at home, and the whole thing saddened Marius more than he cared to admit. He felt out of place in his stolen cape and rotting skin, like leaves blown onto a freshly swept floor, just waiting for someone to notice and push him back out into the gutter. He got up, placed the tankard and spiced roll on the lid of the trunk, and returned to his seat to wait.
Taverns like the Hauled Keel never really close. At best, there is a short gap between one shift of clients reeling away to their beds or the street, and the next lot coming in from their boats or shift at the workhouses and piers to eat, drink, and raise the right level of noise to help forget their lives. The serving girls work long hours, longer than their customers can drink. Then they have to clean up afterwards, sweep away the butt ends and pipe tailings, mop up the spilled beer and vomit, push the last complaining drunkard out the door and point him in the direction of wherever he’s calling home that day. Only then can the takings be tallied, wages apportioned, and each girl find her own way to bed. Keth was luckier than most – a flight of stairs is a short journey compared to many. Even so, when she pushed the door open and slipped inside, the lines of her body were heavy with fatigue. Marius watched as she slipped off her slippers and knelt to splash water over her face. She glanced at him and he, taking the hint, vacated the chair.
“I spoke to a fellow just in off a trader,” she said, settling into the chair and sighing. “It looks like the very job for you. Be a love.” She pointed to the food on the trunk. Marius retrieved it and passed it over. She bit into the roll, followed it with a sip of Krehmlager, and sighed. “Fresh.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s serving on a fifty ton barque called the Minerva . They’ve been docked three days, taking on supplies for a run to the Faraway Islands. Reckons they’ll be out three, maybe four months, then as many back, trading iron and cloth for the usual stuff. They’re waiting for the right tides, but he’s due back on board in the morning so he thinks they’ll be off in no more than two days. They’ve got cabins.”
“What type?”
“Are you fussy, now?”
Marius shrugged, abashed. “No, of course not. Just so long as they’re private.”
“They will be. As private as you’ll get on a working boat.” She bit into the roll again and swallowed. “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t need to eat.”
She looked at him for several seconds. “I don’t need to cuddle, but it’s still nice every now and again. Have some.” She offered the tankard and roll. Marius hesitated, and she shook them slightly. “To be polite, if nothing else.”
Marius took them, bit into the roll and followed it with a mouthful of the lager. They tasted… nice. He blinked, swallowed, and took another bite and drink.
“Hey! Save some for a worker.”
Marius twitched, then handed them back. “Sorry. I… I don’t understand. I could taste them.”
“Don’t look at me. It’s your story.” Keth eyed him up and down. “It’s done you the world of good. You look better. Not, you know, you, but better.”
Marius snuck a glance in the mirror. Keth was right. He did look better. Not himself, no, not alive, but less… deadish. A hint of animation around the eyes, maybe. A touch of colour at the edges of his lips. “I don’t understand this at all. Gerd said…”
“Gerd?”
“A… companion. Guard dog, more like.”
“And is he dead?”
Marius smiled. The face in the mirror drew its lips up into a rictus. “We’re everywhere, don’t you know?” He grabbed the tankard from Keth, took a swallow, handed it back. “So what now?”
“Well it’s only a one person bed.”
“That never bothered you before.”
“You were a person.”
He snorted. “Fair point. I don’t need to sleep…” He caught himself. “Or cuddle.”
Keth laughed, then levered herself out of the chair. “Well, I
Taverns like the Hauled Keel never really close. At best, there is a short gap between one shift of clients reeling away to their beds or the street, and the next lot coming in from their boats or shift at the workhouses and piers to eat, drink, and raise the right level of noise to help forget their lives. The serving girls work long hours, longer than their customers can drink. Then they have to clean up afterwards, sweep away the butt ends and pipe tailings, mop up the spilled beer and vomit, push the last complaining drunkard out the door and point him in the direction of wherever he’s calling home that day. Only then can the takings be tallied, wages apportioned, and each girl find her own way to bed. Keth was luckier than most – a flight of stairs is a short journey compared to many. Even so, when she pushed the door open and slipped inside, the lines of her body were heavy with fatigue. Marius watched as she slipped off her slippers and knelt to splash water over her face. She glanced at him and he, taking the hint, vacated the chair.
“I spoke to a fellow just in off a trader,” she said, settling into the chair and sighing. “It looks like the very job for you. Be a love.” She pointed to the food on the trunk. Marius retrieved it and passed it over. She bit into the roll, followed it with a sip of Krehmlager, and sighed. “Fresh.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s serving on a fifty ton barque called the Minerva . They’ve been docked three days, taking on supplies for a run to the Faraway Islands. Reckons they’ll be out three, maybe four months, then as many back, trading iron and cloth for the usual stuff. They’re waiting for the right tides, but he’s due back on board in the morning so he thinks they’ll be off in no more than two days. They’ve got cabins.”
“What type?”
“Are you fussy, now?”
Marius shrugged, abashed. “No, of course not. Just so long as they’re private.”
“They will be. As private as you’ll get on a working boat.” She bit into the roll again and swallowed. “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t need to eat.”
She looked at him for several seconds. “I don’t need to cuddle, but it’s still nice every now and again. Have some.” She offered the tankard and roll. Marius hesitated, and she shook them slightly. “To be polite, if nothing else.”
Marius took them, bit into the roll and followed it with a mouthful of the lager. They tasted… nice. He blinked, swallowed, and took another bite and drink.
“Hey! Save some for a worker.”
Marius twitched, then handed them back. “Sorry. I… I don’t understand. I could taste them.”
“Don’t look at me. It’s your story.” Keth eyed him up and down. “It’s done you the world of good. You look better. Not, you know, you, but better.”
Marius snuck a glance in the mirror. Keth was right. He did look better. Not himself, no, not alive, but less… deadish. A hint of animation around the eyes, maybe. A touch of colour at the edges of his lips. “I don’t understand this at all. Gerd said…”
“Gerd?”
“A… companion. Guard dog, more like.”
“And is he dead?”
Marius smiled. The face in the mirror drew its lips up into a rictus. “We’re everywhere, don’t you know?” He grabbed the tankard from Keth, took a swallow, handed it back. “So what now?”
“Well it’s only a one person bed.”
“That never bothered you before.”
“You were a person.”
He snorted. “Fair point. I don’t need to sleep…” He caught himself. “Or cuddle.”
Keth laughed, then levered herself out of the chair. “Well, I
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