. We need alert folk like you around here.”
    The old man nodded excitedly, and downed the shot glass in his grasp. Turning on her heel, she strode back to Bill and the collected locals. One glance into Bill’s glassy eyes and she knew that this evening was just going to get longer.
    â€œWe need to go,” she whispered to Bill.
    The men around him whooped and whistled. “Gonna get something sweet tonight, Billy boy!” one of the sailors blurted.
    Perhaps the melancholy of the old soldier had sucked the evening’s amusement from her. Because Eliza could not stop herself from rounding on the offending sailor. “Why don’t you just shut your flapping gums, mate!”
    Laughter coupled with feigned shock at her retort filled her ears. The sailor stepped up to Eliza, his jocularity turning sinister in an instant. “You gonna shut them for me, missy?” he snarled. “I can think of
one
way to occupy my mouth with you.”
    Bloody Americans. They really didn’t know a warning when it bit them in the arse. “Now how can you follow through with that,” she began, “when you have a split lip?”
    He leaned in closer. His breath stank. “What split lip?”
    Bill, the collected sailors, and the assorted deckhands never saw Eliza’s palm heel strike, but they did see the sailor’s head snap back, his mouth and chin covered in his own blood.
    â€œThat one,” she spat.
    The men surrounding them were no longer smiling. Bill burst into a hearty chuckle as he gave Eliza a playful rap against her corset while the circle of sailors slowly closed the space around them. “Now settle down, Lizzie. We’re just havin’ a laugh. No harm. Right, boys?”
    â€œYour little missy , Bill, needs to learn her place,” another sailor spoke, his eyes fixed on Eliza.
    â€œMate,” she seethed, “if you even tried—”
    The man exploded, sending his glass hard to the floor.
“Am I talking to you, whore?”
    Now the silence was thick, pressing against Eliza’s sides, threatening to squeeze her last breath out of her. Every eye was on them.
    Bill hooked his thumbs in his belt buckle, shaking his head ruefully. “I was about to do that, Enoch,” he said, “but you had to go on and be rude.” He looked over at Eliza and she gave a little gasp. The glassy eyes were now quite clear, quite focused. “How about you apologise?”
    â€œHow ’bout you go to hell?” he snapped, stepping free of his group. His stance was hardly steady. Must have been trying to match Bill shot for shot.
    â€œJust apologise to Little Lizzie and everything’ll be back to the way it was,” Bill urged, taking off his hat.
    Eliza’s gaze jumped from Enoch, back to Bill. Did this horse’s ass call her “Little Lizzie” just now?
    â€œWhy? She somethin’ special?” he growled back. “This trollop got a special way of sucking—”
    Bill’s head launched forwards and the crunch of Enoch’s nose was clearly heard, providing those in Quagmire’s their only warning before he flipped a nearby table, sending glasses and bottles flying everywhere. A single shot glass slapped into the OSM agent’s grasp, and he threw it at a dockhand reaching for a pistol, knocking the man off balance. Bill then leapt on a lone chair left behind by the toppled table, and jumped into the throng of men with whom he’d been sharing convivial drinks. His battle cry—Eliza had heard it called a “Rebel Yell”—served as a ceremonial cannon, signalling the beginning of tonight’s entertainment.
    A few of Enoch’s friends closed on Bill in quick order, but there were others around that were either siding with Bill in defending “Little Lizzie’s” honour or simply itching for a good brawl. By the time Bill was free, thanks