Farewell to old Anaxas forever,
Farewell to my rum culls as well!
Farewell to the well known Old Rose,
Where I used for to cut such a swell.
Singing Tooral liooral liaddity,
Singing Tooral liooral lee!
Singing Tooral liooral liaddity,
And we're bound for the Hoxian Sea.
Deep in the heart of Vienda, beyond the Kingsway Market and the Aeterna Theatre, beyond Crosstown Court and the stately Zoological Gardens, nestled in the arms of The Dives was a modest nondescript tavern. It was no different from any other tavern, in another other street, in any other city slum. The building was made of wood, shrouded in the press of taller metal and stone buildings either side as though themselves the oppressive shadow of two galdori frowning over a cowering human. Over its doorway hung a swinging wooden sign painted with an open book under a ringing bell. Scripted beneath the graphic was the name of the little establishment.
The Book and Bell.
From the shuttered front windows, warm firelight glowed around the cracks in the woodwork, beckoning the work weary folk from the Soot District factories or the various shops in the city common. As one walked towards the beacon of hope in the otherwise dreary dark of the capital, they would hear the sound of loud and companionable singing, bolstered no doubt by plenty of cheap ale. A sea shanty, this eve, slipped from the B&B to roll gently out into the humid evening air of the Dives, calling to the curious and the knowing. For those who were In the Know, knew that Solid Stu would never interrupt Hoxian Sea in the evening whilst the firelight beckoned under the shutters of the windows.
Jon Serro himself had to signal his followers after all.
There's the bosun and all the ship's crew!
There's the first and the second class passengers,
Knows what we bilge rats go through.
Singing Tooral liooral liaddity,
Singing Tooral liooral lee!
Singing Tooral liooral liaddity,
And we're bound for the Hoxian Sea.
“S’th’ house roast garmon an’ taters with gravy for th’ kov with the mung mustache, ye chen?!” A small slip of a girl bellowed at the top of her lungs, platter balanced at shoulder height in one hand and a piece of paper to read in the other. Her bright green eyes scanned the rauckus crowd, before settling on a study man with a ridiculously long and curly grey mustache waiving his arm so hard it seemed like it would fall clean off. Nodding her chin at the man, the young ginger haired witch weaved through the patrons, cursing loudly and shoving people with her elbow if they threatened to run into her. Dropping the platter down on the table with a slow chew on a cud of tobacco leaf, the teenager scowled at the human man.
“Ten shills natta.” She said firmly, holding one hand out for the coin, the other on her hip and foot tapping impatiently. The round fellow reached into his pocket, fishing out a handful of coppers before counting ten and dropping them in her palm with a smile. Looking at them with a raised eyebrow, the waitress sniffed, and the mans smile faltered as he counted out another two coins. She checked again, before beaming at the patron and spinning on her heel to make her way back to the bar.
“Now Ginny, that wasn’t nice of you. Got a business to run, you know?” Rum Ginny, in her freckled tanned glory, offered Stu a wink before leaning back on the bar with both elbows and scanning the patrons.
“Only for the dobbies an’th’ easy lifts balach. Broen ent a dobbie, he’s well-lit see. A fair rum gunner too from what I hear. He can handle a little spitch that one. ‘sides, f’I piss th’dobbies off they’ll leave an’ we can get on with things.” The dark haired barkeep frowned at the girl, his large nose slightly crooked where it had broken and healed maybe more than once, blue eyes looking at her for a moment before focusing back on wiping down the bar.
“Don’t swear missy, it’s not appropriate for a girl to be swearin’ like a sailor.” Ginny poked her tongue at him, before pouting like a belligerent child. Whilst in no way related, the two knew each other for more years than either could remember, Solid Stu and Rum Ginny always together. He was eighteen years her senior, old enough to be her father. If she had an actual father, the young witch had never mentioned him and Stu had never asked. They were chalk and cheese, but they were a package deal. If you got the Ginger, you also got the Bull.
“Ye think that’s all of them Stu? Serro said midnight, its nearly thirty minutes to the hour. Should we stop them singing?” Her green eyes drifted to the gentleman who had positioned themselves so strategically beside the doorway, where their voices wafted the most each time a newcomer would open the door, seemingly a band of drunk sailors regaling the tavern with a song of the sea. Those in the Know knew though, that not a single one of those men were drunk, not by a longshot.
“Not yet girl, not yet.”
Taint cos we mis-spells what we knows!
But because all we light fingered gentry,
Hops around with a log on our toes.
These seven long years I've been serving now,
And seven long more have to stay!
All for bashing a bloke down our alley,
And taking his ticker away.
Singing Tooral liooral liaddity,
Singing Tooral liooral lee!
Singing Tooral liooral liaddity,
And we're bound for the Hoxian Sea.
As the minutes ticked slowly over, patrons would one by one approach the bar with no suspicious rhyme or reason, and seemingly disappear. Gradually, the tavern got less busy and more empty, as though people had left. Yet none departed from the unremarkable front door. As the time reached fifteen minutes to the hour, the only souls left were the drunken singers and a few well placed patrons sipping drink or picking at meals.
Plants, for those in the Know.