The City of Silver by David V Stewart

Author:David V Stewart [Stewart, David V]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-31T22:00:00+00:00

VI: Just Johnny

Several gaunt-looking men were stacking wooden boxes into hand wagons on the dock as Charlotte and Rone walked up to the ship. They stepped back as a young man staggered down the plank with another box.

“Who’s this?” A young shirtless man wearing faded pantaloons walked up to the pair from behind a stack of boxes on the dock.

“How do you do? My name is Phillip, and this is my wife, Halbara,” Rone said.

The young man stared at them and spat into the water. “You two don’t look like our usual business.” His jaw moved widely back and forth, working at a piece of chewing tobacco. His gaunt cheeks seemed to accentuate the motion, hiding no detail behind his thin beard.

“Are you the captain?” Charlotte asked.

“Naw. I’m Danny. First mate. Johnny’s up in his quarters.”

“Thanks,” Rone said, pulling Charlotte a few steps onto the plank.

“What’s all this about?” Danny said.

“We need passage to the Northmarch. Post haste.” Charlotte heard Rone grumble beside her.

“This ain’t your kind of ship, mate. Better off waiting for a state liner or something under a corporate banner.”

“Normally we would, but I’m afraid time is a bit short for us,” Charlotte replied.

“Suit yourselves, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

*

The Captain’s quarters were dusty and dim. When Rone and Charlotte stepped inside they saw a large spectacled man sitting at a small table writing in a small book with a very ragged black pen. He towered above the back of his small chair, making him look almost comically tall. His barrel chest was pushed up against the table, leaving a fatty bulge pushing against the bottom of his tome. His jacket was hanging off the back of his chair, and his shirt was a faded grey, though Charlotte thought that it might have at one point been white. He stroked his long, black beard as he wrote. When they closed the door, he looked up at them and took off his glasses.

“What are you doing on my ship?”

Rone saw him reach down and touch a pistol in his belt. Rone felt his fingers reached for the familiar wooden stock of his own, hidden away in the back of his pants.

“We’re interested in booking passage. We understand that you are going to the Northmarch,” Rone said, doing his best to sound calm and polite.

“Golice, yeah,” the man said, relaxing and putting his pen back into its stand, the end covered in viscous black ink. “But we don’t carry people, unless you’re part of the crew.”

“We know there won’t be much in the way of accommodations, and we’re fine with that,” Rone said. “We’re travelers and we just need to get home quickly.”

“Sorry, but I’m not in the business of travelers. Find a corporate liner, or a fleet ship.” The big man put his glasses back on. Rone tossed a heavy leather sack on the table in front of him. He stopped writing once again and picked up the bag, weighing it. He looked cautiously at Rone and turned the bag out on the table.

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