Black & Mist

by Thomas J. Radford

  There was one fellow. A drink in one hand went untouched, empty or just for show, the man was watching, waiting, eyeing all those who passed him by warily.

  He didn’t look like a Free Lanes sailor. The hair was too short and the clothes not rough enough, good quality if not expensive. Recently purchased. A bit older, seasoned then. Not someone who ought to be scrounging for work.

  Aye, you stick out like the proverbial. Not someone I’d be looking to hire. Is it me you’re looking for or am I just going to turn myself grey worrying over naught?

  “Move over, Nel.”

  “Move over, Skipper,” Nel responded with a raised eyebrow but still pulled her legs in. Gabbi plopped down, shaking herself and spraying water everywhere. Nel turned her head so that her hood took the brunt of the deluge.

  “I said what I meant,” Gabbi grumbled. “Damned rain, gonna delay my deliveries. Had to send Jack and Vi out after them. Only way I know how to give Jack a bath but now the whole galley is gonna smell like wet fox fur. Can’t win.”

  Nel snorted. “You sent them out? How long did you wait before making for this bar?”

  “Longer than you and you might as well live here. Are we drinking?” Gabbi made a face. “I feel like we should be drinking.”

  Nel reached out and pilfered another drink, earning a scowl from the waylaid server. That was their problem though. She delivered the drink to her cook.

  “To husbands and sweethearts,” Nel said.

  “May they never meet,” Gabbi agreed.

  “Never,” Nel toasted.

  Gabbi sipped hers conservatively. “Been hitting the sauce hard lately, Skipper.”

  Nel shrugged. Woman’s not wrong. No sense denying it, it’s how I deal. Or don’t.

  “Piper?” the cook guessed.

  Another shrug. “Piper, the rest. And being this close to the High. Brings back things. Things I’d rather stay lost.”

  Gabbi nodded. “You and the captain both. Easier for him. He can forget.”

  “Doesn’t have much choice,” Nel said glumly. “Been going that way since he took me on.”

  “He took us all on.”

  “He does that. Bleeding heart of a man.”

  “Aye, good man, our captain.”

  “To the captain.” Nel raised her drink, not bothering to toast. This one was almost gone—she started looking around for another. The sailor she’d eyeballed earlier was still there. Not the sharpest one if he were looking for them. Big and dumb. Gabbi’s type.

  Gabbi, now there’s an idea . . .

  “Care for an admirer?” Nel asked the other woman.

  “Not even a little.” Gabbi drank deep. “The men can go sod themselves. My drowned kitchen wench state is not my finest hour.”

  Nel coughed, suppressing a laugh and almost choking on her beer.

  “And sod you too, Skipper.”

  Nel grinned. “Never leave me, Gabbi, never ever leave me.”

  “Would if I could,” Gabbi muttered. “Which one is it, anyways? Not that I care.”

  “The one in the corner, dark and brooding, Gabbi, just the way you like them.” Nel gestured freely with her vessel.

  Gabbi turned her head, resting her chin on one hand. Her snort of disdain was loud enough that several people turned to stare. “What do you take me for, woman? That fellow might be the man of my dreams after a dozen more of these but unless you’re buying I’ve no ken to wake up next to him.”

  “You could have just said no, you’ll hurt the poor lad’s feelings.”

  “Poor I can live with,” Gabbi said. “Known nothing but poor men in my whole life. But lad . . . you’re being generous, Skipper, and whatever comes after generous. That lad is out to pasture, not fit for . . .”

  “All right, you’ve made your point,” Nel kicked at her friend. “Save me from filthy-minded galley wenches.”

  “You’re a wench, Skipper,” Gabbi sulked. “Just because you’re miserable Castor Sharpe is long since gone is no reason to drag me down into your wallowing.”

  Nel rolled her eyes. “Sharpe? Hells, you don’t all still feed that rumour, do you?”

  “Aye, we do, Skipper, believe me we do,” Gabbi grinned evilly.

  “Last drink I buy you,” Nel warned her.

  “Didn’t buy me this one, believe you still owe for it.”

  “Find your own then.”

