Sea Story (5): Who's This Guy?
What the hell? Who's this guy? Someone comes to the beach, sets up a parasol, and of course they're here to have fun. And why's he got that sourpuss look on his face?
"We're here to enjoy ourselves. Got a problem with that?"
"Yeah, big problem."
I ignored the man and jammed the parasol firmly into the sand. He tapped my shoulder again.
"What?"
"Pack up that parasol."
At that, I let go of the parasol and stood up straight. The short guy had to crane his neck to meet my eyes once I was fully upright.
"Who the hell are you to come out of nowhere and start ordering me around?"
"Beach warden. Setting up personal spots is illegal."
I was so flabbergasted I couldn't even speak. We'd already paid an entry fee on the way in, and now laying out a spot was illegal too? No way this guy's with the marquis's people, is he?
"You with the Kekers Marquis's household too?"
"Sharp one, aren't you? Pack it up. The parasol, the tents over there too."
Della, Idi, and Marim, who had just been strolling out onto the sand, sensed the weird vibe and lined up behind me. The man's gaze naturally shifted to my employees.
Idi clutched her chest to shield it from his stare and whispered, "W-what's going on... Bertrand...? Something wrong...?"
"This guy's demanding we take down our campsite outta nowhere. I'll handle it—just head back to camp, everyone."
"What?! Take down the campsite? Who the hell are you to boss us around, old man!"
Suddenly Marim shoved past me, jabbing a finger at the guy. His face twisted at the sight of the pint-sized half-elf waving her hands wildly at him.
"Ain't you a half-elf?"
"So what! There's no law saying half-elves can't come to the beach on vacation, is there?!"
"Other people find it uncomfortable. Who knows if you just came from shoveling shit or cleaning sewers? Nobody cares—as long as you keep your filthy bodies out of the water..."
"You fucking bastard—say that again?!"
I grabbed Marim as she lunged at him and shoved her back; Della caught her.
"Let go!"
"Calm down, Marim! The boss said he'll handle it."
"Argh! That jerk called me filthy!"
Marim's yells were so fierce my head was ringing. The commotion drew Francois, Pelle, and Celereja running from the campsite onto the beach.
"Huh? A demon...?"
Pelle's icy glare made the man avert his eyes.
"So what're we supposed to do? Dig holes in the sand and live in 'em?"
"No. Pay the proper usage fee."
He pointed off to the side—the direction hidden by black rocks when we'd first entered Grace Bay.
I shot him a suspicious look and climbed up to the midpoint of the rocks, peeking my head out. On the opposite beach, identical parasols stood in neat rows. People lounged under them or sipped drinks. Behind, amid the palm groves, stood two buildings—one a massive five-story structure of pristine white stone facing the sea.
When the hell did that get there...? More importantly, why'd we end up in this out-of-the-way spot instead of heading straight there? That's right—the checkpoint guards griped about us taking the back road. The main path probably led right to that place.
"So... you're saying we should go over there? What's that?"
"Grace Bay Club. Run by the Kekers Marquis household."
"Hold on. There was nothing like that the last time I came, a few years back. And this is direct royal territory, isn't it? Why's a marquis running a business here?"
"It's marquis land, so they do business. Don't know the details. I just catch folks like you illegally using the beach."
Grace Bay became marquis territory...? What happened in the few years since I was last here? Border changes between royal lands and fiefdoms aren't common, but not impossible either—with political maneuvering or mutual agreement, sure.
If Grace Bay got annexed to the marquisate without me knowing... then yeah, the guy's right. Everything in a fief belongs to the lord by default. If Kekers Marquis set rules for Grace Bay, we follow 'em. I might despise nobles after recent bullshit, but I'm not about to break the law. Plus, like Francois said, no point ruining our vacation.
I climbed down, and the man had followed, waiting right at the base of the rocks. Over there, Marim was still fuming while the others watched worriedly.
"Fine... if Grace Bay's marquis land now, no choice. We'll pack up here and head to that club place."
"Smart move. Otherwise, the guards would've torn it down by force."
That pissed me off, but I swallowed it, remembering Francois's words. Yeah... we're here to have fun. Let's keep it chill...
The employees crowded me once he left, asking what happened. I explained.
Francois tilted her head. "First I've heard of Grace Bay being annexed to Kekers Marquis territory."
"But no way a marquis builds that big without going nuts on royal land."
"True... hmm. Beats me."
The others got it—lord's rules in his domain—and weren't too upset. Except Marim, still hopping mad.
"He called me a filthy half-elf!"
"Just bear with it, Marim... we're at the beach to relax... If we head home pissed, who knows when we'll come back..."
Idi soothed her, and Marim huffed, calming down a bit. She wanted the beach most of all. Telling everyone to bail now would've crushed her worst.
"Actually, works out better. Nice beds to crash in."
I kept it positive to lighten the mood and reassure them. We quickly broke camp. No need to lug gear, so we stashed it deep in the palms and posted hell horses around it. Took some guts to slip past three of those and steal shit.
We entered the parasol section, and a staff woman approached. She seemed thrown by Marim and Pelle but quickly smiled politely.
"Party of seven? Rent four parasols. Included if you're staying overnight."
"One per two people, right?"
"Yes."
Glancing around, tiny parasols—about a quarter the size of ours we'd bought—dotted the beach. They split 'em up to squeeze more cash, huh.
"Fine, we'll do that."
"Take this to the club desk. They'll bill it with room fees."
She scribbled my name, parasol count, and hers on a slip and handed it over. We rented four in a row near the water. Mats were pre-laid—part of the fee, probably.
"Where do we change?"
Celereja asked, holding a small paper bag. The woman pointed to the palms—changing booths curtained with thick cloth.
The employees rushed off to swap into swimsuits. I'd come in shorts, tee, and flip-flops, so no need.
"Hey, Pelle. Not changing?"
Pelle, lounging on a mat with her head propped on her arms, shook her head. Short shorts hugging her hips, tight long-sleeve top clinging to her frame. Perfect for her toned, sleek build—those subtle demon muscles on full, cool display. Sunglasses sealed the stylish vibe.
"Damn, you look sharp. Bet you'd kill it surfing."
"Can't do that stuff."
She replied flatly, crossing her legs and idly twitching her toes. For fun, I flung a handful of sand at her. She scowled, bolted up, and glared at me over her shades. I cracked up and stood.
While they changed, I took Kali toward the inn to book rooms ahead. He was shoving his snout in the sand, flinging it everywhere, hooked on the game. I scooped up the pest spraying other folks and carried him.
Passing parasols, plenty of other vacationers—clean looks, relaxed vibes. Middle-class or better, with cash to burn.
"Here alone?"
Two cute girls in skimpy bikinis approached with smiles.
