Three days went by without Hastur noticing any suspicious types following him when he strayed outside the inn so he decided to extend his stay. By the time a week had passed Prishka, the innkeeper, hadn’t quite taken a shine to him, but didn’t seem bothered by his lingering long hours in the barroom either. Considering her apparently taciturn nature and the fact Hastur often got a little extra stew or slice of bread in his bowl come meal times he figured that meant she liked him well enough.

In the meantime, Hastur kept working out, intent on whipping his neglected physique back into shape, and was seeing some noticeable progress as the days ticked on. He’d never struggled putting on muscle in the past and Hastur was relieved to find that adding fourteen years to his age hadn’t much changed that fact.

Hastur hadn’t yet decided what he was going to do with himself now that he was back in his own body despite many an hour spent staring into the fireplace mulling over just that. Going back to the Red Guard was hardly an option after the fuss Mike had made leaving it in the first place and yet Hastur had never considered any other career for himself until he landed in Mike’s body on Earth.

He’d picked up some new and interesting skills over there but few of them would help him here in his own world. Hastur had become an excellent driver, but there were no automobiles in Tyrov (or anywhere as far as he knew). He’d been a superb marksman with both rifle and pistol but those didn’t exist here either…

Hastur drummed the arm of his chair with his thick fingers while he stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace then did a double-take when a group of people entered the barroom from the street.

There were five of them, all in their late teens and early twenties with a rough, menacing air to them that Hastur could recognize from a mile away. The crew was shabbily dressed, if slightly less so than the average person you saw wandering the streets of Ashtown, though they all had a feral, underfed look that marked them as potentially dangerous.

Hastur watched them approach the bar, scattering patrons and kicking chairs aside as they went and snorted while he packed and lit his pipe with the new tobacco he’d acquired.

Prishka looked none too pleased to see them— granted, she rarely looked pleased to see anyone, but the outright irritation on her features was plain to read by all. Less obvious was her fear, which Hastur caught in the subtle way her hand tightened on the handle of the tankard she’d been wiping— as if preparing to use it as a weapon.

“What do you lot want?” she spat as her previously full barroom began to empty out, leaving the innkeeper to fend for herself.

Hastur wanted to call them shameless, but he knew they were being realistic. The gang of punks had picked the perfect time to stop in— no one was deep enough in their cups to risk bodily harm standing up to them but late enough for their arrival to be witnessed. Doctors were expensive, after all, and any affordable ones in this part of the city were far from reliable. Going to a healer, a caster that specialized in healing, was completely out of the question.

You might as well try to ask the king himself for help.

“Come on now, miss, it’s the first of the month and your fees are due, you know that,” one of the girls up front declared as she tapped the bar-top with the short, nasty looking length of polished wood she’d driven several roofing nails through. One of the nails scratched the surface noticeably and Prishka flinched but refused to cower.

The entire gang was armed with improvised weapons similar to the girl’s though Hastur noted a few knives among them. If they were a proper gang, they were bottom rung on the ladder for sure. The sight of them all clustered together and mean-mugging at him and any remaining patrons was almost enough to make him laugh, but he managed to suppress the urge and watched for the time being to get a better feel for the situation.

“Pay you for what? You say for protection but where are you when those dock workers from out east came through and made a mess of the place? Or those boys from Tawny street?” Prishka demanded furiously as she slammed the tankard down on the counter-top next to the bat. “All you want is a bribe not to come through and do the damn same!”

“You ain’t gotta be like that, Miss,” one of the boys said. “Shouldn’t be, either. Not right for a lady your age,” he added then wound up and took a swing at an empty tankard left behind on the table next to him with a heavy stick capped in tightly coiled rope.

Prishka flinched again and the tankard whizzed through the air towards Hastur with a sharp crack. Rather than hit the man, however, Hastur caught it midair with a satisfying slap when it hit the center of his broad palm, then set it down on the table next to him.

All eyes turned to him and the man grinned where he lounged in his chair, un-bothered, as he took another pull of his pipe. “Think I hear your ma callin’, boy. You should quit bothering the nice lady and head home.”