  “Aye, I will,” Gabbi agreed, casting her eye around the room.

  “I was referring to the drink, wench.”

  “And that’s why you’ll be an old maid of a wench, Skipper,” Gabbi ignored her. “Oh, now there’s a lad I could rest my head against. Goodness, but he’s a pretty one, Skipper. What do you think?”

  Nel almost laughed but followed Gabbi’s pointing finger. The woman wasn’t subtle.

  “Aw, hells . . .”

  “What?”

  “Hells, Gabbi,” Nel whispered, knowing her face must have turned chalk-white.

  “What?” Gabbi looked at her, sudden concern writ over her face.

  What to say, what to tell her? Hells. Hells, hells, hells!

  “We need to go.” Nel bit down on her lip.

  “Why?” The woman’s eyes widened, the man she’d pointed out momentarily swallowed up in the crowd. Nel kept her head down, letting her hood cover her face.

  “Nel, you didn’t,” Gabbi’s voice was mixed between reproach and admiration. “Never saw you as the type. Is that boy even old enough to shave?”

  “He’s not . . .” Nel caught herself just in time. “No, not that. Was in here before asking about me.”

  Gabbi leaned back, eyebrows rising. “Nel, have you been . . .”

  “Damnit, woman, get your mind out of the gutter. He’s Alliance, use your damned eyes. Asking after us, the ship. You know what that means!”

  “Oh, hells . . .” Gabbi’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates now.

  Nel’s hand shot out and grabbed her friend’s shoulder, hard, hard enough to make her wince.

  “You’re sure? Nel, are you absolutely sure?” Gabbi’s voice quivered now, her lower lip trembled.

  “Sure, aye, I’m sure. It’s him. He’s Alliance. Look under the coat, can see the whites of his uniform. Damned fool,” she shook her head angrily, “wasn’t even smart enough to change out of it. Thought I . . .”

  But no, couldn’t think about that now. Just had to get out of here, before he saw them. Before he recognised her.

  Because that would be all kinds of trouble.

  Nel hadn’t moved her hand yet. She kept it there, feeling Gabbi squirm and shift under her grip. The woman wanted to run, to bolt right out of the tavern and head for safety. So did Nel. But they had to be smart. For all their sakes.

  “Give me your vessel, Gabbi,” she said through gritted teeth, leaning close. “Raise it up, here next to mine.”

  Gabbi did as she was told, the liquid frothing and swirling at the rim. Her hand was shaking.

  With a grin as forced as it must have looked, Nel knocked their drinks together and brought hers to parched lips.

  “Drink up, damnit,” she said over the rim. Gabbi didn’t need encouragement there, gulping the contents and slamming the empty vessel down on the bar. The bang she made shouldn’t have stood out any more than the racket everyone else was making.

  Only the racket and clangour had died down to a murmur. The silence that caused all of Nel’s joints to seize up and her blood take a chill. She expected to find all eyes on her.

  But no one was looking at her. It was like some dreadful puppet pantomime: two stooped and struggling figures labouring under the weight of a hardwood cask. The height of a small man and wrapped in metal hoops, the barrel would have been rolled along the floor by anyone right in the head. The two Draugr were carrying it, backs bent in a way that would have been torture if they’d been able to feel it. Yet they carried their burden in a crab-like manner, oblivious to the attention they were receiving. A nervous server opened up the bar to give them
access to the backroom behind the bar.

  “Skipper,” Gabbi spoke in no more than a whisper.

  “Hush, Gabbi,” Nel said, watching the room. There were dark grumblings making themselves heard. She could make out the more aggressive ones, those far gone in drink, those who did their thinking with their fists.

  Damn, won’t take much. When did it get this bad?

  There was the one she wanted to avoid, all grave and serious, watching like everyone else.

  So serious in your neatly pressed uniform. They teach you that in the High Lanes along with how to salute an admiral just so? Least you’re watching the show and not me. Just keep watching the show now.

  Someone stepped between the Draugr and the dubious safety of the bar. Knuckles cracking and a rosy tint to their cheeks, flush from a day’s drinking. The Draugr stopped their slow delivery, two grey and sagging heads turning to look at the belligerent obstacle.

