One-Eye snarled. The rest of our crowd rose, ready for anything.

The sailors, smelling a riot, started choosing sides. Mostly against us.

“What the hell is going on?” I shouted.

“Please, sir,” said the girl at the door. “Your friends haven’t paid for their last round.” She sped the barkeeper a vicious look.

“The hell they didn’t.” House policy was payment on delivery. I looked at the Lieutenant. He agreed. I glanced at the barkeep, sensed his greed. He thought we were drunk enough to pay twice.

Elmo said, “One-Eye, you picked this thieves’ den. You straighten them out.”

No sooner said than done. One-Eye squealed like a hog meeting the butcher....

A chimp-sized, four-armed bundle of ugly exploded from beneath our table. It charged the girl at the door, left fang-marks on her thigh. Then it climbed all over the club-wielding mountain of muscle. The man was bleeding in a dozen places before he knew what was happening.

A fruit bowl on a table at the room’s center vanished in a black fog. It reappeared a second later-with venomous snakes boiling over its rim.

The barkeep’s jaw dropped. And scarab beetles poured out of his mouth.

We made our exit during the excitement. One-Eye howled and giggled for blocks.

The Captain stared at us. We leaned on one another before his table. One-Eye still suffered the occasional spate of giggles. Even the Lieutenant could not keep a straight face. “They’re drunk,” the Captain told him.

“We’re drunk,” One-Eye agreed. “We’re palpably, plausibly, pukingly drunk.”

The Lieutenant jabbed him in the kidney.

“Sit down, men. Try to behave while you’re here.”

Here was a posh garden establishment socially miles above our last port of call. Here even the whores had titles. Plantings and tricks of landscaping broke the gardens into areas of semi-seclusion. There were ponds, gazebos, stone walkways, and an overwhelming perfume of flowers in the air.

“A little rich for us,” I remarked.

“What’s the occasion?” the Lieutenant asked. The rest of us jockeyed for seats.

The Captain had staked out a huge stone table. Twenty people could have sat around it. “We’re guests. Act like it.” He toyed with the badge over his heart, identifying him as receiving the protection of Soulcatcher. We each possessed one but seldom wore them. The Captain’s gesture suggested we correct that deficiency.

“We’re guests of the Taken?” I asked. I fought the effects of the ale. This should go into the Annals.

“No. The badges are for the benefit of the house.” He gestured. Everyone visible wore a badge declaring an alignment with one or another of the Taken. I recognized a few. The Howler. Nightcrawler. Stormbringer. The Limper.

“Our host wants to enlist in the Company.”

“He wants to join the Black Company?” One-Eye asked. “What’s wrong with the fool?” It had been years since we had taken a new recruit.

The Captain shrugged, smiled. “Once upon a time a witchdoctor did.”

One-Eye grumbled, “He’s been sorry ever since.”

“Why is he still here?” I asked.