Old Rose Harbor - The Leviathan
The 28th of Dentis, 2719, Still after midnight
The 28th of Dentis, 2719, Still after midnight
T
he kid was too sharp by half. A mercy then that he’d cut himself sooner or later and learn a little wisdom. Gods’ know I’ve got my own share of educational scars. I was still earning them. Gervaise and his charming lads were proof enough of that. If I could get this damn business sorted, if I could go back to the side fiddles and facilitation, that would be for the best. Now, don’t think I don’t have my ambitions, magistrate, far from it, but as my old mum used to say ‘whisper your way to success’. I’d been shouting too much lately. Sure it felt good from time to time, and a swagger in the step was always a joy, but no joy is worth your hide. If there is one piece of wisdom I’d picked up over the year it was this: ‘always listen to Ma’. A wise lady. She’d better have been, what with all the trouble she got into.
Was it wise to bring in Lucky, to dance, at least for a while to his tune? It could be worse. I knew worse. Worse was drinking my absinthe and my mid-tier rum and taking up a table I required for other purposes.
I took another drink of the rum, all right and proper. No proper business takes place without the drink to seal it. I don’t trust teetotalers. Too high and mighty for the most part, thinking themselves above the rest of us. In denial of tradition and good custom. At least the kid passed that test, and by the way he was taking down the rum, I’d have to keep an eye on my stores with him about. I’d have to keep an eye on a lot of things.
I’d have to keep an eye on that too-sharp, too-flighty brain for one. “Don’t mistake my snapping up opportunity when it comes my way for generosity kid. I am a man of business, and I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain. And after that, well, I expect you to work. It ain’t a glamorous job, not by a long chalk.” The pay weren’t great either. Don’t look at me like that, magistrate. I ain’t stingy, just practical. I don’t have the steadiest cash-flow at the best of times. All tied up in inventory. If I couldn’t shift those pickled onions, things were going to be even more tied up. “Still, you do right by me, and I’ll do right by you. You follow?”
Best I could tell, the kid followed well enough. Shrewd bastard. “So yeah, jobs yours if you want it. It starts as soon as we finish our little chat. You’ll need to carry the whole shift mind you. It’ll be three hours minimum, and then you’re to be back to open, a little before noon. I don’t care if you have a whale for a head, you’ll be here at seven bells in the forenoon watch.” Lucky was no sailor, I could see that by his hands. What did he know of the bells? “That’s the fourteenth hour. By mid-day we’ll have a little crowd, the thirsty bastards wanting their tipple and their lunch. You can leave the cheffing to me and the cook. For now. But, here you’ll learn enough cooking to make a spotted dog and a passable stew. That ain’t negotiable. Knowing your way around a kitchen is a skill everyone should have. Only a damn fool turns down an opportunity to learn such a useful skill. You don’t look like a fool to me kid. Don’t go disappointing me.”
And, right on cue, the kid tried his best on that matter. Tried, and bloody-well failed. His tip on the opium was all tied up with the shady, shifty bastards of the Drain. I’d dealt with them too, not often though. Still, they paid up on time and didn’t dunk my head in among the eels. So, that put them high in my current estimation. That was going to make nicking the stuff from them all the harder. “Fuckin’ perdition and hauntings kid, you want me to sidle on in and nick the poet-flowers from the godsdammed Drain?” So, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Then, I cottoned on to what the kid had really said, the order of the affair. “Wait. This stuff is intended for the Drain, but it ain’t in their possession. Not yet. Fair enough.” I took another swig of the rum, let it roll around in my mouth and in my mind. Could I snatch the stuff? Possible, but that ain't my usual style. “So, who’s the seller? I’d rather let Gervaise and his barnacles handle the dirty work, provided I can put them on to the scent. Either that, or I can try and arrange a better price.” Fat lot of good that would do me. There was no way I could out-spend the Drain. “Perhaps I can make them an offer so sweet they’ll not want to refuse.”
Was it wise to bring in Lucky, to dance, at least for a while to his tune? It could be worse. I knew worse. Worse was drinking my absinthe and my mid-tier rum and taking up a table I required for other purposes.
I took another drink of the rum, all right and proper. No proper business takes place without the drink to seal it. I don’t trust teetotalers. Too high and mighty for the most part, thinking themselves above the rest of us. In denial of tradition and good custom. At least the kid passed that test, and by the way he was taking down the rum, I’d have to keep an eye on my stores with him about. I’d have to keep an eye on a lot of things.
I’d have to keep an eye on that too-sharp, too-flighty brain for one. “Don’t mistake my snapping up opportunity when it comes my way for generosity kid. I am a man of business, and I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain. And after that, well, I expect you to work. It ain’t a glamorous job, not by a long chalk.” The pay weren’t great either. Don’t look at me like that, magistrate. I ain’t stingy, just practical. I don’t have the steadiest cash-flow at the best of times. All tied up in inventory. If I couldn’t shift those pickled onions, things were going to be even more tied up. “Still, you do right by me, and I’ll do right by you. You follow?”
Best I could tell, the kid followed well enough. Shrewd bastard. “So yeah, jobs yours if you want it. It starts as soon as we finish our little chat. You’ll need to carry the whole shift mind you. It’ll be three hours minimum, and then you’re to be back to open, a little before noon. I don’t care if you have a whale for a head, you’ll be here at seven bells in the forenoon watch.” Lucky was no sailor, I could see that by his hands. What did he know of the bells? “That’s the fourteenth hour. By mid-day we’ll have a little crowd, the thirsty bastards wanting their tipple and their lunch. You can leave the cheffing to me and the cook. For now. But, here you’ll learn enough cooking to make a spotted dog and a passable stew. That ain’t negotiable. Knowing your way around a kitchen is a skill everyone should have. Only a damn fool turns down an opportunity to learn such a useful skill. You don’t look like a fool to me kid. Don’t go disappointing me.”
And, right on cue, the kid tried his best on that matter. Tried, and bloody-well failed. His tip on the opium was all tied up with the shady, shifty bastards of the Drain. I’d dealt with them too, not often though. Still, they paid up on time and didn’t dunk my head in among the eels. So, that put them high in my current estimation. That was going to make nicking the stuff from them all the harder. “Fuckin’ perdition and hauntings kid, you want me to sidle on in and nick the poet-flowers from the godsdammed Drain?” So, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Then, I cottoned on to what the kid had really said, the order of the affair. “Wait. This stuff is intended for the Drain, but it ain’t in their possession. Not yet. Fair enough.” I took another swig of the rum, let it roll around in my mouth and in my mind. Could I snatch the stuff? Possible, but that ain't my usual style. “So, who’s the seller? I’d rather let Gervaise and his barnacles handle the dirty work, provided I can put them on to the scent. Either that, or I can try and arrange a better price.” Fat lot of good that would do me. There was no way I could out-spend the Drain. “Perhaps I can make them an offer so sweet they’ll not want to refuse.”