  “Come on,” Nel said, shoving her empty drink away. “We’re leaving. Get up, lean against me, but don’t you dare run, Gabbi, don’t you dare.”

  She threw an arm around her friend’s shoulders, just two drunken friends headed home. That was all they were. All anyone should see. Voices were rising, high pitched. The staff were protesting. For all the good it would do against the ugly mood of the crowd. She risked a quick look around, couldn’t find the man who’d spooked Gabbi, and her, she had to admit.

  Alliance, here and asking about us. That tears it. Captain’s not going to like this. Hells. Hells, hells, hells!

  Because like it or not, it was time to leave Port Border, paying run or no. A cold hand was twisting its fingers through her insides now.

  We’re going to struggle. Just have to stretch to the next stop and start praying.

  But that was a problem for tomorrow. For now she had to leave without drawing attention to herself.

  Splinters and splashing behind them. The sound of a ruptured beer barrel hitting the floor behind them. There was a collective groan from the patrons that escalated into a roar.

  “Now you can run!” Nel pushed Gabbi in front of her, driving for the door. She ducked low as a plate went over her head to shatter against the wall. She threw a shoulder into a woman that got too close, sending her reeling into the man behind her. The man swung and missed, hitting a troll with a glancing blow. The troll responded as all trolls would have. They had just cleared the door before the brawl enveloped the whole tavern.

  GABBI’S SHOPPING LIST was short. Not only short, but bland, boring, unappetising. Jack was unimpressed. Not only was Jack unimpressed, Bandit had picked up on the mood. The loompa still hadn’t settled on a new partner, alternating between Violet and Jack most of the time but occasionally venturing further afield, sounding out the skipper and Quill. The skipper shooed him off most days but for some reason Quill tolerated the small, furry presence in a way he never had previously. For short periods at least. Bandit had attached himself to the captain once but a disagreement over the man’s hat had seen the end of that.

  “Need meat,” was Jack’s summary, echoed by the loompa.

  “Ain’t got no meat on the list,” Violet repeated.

  “Still need it.”

  “Ain’t got no money for meat, Jack.”

  Jack grunted. Then, loudly, “Shopkeep, how much for Kitsune tails?”

  “Jack!” Violet snapped at him, twisting to keep her tails well away from her Korrigan shipmate.

  “How much?” Jack repeated.

  “Trading in such . . . items is restricted in the High Lanes,” the merchant told him, clearly not wanting to be drawn into the discussion.

  “Black market then? That means a lot more.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Who would then? Who do I ask?”

  “Jack!” Violet kicked the Korrigan, who was half a head shorter than her, hard in the shin. He didn’t feel it.

  “What?” He sounded annoyed.

  “Eyes off my tails.”

  “You got two of ‘em. Why all the fuss? They grow back anyways.”

  “They don’t grow nothing so you shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you.” She handed over the list to the vendor, glaring at Jack the whole time.

  “This all?” the merchant asked.

  “It’s what I got,” Violet said.

  “No credit. Show me you got the coin so I don’t waste my time.”

  Violet upended the purse Gabbi had given her onto the counter. The small collection of coins spilled out. Gabbi had counted them out exactly before sending them on their errand. Bandit made the jump to her shoulder, peering down at all the shiny coins. She slapped his hand when he made to reach for one.

  “You don’t have enough.”

  “What do you mean? We counted it up!” Violet objected indignantly.

  “For the jams and syrups. Maybe the salted vegetables. But not the pickled ones, the grain, or the cheeses. Not at today’s price.”

  Violet glared. “We made this order yesterday! This is just the pickup.”

  The merchant shrugged. “Price is what it is.”

  Jack whispered something about the black market again.

  “Price don’t change between order and delivery,” Violet said indignantly. “You’re trying to short me.”

  “If you don’t like it, you can go somewhere else.”

  “Ain’t going nowhere else, ain’t got nowhere else to go.” Violet could hear her own voice rising and found she didn’t care. The merchant looked at her in annoyance, perhaps surprise. “I go anywhere, I’m coming back with some fancy folks on account of you trying to swindle me.”

