wiped her hands on her apron and rolled her eyes. “Any particular captain? Any particular ship?”
I shook my head. It didn’t matter.
She nodded, looking me up and down. “See that table at the back there.” I squinted through the ropes of smoke and capering bodies to a table in the far corner. “Go up back, speak to the one they call the Middle Man. Tell him Selene sent you.”
I looked harder, seeing three men sitting with their backs to the far wall, curtains of smoke giving them the look of ghosts, like returning spirit-drinkers, cursed to haunt the tavern forevermore.
“Which one is the Middle Man?” I asked Selene.
She smirked as she moved off. “He’s the one in the middle.”
Feeling exposed I began to make my way toward the Middle Man and his two friends. Faces were upturned as I threaded through tables.
“Now that’s a very fetching little one to be in a place like this,” I heard, as well as a couple of other, more near-the-knuckle suggestions that modesty forbids me sharing. Thank God for the smoke and gloom and noise and the overall state of drunkenness that hung over the place. It meant that only those nearest to me paid me any interest.
I came to the three spirit-men and stood before the table where they sat facing the room with tankards close at hand, dragging their gaze away from the festivities and to me. Whereas others had leered or pulled faces or made lewd, drunken suggestions, they simply stared appraisingly. The Middle Man, smaller than his two companions, gazed past me and I turned in time to catch a glimpse of the grinning servingwoman as she slid away.
Uh-oh.
All of a sudden I was conscious of how far away I was from the door. Here in the depths of the tavern it was even darker. The drinkers behind me seemed to have closed in on me. The flames from a fire flickered on the walls and the faces of the three men watching me. I thought of my mother’s advice, wondered what Mr. Weatherall would say. Stay impassive but watchful. Assess the situation. (And ignore that nagging feeling that you should have done all that
before
entering the tavern.)
“And what’s a fine-dressed young woman doing all by herself in a place like this?” said the man in the middle. Unsmiling, he fished a long-stemmed pipe from his breast pocket and fitted it into a gap between his crooked, blackened teeth, chomping on it with pink gums.
“I was told you might be able to help me find the captain of a ship,” I said.
“And what might you be wanting a captain for?”
“For passage to London.”
“To London?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You mean to Dover?”
I felt my color rise, swallowed my stupidity. “Of course,” I said.
The Middle Man’s eyes danced with amusement. “And you need a captain for this trip, do you?”
“Quite.”
“Well, why don’t you just take the packet?”
The out-of-depth feeling had returned. “The packet?”
The Middle Man suppressed a smirk. “Never mind, girl. Where you from?”
Somebody jostled me rudely from behind. I shoved back with my shoulder and heard a drunk rebound to a nearby table, spilling drinks and being roundly cursed for his pains before folding to the floor.
“From Paris,” I told the Middle Man.
“Paris, eh?” He took the pipe from his mouth and a rope of drool dropped to the tabletop as he used it as a pointer. “From one of the more salubrious areas of town, though, I’ll be bound, just to look at you, I mean.”
I said nothing.
The pipe was returned. The pink gums chomped down. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Élise,” I told him.
“No second name?”
I made a noncommittal sound.
“Could it be that I might recognize your surname?”
“I value my privacy, that’s all.”
He nodded some more. “Well,” he said, “I think I can find you a captain to speak to. Matter of fact me and my friends were just on our way to meet this particular gentleman for an ale or two. Why don’t you join us?”
He made as if to
I shook my head. It didn’t matter.
She nodded, looking me up and down. “See that table at the back there.” I squinted through the ropes of smoke and capering bodies to a table in the far corner. “Go up back, speak to the one they call the Middle Man. Tell him Selene sent you.”
I looked harder, seeing three men sitting with their backs to the far wall, curtains of smoke giving them the look of ghosts, like returning spirit-drinkers, cursed to haunt the tavern forevermore.
“Which one is the Middle Man?” I asked Selene.
She smirked as she moved off. “He’s the one in the middle.”
Feeling exposed I began to make my way toward the Middle Man and his two friends. Faces were upturned as I threaded through tables.
“Now that’s a very fetching little one to be in a place like this,” I heard, as well as a couple of other, more near-the-knuckle suggestions that modesty forbids me sharing. Thank God for the smoke and gloom and noise and the overall state of drunkenness that hung over the place. It meant that only those nearest to me paid me any interest.
I came to the three spirit-men and stood before the table where they sat facing the room with tankards close at hand, dragging their gaze away from the festivities and to me. Whereas others had leered or pulled faces or made lewd, drunken suggestions, they simply stared appraisingly. The Middle Man, smaller than his two companions, gazed past me and I turned in time to catch a glimpse of the grinning servingwoman as she slid away.
Uh-oh.
All of a sudden I was conscious of how far away I was from the door. Here in the depths of the tavern it was even darker. The drinkers behind me seemed to have closed in on me. The flames from a fire flickered on the walls and the faces of the three men watching me. I thought of my mother’s advice, wondered what Mr. Weatherall would say. Stay impassive but watchful. Assess the situation. (And ignore that nagging feeling that you should have done all that
before
entering the tavern.)
“And what’s a fine-dressed young woman doing all by herself in a place like this?” said the man in the middle. Unsmiling, he fished a long-stemmed pipe from his breast pocket and fitted it into a gap between his crooked, blackened teeth, chomping on it with pink gums.
“I was told you might be able to help me find the captain of a ship,” I said.
“And what might you be wanting a captain for?”
“For passage to London.”
“To London?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You mean to Dover?”
I felt my color rise, swallowed my stupidity. “Of course,” I said.
The Middle Man’s eyes danced with amusement. “And you need a captain for this trip, do you?”
“Quite.”
“Well, why don’t you just take the packet?”
The out-of-depth feeling had returned. “The packet?”
The Middle Man suppressed a smirk. “Never mind, girl. Where you from?”
Somebody jostled me rudely from behind. I shoved back with my shoulder and heard a drunk rebound to a nearby table, spilling drinks and being roundly cursed for his pains before folding to the floor.
“From Paris,” I told the Middle Man.
“Paris, eh?” He took the pipe from his mouth and a rope of drool dropped to the tabletop as he used it as a pointer. “From one of the more salubrious areas of town, though, I’ll be bound, just to look at you, I mean.”
I said nothing.
The pipe was returned. The pink gums chomped down. “What’s your name, girl?”
“Élise,” I told him.
“No second name?”
I made a noncommittal sound.
“Could it be that I might recognize your surname?”
“I value my privacy, that’s all.”
He nodded some more. “Well,” he said, “I think I can find you a captain to speak to. Matter of fact me and my friends were just on our way to meet this particular gentleman for an ale or two. Why don’t you join us?”
He made as if to
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