A few of the gang laughed and the boy scowled fiercely then strode over towards Hastur, one hand tight on his weapon while the other dipped into his pocket and came up with a rough looking set of knuckle dusters. “Think you’re funny, old man? Lets see how you laugh without your teeth, huh?”

Old man?! Hastur thought, offended as the boy advanced on him. He looked to be about eighteen, dark and wiry with a head of untamed black hair and green eyes, and… yeah, alright, so maybe he was just about old enough to be the brat’s father. Kids these days, the man complained silently as he reached down then swung his sword, still sheathed, up from where it had sat out of sight beneath the fall of his coat.

The butt of the sheath caught the younger man right in the chin and snapped his head back with a sharp jerk that toppled him backwards onto the barroom floor. It was almost comical how clean it all was, right down to the stiff-legged fall that followed— like a plank of wood falling over with a loud thump.

Prishka stared at him from behind the bar and three of the four gangers still standing took a step back when Hastur pushed up out of his chair and stepped over their insensate friend. Only the girl that had first threatened Prishka stood her ground, though the way she bristled under Hastur’s gaze put the man in mind of a pissed off kitten more than the fierce lone wolf she was clearly trying to project.

“If you take money for protection, you’re still supposed to do the protecting, kid. That’s the deal— or all you’re actually doing is scheduled petty thievery and that’s how you wind up in a back alley with two busted kneecaps.”

“Nobody asked you,” the girl snarled, hand tightening reflexively around her club. Hastur saw the moment she began to swing it and caught her narrow wrist in his large hand before she made it more than a few inches, then gave it a sharp twist that let him relieve her of her weapon.

The girl, fierce and redheaded, yelped in pain but still managed to get a kick in before Hastur pushed her back into the arms of her companions. Fortunately he twisted quick enough to avoid taking a boot in the nadgers so it scraped over his thigh instead, but it’d been a near miss. She bounced right off her friends and lunged to take her weapon back from Hastur, but instead, he struck her right in the sternum with the butt of the handle, winding her badly, then slammed the dangerous end down onto the table next to him so the nails lodged deep into the wood and held it there at an angle.

“No, you didn’t,” he said casually as he eyed the group. They were rookies at best, so wet behind the ears they were practically dripping, but they had promise. That was probably a given considering they’d obviously grown up in Ashtown and made it to early adulthood with all their bits in tact. “But you probably should. You might learn something, you know.”

Too winded to speak, the girl made a rude gesture and Hastur laughed as they four still standing fled, though not before their leader could shoot him a venomous look over her shoulder.

Quiet finally settled over the bar again and Hastur dropped onto the barstool nearest Prishka while the few other remaining patrons tentatively returned to their drinks.

“You put holes in my table,” the woman said eventually.

Hastur wrenched the nailed bat off the table and leaned it against the bar. “Sorry ‘bout that. Least you’ve still got a table,” he pointed out.

The innkeeper sighed but poured him a drink all the same and pushed it towards him. “There is that. They’ll be back soon enough, though, turning my damn furniture into matchsticks again,” she said, tone sour but face tired.

“And you’ve been paying them not to do that?”

“Pretty much,” Prishka said with another sigh while Hastur took a drink of his ale. “Gangs have always run Ashtown but there’s a lot of new faces lately…”

“Not playing by the rules?” Hastur suggested. The innkeeper shrugged after a moment’s mulling it over, Hastur said, “Pay me, then. I know the rules and I can offer actual protection. Unlike the kids, I’m old hat at this sort of thing.”

“It’s not just those five kids, you know, they’re part of a larger group. What’s one man going to do?”

Hastur shrugged one shoulder and flashed Prishka a smile with an edge like a razor. “You let me worry about that.” When she seemed unconvinced, he added, “Take me for a trial run, then. Those brats will be back tomorrow with their friends to teach us all a lesson— I’ll take care of them free of charge. You like my style, you can hire me on for proper protection until folks around here relearn their manners.”

“And if you can’t? All my furniture gets smashed again.”

“They’ll smash all your furniture if I don’t do anything too.”

Prishka grimaced and Hastur knew he had her. He raised both his eyebrows at her and the woman heaved a sigh. “Alright, but if they break all your bones and my chairs I’m sweeping you out into the street with the rest of the mess.”