Alcohol was the scourge of mankind, and Ben had long ago made the pledge during a Sunday service. He tirelessly tried to convince his fellow fishermen of the evils of alcohol, but most ignored it or made fun of his zeal. Yet despite his teetotalism, he was in the pub once a week with his son Will, his nephew Luke, and old George Murray, who owned the coble they worked, to divide the shares. They were hardly the only fishermen here, and for many, counting out day was a great moment to treat themselves to a drink. Ben had no drink, but he had let Will keep a few pennies of his lad's share and the boy had bought himself a lemonade. 

When the Will had finished his drink, Ben rose to go and shook the hands of the other men and walked towards the exit. His son followed his example. But when Ben turned his head to look at Will, he saw something unpleasant at the far end of his pub and stopped in his tracks. "Will, go on home. I'll come in a bit," he said.

Anthony, unlike some, was just minding his own business, standing awkwardly in some corner on his own. Having a drink, enjoying himself, et cetera. He took a sip or two of his glass as he glanced around the place, and almost did a spit-take when he saw one specific fellow on the other side of the pub. And, as quickly as he had looked there, he looked away. If he just ignores him, then he'll go away. Most likely.

Ben walked over to where Anthony was sitting and sat down opposite from him. "What was your business with Appleton?"

Anthony kept ignoring him, but alas, in the end it was all in vain. He sat in quiet, and took another sip from his drink, as to buy himself just a bit more time to be silent. "I don't recognize that name," he said, trying to appear calm even though he was scared shitless. It was the truth, though he had already probably realized who the man was talking about. A lie then, technically? Half-truth? Whatever.

"Tobias." Ben said annoyed. "Don't play games. Ye know whom I mean."

"I don't recognize that one, either," said Anthony, regardless of the fact that he completely understood who the man they were talking about is, and then paused to take another sip of his glass. He was still scared to death, but the pleasure he derived from seeing Ben get annoyed helped with that a bit.

And he was getting annoyed. "Ye know. The man you were with last Sunday. What's your business with 'im?"

Good. "Oh, him," Anthony nodded, and tilted his head and went quiet again as he considered what to say. "I don't understand the question."

Ben was turning increasingly red in the face. "How do ye know him?"

Anthony was pleased by the progress he was making. "Why do you want to know?" he asked.