An ordinary tavern, its wooden door, however, was in better condition than the one Max had visited before, as customers rushed in and out simultaneously.
The street bustled with pedestrians, lined with other crowded taverns and shops.
A vivid, lively marketplace for the public.
Suddenly, thunderous roars echoed from the tavern. The passersby, startled, cursed lightly, sneakily peeked inside, their eyes widened for a moment, then shrugged with a chuckle, and left.
Max stood some distance away, watching the bustling surroundings and the tavern. His eyes wandered around; the atmosphere was warm, men and women moving about, some tending to their work while others rushed somewhere else.
Notably, it was a brighter scene, a stark contrast to the previous underworld tavern and alley he had witnessed.
Unlike that shady place, here he even noticed soldiers and law enforcement, alert yet seemingly enjoying the market.
Taking it all in, Max thought, 'Marco indeed knows what's best.'
He inched closer to the tavern, his gaze finding a better-looking board positioned above the door, named "The Palm and Pine."
A jubilant and working-class tavern, mostly used by townsfolk, not the dirty rubble and criminals.
He stepped in, swinging the flapping door just wide enough for him.
Suddenly, joyous and drunken cries resounded, and a song echoed in his ears, making his eyes widen at the view.
"Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies / Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain..."
'One of those sea songs', he concluded, it was likely sung by sailors on long voyages.
However, the dumbfounding scene was something entirely else. His crew, each one, without exception, had a mug filled to the brim, drowning it to their throats while dancing and swaying to the song, rocking their hips and laughing heartily.
"What the hell…" he muttered tiredly, carrying both vexation and disbelief.
He had promised to foot the bill, but never expected these guys to go all out and even lose their guard so much.
If some criminal or pirate called for a raid on them this instant, these experienced men under him would be buried deep under the ground within moments, dying without as much as putting up a thought of resistance.
Ugh.
Not to mention, his eyes mourned the sight of these rough men swaying their hips, a disgusting and creepy scene.
"What did I just witness… let's die." He blankly gazed into the distance.
Then something clicked in his head. "Where's Marco?" His eyes wandered around, watching all over.
Save the crew bubbling about, initiating some competition, there was the rushing owner of the venue with a flushed, broad smile on his face, attending the crew, seemingly wanting to increase the bill as much as possible and drown these drunkards in debt.
Yet there was no sight of Marco.
He was somewhat relieved and aggrieved at the same time. Marco's absence was concerning, but if he were here, Max wouldn't know whether to laugh or cry.
At least Marco wasn't here, dead drunk, along with others.
Sigh
Max brushed aside the topic, deciding to deal with the inevitable later, hoping his men wouldn't go too wild and that the bill would remain within his pockets.
For now, Marco was still the priority.
Not finding any trace of him around, Max decided to ask the owner. He gestured to the man with his fingers curled.
The owner had long noticed Max's arrival; however, previously, Max had waved him off with narrowed eyes and kept focus on the crew.
The man rushed at a moment's notice, his bulging belly rocking as the loose attire swayed along.
"Sire, what should I serve ya?" the owner asked with a smile.
Max shrugged, denying any drink. "The man who came with this lot, where's he?" He eyed the crew askance.
The owner tilted his head, brooding over the question. After a short pause, his eyes lit up. "Ya, that gentleman left for some work, leaving these guys to me." The owner hesitated but uttered boldly, "He also said not to worry about the bill."
He was cautious, yet the gleam in his eyes betrayed his eager wish for the bill to skyrocket.
Suddenly, a roar echoed in the tavern.
"THE HELL YOU MEAN? TAKE THAT BACK?"
This jolted both Max and the owner.
Max frowned as he turned toward the sound.
He noticed two men of the crew, one a bit agitated, flushed red from either alcohol or rage, none could tell, while the other mockingly grinned at him, a perverse drool dripping from his lips.
The rest of the men surrounded them as if making an arena, cackling heartily, waiting in amazement for action.
"Smack him!"
"Smack him!"
The crew echoed.
Max scowled at them, seemingly engaged in some sort of verbal fight, waiting for something bigger to explode.
Then a yelp sounded beside him.
He turned, and the owner was watching the turmoil caused by the crew. Max noticed the man break into a cold sweat, panic on his face, his lips parched as he trembled, only a few moments away from being blanched.
Max sighed at his men; he realised the owner was concerned about them wrecking the place after losing their cool, and everything might turn too chaotic to be contained.
'Where did Marco vanish after giving charge to this timid man?' Max thought tiredly.
"If they cause trouble, bill Marco, the man who left them here," he told the man, hoping Marco would know how to deal with the trouble.
The owner, who had been about to slump to the floor, straightened instantly as if someone had injected him with steroids.
His eyes, earlier dimmed, abruptly lit up. He nodded respectfully to Max, repetitively thanking him. His bloated belly was rocking.
Max, meanwhile, brushed it off offhandedly and asked for his room. "Marco must've booked rooms, where's mine?"
Boom—!
Crack—!
Thud—!
A few more disturbing sounds vibrated the tavern.
The owner paled and hurriedly nodded. "Yes, yes." He moved quickly as Max followed behind, neither sparing a second glance at the resounding chaos, a man of the crew picking up a chair and trying it on another, while one rammed into another with his full weight.
The chaos now spiralled out of control, everyone crashing into each other, hurling curses, and next came the rum spilling and flying into the air.
The whole crew, too involved in the party, too drunk to notice, never acknowledged their captain, who was distressed enough to even mull over whether to disown them all.
Well… that was a thought for another day, as Max was too tired now.
….
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