Extortion by Anna Andriychuk

Irregular, prominent staccato

reverberated through the vacant space of a cozy tavern as wrinkly fingers tapped away on the old wooden bar counter. The movements so forceful, new cracks could form if he were to hit with just a tad more force.

“Uncle, please, you’re ruining property,” a young man with dark curly hair tentatively noted.

“Yes! Thuan, we still need that!” A younger girl spoke loudly, clutching the young man’s clothes tightly as she peeked from behind his back.

The middle-aged man audibly groaned, roughly caressing his short messy hair.

“Who in their right mind would agree to pay this much for renting space?! “[Sell 50% of your business to Earl Greville for a cut in the payments]? Ridiculous..!” Thuan angrily mumbled as a vein bulged on his forehead.

“Are they just actively admitting to extortion? That’s a new low even for them…” the young man remarked, skimming through the new contract he picked from the counter, his expression grim.

“Rowaaan!” The young girl desperately yet futilely pulled on Rowan’s old beige tunic, “Lower them, you overgrown piece of mutated moss, I wanna see too!”

“Kid… just give it to Mea,” Thuan sighed.

Rowan hesitated before shrugging his shoulders, Mea eagerly snatching the offered papers with gleeful vigour, plunging onto one of the stools near the bar. Several minutes passed as she meticulously emersed herself in the text, the other two staying eerily silent.

“You know,” Rowan suddenly started, his voice uncharacteristically joyful, “we can always try revealing that.”

“No!” two piercing screams immediately erupted simultaneously.

“Do not think about it,” Thuan hissed, jabbing Rowan in his chest with a finger. “You hear me? No, actually, scratch that, do not even joke about it. Understood?”

Rowan lifted up his hands in surrender, a small smile grazing his features as he gently nodded.

“Good,” Thuan squinted his eyes. “Gods, kid, I fear you’ll give me an aneurism first before those snobbish little-!” he cursed under his breath, massaging his temples.

‘But it would be easier for you’, Rowan thought. 

He wasn’t stupid: he knew the sheer gravity of revealing something so politically world-shattering. But the cost for doing so would be simply… far too great a price to pay, despite potential riches. Though, what a story: the last member of the Royal family, supposedly killed in an “accident” shortly after his birth 19 years ago together with the Their Royal Highnesses, actually alive and relatively well-off, living as the adopted son of low-ranking noble in title alone. 

If those who orchestrated their deaths were to find out, would they even care to leave his family alive?

“AHA!” Mea screamed in excitement, startling Rowan back to earth, isolating a few pieces of paper and slamming them onto the bar. “Here! We can exploit this, this and especially this. So,” she turned her head towards Rowan with a grin, “you don’t need to reveal anything, Your Highness.”

The two men rolled their eyes but moved closer, listening in on Mea’s brewing scheme. Yeah, now wasn’t the time. Nor ever, hopefully. But only time would tell.