“I’d keep my fuckin’ trap shut if I were you,” the man sneered, and, after sweeping her up and down with his gaze, very stupidly finished, “whore.”

A moment later, his face was slammed into the wall, and after that, he was flying across the room.

Not careening.

Flying.

Bloody hell.

Lahn.

When the onslaught came, that being the rest of the patrons (and the innkeeper) on attack, Tor did not draw his sword.

He kept his wife close behind him and fought with his fists.

He was capable with fists.

Lahn was a monster.

The twenty-odd patrons (and innkeeper) were littering the floor, some moaning, all bleeding, most unconscious within ten minutes.

Fortunately, there were no arms torn from bodies.

Tor could not say there were no fractured limbs.

Tor and Cora, Lahn and Circe stood amongst the carnage.

Cora was looking at Circe.

“Well…hell,” she said.

“Mm-hmm,” Circe agreed.

Tor was looking at Lahn.

“That wasn’t much of a welcome,” Lahn noted.

“Agreed,” Tor replied.

“Maybe we should go back to the ship,” Cora suggested.

Tor thought there was no maybe about it.

They exited the inn and moved down the paved street, all four of them agreeing without words to abandon their idea to escape the ship and spend a night or two on land before continuing on to meet Frey and Apollo in Notting Thicket.

Tor was surprised.

He’d never been to Airen, and although the eastern shores were a wonder of black sand beaches that were breathtaking, the northern coast was made of stark, craggy black cliffs that were as welcoming as that innkeeper.

Nevertheless, the port city was a veritable marvel. He’d wished to study the tidy pavings of the streets, because he’d never seen anything so smooth. And the architecture was austere, but undeniably impressive.

The city seemed modern and was clearly advanced.

Its people were not.

“I think it’d be best if I send a man to have a conversation or two and find out what the fuck is going on,” Tor said to Lahn as they moved back to the dock. “Apparently, you look Firenz and that seems only slightly better than being female.”

“This is a good plan,” Lahn muttered.

People stared at them as they moved through the streets and it wasn’t simply because Lahn was enormous and wearing the native hide clothing of Korwahk, except with a long-sleeved leather shirt with a long, amber-yellow wool mantle that went to his heels at the back (usually, he wore no shirt and definitely no mantle for it rarely got cold in Korwahk).

On their return journey to their galleon, Tor noted that there were far more men on the streets than women.

And the women scurried along, heads bowed, and if on their way they approached a man on the pavements, they got out of the man’s way, not the other way around.