Meanwhile, back at the pub...

Demetri's face did not lie; he wasn't worried because Edward had made two sad mistakes--he had neglected to restrain Demetri's hands, and he was still blinking. During one of said blinks, he jabbed the underestimated parasol upward and knocked the dagger over their heads and away. The youngest of the pub's customers landed upon the intricate jewel of a blade like seagulls; when they cleared, someone had it, and someone had bled a bit on the floor. The rest of the people payed no more attention than a short glance; this was becoming more and more common the longer Edward worked here.
"We started with such a simple matter, boy--death--" He dropped to the floor and reached languidly for his sword, which was too shabby to be stolen so fast. "--but that was my brother's," he said darkly, rising again to face a steely Demetri poised and holding the parasol like a rapier, keeping its distance between him and the crazy one. "Before he got on the bad side of one of
his men. And that will not happen to the last of our family because of my failure to quiet a foolish..." He decided that he would make himself clearer by lunging at Demetri with the sword, who was backed into a table.
Suddenly, his target's face disappeared behind an explosion of blue material and lace; Demetri had opened the parasol, giving him just enough time to leap backward onto the surface of the table-his one escape route. "
Pardon--", he muttered, knocking over the half empty glasses of a couple whose ruddy skin and patchwork clothes made them seem to blend into the woodwork. "I don't want to hurt you, Monsieur..." Demetri peered over the parasol's edge, right near where the sword had punched an ugly hole. "You're only imagining things; calm yourself...!"
"It's no use, young master!" The patchwork man had put the elbow of a brass arm on the table and looked up at him. "It happens all the time; you've got to tire him out to screw his head back on."
Another patron turned spectator encouraged him, "You can do it!" from the other side of the bar.
"Have this--!" The patchwork man popped open a gnarly switchblade and offered it to Demetri, but Demetri pushed it back and closed the parasol.
"I have enough--" He took another step backward to parry Edward's jabs with a cornflower blue blur; one move, to the observers, whipped into another, and they could not tell one from he next; though he inched backward across the table, Demetri had created a formidable wall of motion between him and the manager.
"My God..." gasped the patchwork woman, "I daresay he does...!"
The other patrons, jaded before, were now watching with similar looks of astonishment--they needed this strange young man in here more often!
By now, Demetri had stepped halfway down the long table, and Edward was stabbing at him over and between its amused occupants' heads, muttering deranged incoherencies; his strikes were random and blind, clearly no match for Demetri, whose parasol he shifted from hand to hand so swiftly that it appeared at times to be in both at once;he caught the sword every time.
I'm getting tired myself...surely he must be--Click!Something chilled his left foot--the inside of a pitcher, to the startled laughter of the patchwork couple, and he lost all control of a high block, catching the parasol's hooked handle tightly upon a rafter. He would have been impaled through the heart if not for the thickness of his coat, which was slashed between the buttons with Edward's sword--but it went no deeper. Not this time.
"
Move aside," hissed Edward, who took the opportunity to stagger forward and put his own foot on the table, prepared to climb up himself. "We'll make this good and quiet..." He smiled a doomed man's smile. "Before anyone knows..."
"Unfortunately..." Demetri's voice was as steady as ever as he shook the pitcher off his foot, one eye fixed on Edward's hand, and one on his lost weapon, which was just out of reach--unless he jumped. He did, catching the middle of the parasol and swinging upon it toward Edward, whom he kicked squarely in the head with both feet. "We've already failed!" His weight was also enough to dislodge the parasol; both fell, missing the table and flying head on into the floor, where the dusty floorboards blocked out his sight. All he could sense for a second was the sound of applause...but then something pricked him between his shoulders; he knew just what when he lifted his head and saw Edward's pointed black boots inches from his eyes. He could not move beneath the sword; anything he did would drive it deeper. "
Don't harm Scott after me...not Horatio..." Demetri whispered; if there was any technique to avoid being beaten now, he had forgotten it. "
They did nothing..."
"Only if I must. So unfortunate that I must lose a customer..." It pricked harder, threatening to become a stab, but a shout interrupted its progress.
"
Great Scott, Ed!" cried the patchwork woman. "
They're here this time...!"Edward stumbled backward, allowing Demetri to breathe and get up again, which he ignored; his eyes had turned ghostly and saw nothing but the door when he turned around...which was closed, no one there.
"I'm sorry, Ed, my friend," said the woman, and he fainted into her arms. When Demetri looked at her and nodded gratefully, she reassured him, "All that's over now...he'll be up in just a moment, wondering if he fell asleep; he never remembers...and perhaps it's a good thing. Poor Edward, you see, is the one sensible man in a family of right outspoken souls against the...in a word...
control down here, and just as well, the last of them. The terror of their reputation following him has done him no good..." She patted him on the shoulder. "You did all right, little one."
Demetri knelt beside Edward and looked him over, willing his hands not to shake.
"It's okay," the woman said; "Worst it could be is you've bruised him a bit."
"Is there ice anywhere here to put on it...?"
The couple laughed. "Here? I know you're a kind soul, but no, and it would be best if you made yourself scarce before he wakes up, if you want him to be comfortable."
Demetri nodded, but did not walk away until he had withdrawn every last piece of money from his various pockets and put it on the table between the couple. to his chagrin, there was a footprint on it, but no one had yet noticed. "Give him this."
The man smiled disbelievingly. "Heh, that's more than this whole place is worth..."
"Please." By now, Demetri had collected himself back into his usual placidness, even if beneath was a tempest. For all he had heard about the dangerous nature of Lower London, he had never begun to truly understand, not until this moment...he approached Scott, who still lingered here, perhaps out of shock. All he said to him, giving the half shredded parasol a nonchalant sideways glance, was "This will never be any good in the rain again."