Don't Tell Anyone

“Pst....pst....”  

I glanced over at the man sitting opposite me with a quizzical expression. The dim lighting and my choice of a secluded corner in the otherwise bustling pub only heightened the mystery surrounding this unknown figure, shrouded in a tattered robe, as he tried to capture my attention. 

“don’t tell anyone!” he whispered. 

"What I'm about to tell you... must not be heard... beyond the confines of this rusty table!" he slurred, his eyes darting frantically around the pub between pauses. Leaning over the table, his pint of beer teetered precariously. His breath reeked, prompting me to cover my mouth with my gloved hand, casting him a suspicious look. 

I was thoroughly perplexed. This man was a complete stranger, he must have mistaken me for someone else, and his words were a riddle wrapped in an enigma. His inebriation was evident; he could scarcely maintain his balance on the chair without teetering over every few seconds. The entire scene unfolded with an air of surreal absurdity. 

Frustration mounting, I made to leave the pub, when the odd man abruptly slammed his jug down, the table rattling with the force. He grabbed my arm frantically, pulling me back into my chair, nearly toppling me over. "What is the matter with you?" I demanded, my anger rising as I struggled to free my arm from his monstrous grip. What on earth did this man do for a living, I wondered. 

“Now, now, lad... ye best be hearin' me out. Dis wee bit o' knowledge I'm 'bout to tell ye will change ye life forever,” he slurred, his voice adopting the unmistakable cadence of a pirate. Intrigue flickered within me. Tales of pirates, their dominion over the seas, their plundering escapades, and their legendary treasures were the stuff of countless stories. 

Despite his deranged demeanour, I wasn't a fool. If this man truly was a pirate and was about to divulge information, he deemed so vital that no one else should hear it, then it was undoubtedly something of grave importance. An opportunity to uncover a pirate’s treasure, presented so fortuitously, was too enticing to pass up. My curiosity piqued, and I leaned in, ready to grasp any knowledge he offered. 

"Promise me. Dis secret will be safe. Not a soul, alive or dead, should hear a word." 

I nodded enthusiastically, signalling my rapt attention. He glanced around furtively, ensuring no eavesdroppers, then took a deep swig from his pint. The glass slammed onto the table, jarring my hand and causing me to recoil. In that fleeting moment, as I assessed my arm, he lunged forward, grasping my jacket collar and thrusting his face dangerously close. His rancid breath, a noxious assault on my senses, elicited a gasp and a defensive reflex. I instinctively seized his arm, a glare accompanying my action. 

How dare he grab my collar so brazenly, a stranger, mistaking me for someone else! The man's audacity was astounding.  

However, the man, seemingly oblivious to his own actions, remained unperturbed. His inebriation had rendered him impervious to consequences. The pub's din, a cacophony of idle chatter, muffled our brief exchange. 

"It could be a matter of life and death," he babbled, his voice a frantic, urgent whisper. "If word gets out, too many eyes and ears will be upon us." He continued to shake me, his grip relentless. "Don't tell anyone, do you hear me? Don't tell anyone!" 

"Just tell me the damn information, will you?" I hissed, my patience frayed to the breaking point. 

"You don't understand!" he exclaimed, his grip on my collar tightening menacingly. "You must keep this a secret. Absolutely no one can know, not even you or me!" His erratic behaviour, coupled with his absurd claims, filled me with unease. Although he seemed to be wavering between disclosure and concealment, I began to question the value of his information. Despite his constant emphasis on secrecy, he had yet to reveal any details. 

Impatience gnawed at me as he continued to shake me, his breath hot and heavy against my face. His relentless insistence on secrecy was both suffocating and exasperating. 

"Tell me, "He hissed, his breath a rancid fog against my face, "do you swear on your dead mother's soul to keep this conversation a secret?" 

My anger flared at his brazen attempt to extort a promise. "My mother is alive and well, you imbecile!" I snarled, but the man remained unfazed. 

"Very well, then," he persisted, "swear on your dead grandmother." 

"My grandmother is alive, too," I replied through clenched teeth. 

"How about your great-grandmother?" he demanded, his frustration palpable. 

