As soon as Alrik passed between the bridges from one drifting raft to another, the shapeless pile of fishing tackle turned into a formidable big man with a huge pike pole in his hand. “This is my raft and I don’t remember inviting you.” “How much is your invitation?” “We are just passing.” “No problem. We’ll look for a workaround.”
“What should I care? Either pay or get lost!” “How much is your invitation?” “And I don’t think so!” “No problem. We’ll look for a workaround.”
“I should have introduced him to my steel,” grumbled the hero, furtively following the thug with his eyes.
With a speed unexpected for a thug, he turned the hook into a horizontal position and rushed with it towards the heroes, knocking them all into the water. The yellowish water, which stank of sulfur, was too salty and burned their eyes. Alrik and Niam, being poor swimmers, swallowed salt water in their blind panic and nearly drowned before the others pulled them onto dry surface.
