Cyril looked at the bartender, who had recognized him and suddenly grown a little tongue-tied, and could only sigh inwardly:
This wasn't quite what Mr. Hanged Man had said.
Wasn't it supposed to be that, apart from the wanted posters on notice boards, portraits of me were almost nowhere to be found? So how could some random bartender recognize me?
Had my actions in making some of the wanted posters with my portrait self-destruct actually made those who mingled at sea remember Randolph Carter even more clearly?
Well... that saved me quite a bit of trouble.
As his thoughts drifted, his Spirituality suddenly gave him a warning. He pushed off with his foot, sliding his whole body some distance to the side.
Bang!
A fist wearing a fingerless glove slammed into the bar with a bang.
The whole bar shuddered several times. The glasses on top clinked and clattered, and the spot where the fist struck had caved in slightly.
Cyril turned his head and glanced over. It was the bearded man he had just knocked flat on the ground with Trip.
As he sized up the bearded man who had suddenly attacked him from behind, the other man clenched his fist and swung at him again.
Cyril calmly stepped back and snapped his fingers.
The bearded man's foot slipped, and his body once again pitched forward against his will. This time, though, he reacted in time. As soon as he lunged, he twisted his body, rolled across the floor, and got back to his feet.
"Hmph! What kind of man always relies on such underhanded tricks? If you've got the guts, fight me head-on!"
Cyril gave him a look as if he were an idiot. Then his pupils contracted sharply, and his dark eyes turned completely white.
The next