  “Swindle?” Jack growled, taking an interest for the first time.

  “Nobody is trying to swindle anyone, girl!” The merchant was getting agitated now.

  “I says you are!” Violet slapped her hand down on Gabbi’s list. “That your signature? That your price? And now you’re saying it’s not?”

  “The market has . . .”

  “A bargain is a bargain,” Violet said stubbornly. “And we struck a bargain.”

  Jack pushed at the list with one thick finger, glaring up from under his gnarled brows. “That right, merchant? You trying to hustle her?”

  “I am doing no such thing.”

  “On account of her being a girl and not knowing no better?” Jack grabbed the list, waving it in front of the man’s face.

  “Oi!” Violet protested. Bandit added his shriek of protest, making the jump from Jack to the bench top.

  The merchant recoiled from the flailing loompa in alarm. “What’s it doing? Get that thing away!”

  “Thinks you’re trying to hustle us,” Jack said. “He don’t like that.”

  “There is no hustling taking place!” the man insisted. He looked up nervously. They were beginning to draw a crowd. Bandit began to jump about on the bench, stamping his feet angrily.

  “Can’t lie to a loompa,” Jack told him. “Can smell a lie. Everyone knows that.”

  “Want what’s on my list.” Violet snatched the paper off of Jack and thrust it at the shopkeeper. “For what we agreed on.”

  “Fine, fine,” the man capitulated. “Just get that thing away from my store.”

  “STILL NEED SALT,” Violet said, looking up from the list at the barrow of goods they’d left with.

  “Then you go get some.” The muscles on Jack’s low-swinging arms bunched as he lifted the barrow up, almost to eye height for him. The irony of being short and squat.

  “Don’t get lost on your way back, Jack,” Violet stuck out her tongue.

  “Don’t lose your tails,” he replied. “Still wanna sell them one day.”

  “Sell you if I could.”

  “You can’t.” Jack cocked his head at Bandit. “Me or her?”

  Bandit bobbed up and down, peering intently at the barrel of goods. Then jumped to Violet’s shoulder.

  “Ha!” Violet grinned at Jack.

  “Not smart, Bandit.” Jack sounded disap
pointed. “Always go where the food is.”

  He set off towards the docks with his delivery. Bandit watched him, making forlorn chirping sounds.

  “Too late now,” Violet told him, feeling him tense on her shoulder. “You’re stuck with me now.”

  Bandit twisted to face her and patted her awkwardly on the head.

  “Come on, you big lug.”

  Gabbi hadn’t give her specific instructions about where to find the salt traders but it didn’t take her much asking to find. Turned out there was just the one in Port Border. That wasn’t so good. A lone trader meant a monopoly and she needed to negotiate. Nor did she have much to negotiate with, doubling her woes.

  The trader was to be found in one of the warehouse districts, inland from the waterfront ports. It meant trekking past some familiar streets, those where she’d seen all the Draugr and golems. She paused at the turnoff she knew led that way.

  More than paused, stood there so long Bandit dismounted and stared up at her from street level.

  “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” Violet told him, tucking her thumbs into her belt and chewing on her own lip. She was of more than half a mind to head back to the warehouse. The longer she thought the less certain she was of what she’d seen. Quill’s words were playing in her head.

  She turned away with a sigh, towards the salt trader, knowing she’d be back this way. Wasn’t smart, she knew, pushing her luck and snooping around Alliance folk, but the doubt was gnawing at her something fierce. First things first, though.

  Salt trader weren’t what she thought it would be. She’d been to one before, with Gabbi. Local market one, stall and pots, where they sold salt by the handful. This one was different. Big fence, tall buildings. She could see mounds of what looked like white sand crystals rising over the fencing and between the canopy. Canopy itself was huge, big tarred canvas pulled over the salt to keep the wind and rain off. Wouldn’t do to get the merchandise wet, though Violet was at a loss as to why it wasn’t kept indoors. The nearby buildings were obviously owned by the same folk. Unless they were full of it and this was the overflow.