The Black Teeth

XVIV - Clyde

If confusion was rare, Clyde had found it common. A few days prior, Clyde found himself back on the Ring where he died. He checked where he got wounded, nothing. He remembered how he died, but not what happened after. It was all a blur from when he died to when he woke. Each day, his neck felt heavier and heavier on his body. He didn't understand why. He checked The Mask, in which nobody was there. Everything confused him. He had to work his way backwards. They were looking for someone on the Ring, to solve the riddle. Clyde assumed they had solved the riddle from the fact they were gone.

Clyde went over to his desk. He studied the papers. He sat down in the worn chair, from many leaders before him. He had no idea what do. As he sighed a long breath, something caught his eye.

A riddle.

The colour of difference shows the way when the path is unclear.

Clyde has completely forgot with the events of everything else. What could it mean? He remembered the last riddle they tried to solve was a bunch of numbers. It was a code for something, a secret language only his brother knew. They never were on good terms. The string of letters and numbers was on another piece of paper.

"Why so many riddles? Why must you make it difficult Hardam."

Clyde eyed the brick wall, and in an instant, he recognized the riddle at last. The colour of difference; the odd coloured brick on the wall Clyde looked at everyday, it made him mad from the off placement and shade of it. How could he have never realized it till now?

He wrapped his hands around the slightly extended outward brick, pulling with much force to almost topple him backwards if it wasn't heavier then it was. Slowly twisting back and forth, the brick fell out. He reached his hand to the cobwebbed back and pulled a stack of money and a small note saying, "Take sail.".
The other note now made sense, it deciphered to '___ Harbour'. He would have to buy a boat and find them at seas. Nothing was easier for Hardam, he always planned his game three steps ahead of everybody, made sure everything was executed, and yet never failed in the process.

Why the hell did he need to set sail? What are you playing Hardam?

He counted the stack. 1 million. When could they afford something like that. Most of there investments were short term. Clyde felt a rush of panic. He threw his hands into his hair. He swept it back. Everything had another branch. When will he just find the end of it? He was to far in now. He had to finish what he started. At all costs.

He rushed out the hideout. Back on the streets. Back to his beginning. One thing after another. Clyde had no clue how to sail. He wasn't a sailer. He was a petty thief. He grasped his pistol by his side. Stroking it, he covered his coat over it. It wasn't loaded, but if anything happened, any leverage was something. He spent most of his time on West and Sixth Harbour, but it he wanted any chance of renting or purchasing a boat, he would likely have to go to Third Harbour. He began his track their. He wasn't there very often from the large amounts more income development, and while that seems like heaven for a thief, everyone knew where everything was. Nick a small coin, noticed in an instant. It was always a rough go around there.

The streets were quiet, which wasn't a problem for Clyde, as he had thousands of things on his mind, and bumping into someone would likely push him over the line. As he approached closer and closer to Third Harbour, he could smell it. The fresh salt of the water, baked goods sold from the traders, the smell of oil exports on the docks, it wasn't home to him. He didn't mind the smell though, it was cozy and comforting, but wasn't what he was used to. As he came up to the docks, something caught his eye. A man. Older, scruffy bearded and definitely in a lower income state. But that wasn't what was bothering Clyde. The man was staring at him, and wasn't making it secretive either. As he walked passed, the man grabbed his elbow, and dragged him into a nearby alleyway.

"Who are you?" Clyde spat.

"Empty your pockets." The man retorted, ignoring his question.

"And why would I do that." Clyde argued, holding his hand on the outside of his pistol, ready to pull it out any second.

"Because I can take you to Hardam."

"Go on."

"You heard me. I can get you to Hardam, and the others. But empty your pockets first." His tone became steady, not threatening nor calm, but a balance in which Clyde had never really distinguished before." He scratched his beard. He had auburn eyes which reflected the value of fire, and a silvery set of hair in which was nearly and tangled and scattered as his beard.  He stood slightly slouched, and leaned heavily on his left side.

"Where are they?" Clyde asked drawing his pistol to the mans head.

"This isn't how it works." The man backed up startled. Obviously he wasn't used to street rats.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Clyde's voice deepened, almost softening as if he was soothing a baby before choking it to sleep. "Who sent you?"

"I cannot-

"Who sent you?" Clyde yelled pressing his gun against the neck of the man. Sweat was beginning to form on the mans face as he slowly began to start talking.

"It was Hardam!" The man began quivering. "Please don't do this, I-

"What is he planning?" A tone more threatening now. Tone was a very important thing in getting what you want as a thief.

"I don't know. Please I'm being honest, I don't know. I can take you to him though." He stuttered. Obviously scared.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. But please! Don't hurt me, I know what you've done. I can help you, just please."

"Fine. Take me to him." He released the gunpoint from the mans neck as he drew a long breath of air. The man was desperate, and by no means safe, but if he knew anything on whereabouts, he would have to go with him.

"Captain Fergus Kregon" the man extended his hand.

"Clyde Dragonsbirth." Again not his real name, but Clyde was used to making up last names to hide his identity. "Nice to be of your acquaintance."

"Agreed. Im a captain for Hardam. He's setting sail across the ocean, he's searching for something."

A sear of pain burned Clyde's neck as he grasped his throat.

"And he won't stop until he finds it."