Run and investigate

Nils pulled away from the buxom tart who was pawing him. His ears tingled with the clear sound of a woman's cry not far away. He couldn't just stand around if there was a woman in distress. What would he tell Ma and Da when he got back from sea? He scanned the streets for the direction to follow.

"Nay, laddie!" one of his shipmates called from the porch outside a local tavern. "Naught but a trap, or else it's a wharf widder gettin' the poking she's askin' for. Forget it and come have a drink, lad!"

"I gots to look, Dirk," Nils called to the old sailor. He took to his heels in the direction of the sound, his hand groping for the short rigging knife he always carried.

Another short cry gave him the direction to go. He scrambled up a narrow alley, slippery with fetid runoff. He scampered round a turn near the top and found he had crested the little hill. The ground fell away under his running feet. His poor land legs played him false, and Nils found himself slipping down a steep slope toward some sort of loud scuffle. His arms shot out and flailed vainly as he tried to regain his balance. Below him, he glimpsed the writhing limbs of people grappling and the yawning mouth of a barrel. He fell forward and...