Episode 17

The Docks

I felt the first cold drops of rain as I stepped down onto the solid dock. Black clouds billowed up over the maze of masts and walkways as dozens of crews quickly and curtly finished their tasks.

I lifted my hood, slipped out into the city.

Shadowy stairs and steep, gaslit streets rose into the drizzly darkness, hunched figures disappearing into the gloom. I followed the main road running along the docks until I came to the less salubrious end of town. My kind of place didn’t take long to find. I glanced back up the windswept street to make sure I wasn’t being followed and then ducked down the stairs and knocked on the door. The slot opened. I looked into the green eyes, subtly projecting big gecko energy. The slot closed.

I’d been at sea for a while. The third place let me in straight away.

The bar was small. Busy but not too crowded. A dog was behind the counter talking with a couple of patrons; a cat was among the tables refilling the mugs of a party of Laudanese merchants. Down the end of the room a raucous group of sailors were playing dice.

I bought a drink and found a table against the back wall. I sipped the cider. Hot and spicy. Good.

A mariner sat down heavily opposite me. “Charlie! What the blazes are you doing here?”

I stared at him.

“It’s Clive,” the drunk fox said.

“I know, I’m just stunned,” I said. “Brilliant to see you, old son.”

“What happened to your accent?”

“Oh I worked on it. What brings you here?”

“There was a small scandal. I thought it prudent to see the world.”

“Good move. God, I haven’t seen you since—”

“I know! The Dunbridge imbroglio.”

“Feels like a lifetime ago. How did you manage afterwards?”

“I managed. I managed. Not as fast on my feet as I used to be.”

I murmured my sympathies and we continued in a similar vein. I bought him a drink and we reminisced. After a few more rounds I confided that I was secretly working for you-know-who on a matter of some urgency and import, though of course couldn’t share the details. He immediately and very generously offered his support and I accepted.

I went up to the bar to order another round. The old dog poured the ciders. I tried to catch the cat’s eye.

“I’m looking for someone who sells medicinal goods,” I said quietly, casually placing a sovereign on the counter and shielding it from the sailor next to me. “High quality medicinal goods.” I put a slight emphasis on ‘high quality’.

The dog and the cat looked at the sovereign and then at each other.

“Yeah, sure,” the dog said. “We know someone.”

I had my contact, an address high above the port, but I needed to be careful.

It was time to give old Clive the slip and take to the rooftops.

Next episode: Midwinter