A tempest of fury erupted within me, my rage a molten torrent threatening to engulf me. With a forceful shove, I propelled him back into his chair, the impact nearly unseating him. My grasp tightened around his robe, the ragged fabric bunching in my fist. As I brandished a small dagger, its blade glinting in the lamplight, I hissed, 'My great-grandmother breathes, you sot! Silence your tongue forever, I may be compelled to hasten your departure.'" The dagger pressed ever so slightly closer to his throat, a stark reminder of the consequences of his indiscretion. 

The man instantly became more aware as if all the effects of the alcohol had been removed instantly. He blinked rapidly as if trying to make out his perplexing situation. For a moment I thought he had finally come to the realization that I may not be the person to whom he was supposed to be giving the information, but the next words sent me into a raging fury. 

"What's yer great grandma doin' bein' still amongst the livin'?" he inquired with a quizzical brow. His tone was as nonchalant as if discussing the most mundane of meteorological forecasts. 

Pirate treasures be damned, I discarded my dagger, fury and frustration fueling my assault. The man, heavily intoxicated, struggled to maintain his balance, groaning and cowering under the onslaught. His feeble attempts to defend himself proved futile. A cacophony of cheers and jeers erupted in the pub as I unleashed a barrage of punches on the intoxicated man. The sickening sound of his body colliding with the wooden floor added to the spectacle. The crowd, a raucous mob, seemed to relish the violence, their chants and whoops echoing through the tavern. 

I hoisted the man to his feet, preparing to deliver a final, decisive blow, when his eyes widened in shock and realization. His filthy hands, smeared with blood, pointed accusingly at my face. "Oi! You're not the man I'd be telling this secret to," he spat, blood spattering my travelling clothes. 

The realization of his predicament and his utter stupidity caused me to roll my eyes. I raised my fist, poised to strike, when the raucous cheers and jeers were abruptly silenced. The crowd parted, revealing a hulking figure, a burly man with thick muscles, striding towards us with clenched fists. His menacing presence sent a shiver down my spine. 

I gulped, my gaze darting upward to meet his. In the blink of an eye, both I and the intoxicated man were ejected from the pub, landing unceremoniously on the damp pavement outside, my travel bag landing beside me. The door slammed shut behind us, the cheerful din from within continuing unabated as if nothing had transpired. 

"Ugh! Bloody hell," I muttered, rubbing my throbbing backside. Frustration surged through me as I stood, cursing the night's unexpected turn of events, a direct result of my momentary entanglement with the incoherent ramblings of a drunkard. I brushed off the dirt, straightened my clothes, and secured my dagger in its scabbard, hanging at my hip. A quick inventory confirmed that nothing else was missing. 

I slung my bag over my shoulder, preparing to depart for the inn when a faint groan halted my progress. I looked back to see a heap of ragged cloth lying in the dirt. Rolling my eyes, I assumed the drunkard had fainted or fallen asleep, too intoxicated to rise. However, as I turned to leave him to his fate, a gnawing curiosity tugged at the back of my mind. I knew I wouldn't be able to rest tonight unless I uncovered the world-altering information he had alluded to, a secret he was so desperate to protect. 

With a sigh, I knelt beside the unconscious man and gently shook him awake. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a face contorted in pain. 

"Where am I?" he groaned, his voice thick with alcohol. 

"You're outside the tavern," I replied, helping him sit up. "what’s this secret information you kept talking about?" 

The man's eyes narrowed, his expression turning serious. "It's a secret," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "A very important secret. Don’t tell anyone! Swear to me, swear.... to... me!” His head slumped back, and I heard the soft, rhythmic sound of his snores. 

An exasperated sigh escaped my lips as I stood, delivering a forceful kick to the man's side. He groaned, but his drunken slumber remained unbroken. I turned away, running my hand through my hair in frustration and pulling my hood down to conceal my face. As I walked away, the words "bloody drunkard" echoed in my mind. Whatever information he had possessed, it wasn't worth the trouble of dealing with a drunken fool. I left his unconscious form lying on the cobbled pavement, making my way to the inn and keeping to the shadows of the buildings to avoid any further unwanted attention.