In a tavern in the port of Tripoli, in North Africa on the southern shore of the Mediterranean, a crowd of drunken, filthy wrecks, penniless sailors waiting for work, scantily clad dancing girls whose laughter filled the air, and men in captain's hats who looked as if they had no idea what they were doing were carousing or whispering among themselves, making the whole place a den of iniquity.
In fact, in this mad Age of Sail, this was perfectly normal in taverns all over the world. There was nothing unusual about it.
At that moment, in one corner, a drunk sat at a table, muttering who knew what. Before long, he had drawn a crowd.
"Let me tell you the latest explosive news, uh..."
"Pirate King Hayreddin!"
"You all know who he is, right?"
After belching, a foul, cloudy reek of alcohol rising from his throat, the drunk—his teeth yellow and his face caked with grime—continued:
"A threat!"
"One month ago, Barbarossa Hayreddin, the pirate king of the Mediterranean, threatened the admiral of the Li Fleet at the port of Algiers!"
"And then..."
"Why don't you guess?"
The drunk abruptly stopped halfway through, then sneered at the drinkers, prostitutes, and captains who had been drawn in by his story and had unconsciously gathered around him.
"??"
"Get on with it!"
"Quit wasting time! Tell us!"
"I'll buy you a drink!"
After a brief commotion, before anyone could urge him further, a captain who looked like he had a bit of money tossed a coin into the empty wooden mug in front of the drunk, signaling him to carry on.
"Alright, alright!"
"Listen up! After the Li Fleet—those people from the East—finished taking on supplies, they sailed out of port and immediately fought the pirate king, Barbarossa Hayreddin, who'd been