Teddy drew more than several disparaging glances as he walked circuitously back from The Lying Lily to his ship. His dark skin, shaved head, and visible tattoos set him apart from the crowd. They didn’t bother him much, but they let him know he wasn’t wanted. He didn’t know any other route through the city, so he went back the way he had come, passing the legal offices, banks, and palatial mansions of Old Templeton. A little adrift, he’d opted for familiarity and that meant heading back to his ship.
Teddy didn’t have to be back at the Royal Docks so soon, but it always worth it to check in. Ports moved fast. Men and carts rushed in and out, he weaved between them making his way to the water. The Bitter Queen sat where he’d left her, moored and static. She was listing a little, the boarding ramps weighed down one side, and her belly was wide open. She was being hollowed out, her precious cargo lifted down with a thin crane. Men strained their muscles lowering the crates of foreign merchandise. The nobility and middle classes would pay inordinate amounts for the contents of some crates, fine fabrics, exotic spices, rare alcohol. Others had things the middle classes could afford, herbs, fruits, wine. Another crate reached the ground as he strolled on, labelled with a marking, coded so thieves, or the crew, couldn’t tell which were most valuable. Teddy could figure out a good number of their wares by smell however, especially when his senses were heightened. He greeted a few of the dock workers he’d met the day before, and headed along the side of the ship, for the boarding ramps. That was where he knew the captain would be, overseeing the operation with his log book. Every crate meticulously tracked.
The sound of wood grinding and splitting filled his ears. A shout went up, of alarm, of fear. A rope whipped back his head, he felt the air ripple past as he spun. A man lay tangled in a mess of rope, a pulley hanging off one end. The rope that whipped past Teddy writhed and slipped away, the tail end travelling upward fast. And just as the rope soared skyward, a huge crate plummeted toward the dock. A crate it took half a dozen men to lift. Teddy didn’t have time to judge if it would hit the man on the ground, he only had time to move. Hurling his body forward, pushing off the ground and leaping over the tangles of rope, he tensed his whole body and, making sure to toughen it, rammed his shoulder into the wooden crate, just feet from the ground. He was still travelling upward when it struck him. Teddy was a large and heavy man, and was moving fast. The crate had him beaten in both regards. The crate continued to fall, but rotated at an angle, slowed on the side he struck. Boards bent and snapped at the impact point, showering splinters everywhere. Teddy hit the ground at the same time as the crate. It landed corner down, shattering on that side. He landed in a mess of rope and limbs. Leaning against the crate, he flicked his legs back, entangling himself in the rope, pulling some of it away from the crate. He was pulled to the ground, the crate with him, splitting open and spewing out torn bags, bleeding orange powder. As he collapsed to his knees, the spices flowed over him, and the man at his side. The powder found its way up his nose making it sting, and his eyes water. His arms and legs ached fiercely, chest panting.
After a few long breaths, Teddy’s pain subsided, leaving only a dull throbbing in the shoulder he’d led with. He wiped spice off himself, and looked back at the man on the ground. Dock workers usually had a sun beaten look, but this one was pale faced with fear and shock. He lay, paralysed, no longer struggling with the ropes. Teddy couldn’t tell if he’d dragged the man clear, or the crate would have just missed him. Either way, he’d survived. Teddy smiled softly at the man, trying to brush a little of the spice off, and pull him free from the ropes. He began to shake his head, realising it was pointless, to them it seemed like the whole world was covered with the orange spice. Shouting, running, sounds filled his ears. Hands were reaching out to him, voices surrounding him. An incomprehensible cacophony at first, then rising to a cheer of approval. As the two men were lifted to their feet, hands patted him on the back, men who had abandoned their posts. Teddy tried to ignore them, pulling a forced smile. The still pale dock worker shook his hand, both of them still stained orange. There was something ridiculous about them both, covered in so much spice that you couldn’t tell Teddy’s dark skin from the paler Templeton man. A laugh crept out of Teddy’s mouth, it was nervous, but infectious, and a smile crossed the man’s face too.
“Geoffrey,” The man introduced himself shakily, with a nervous laugh, “You saved me there pal, no doubt.”
“I’m not sure it was going to hit you.” Teddy replied, brushing it off.
“Surely it was, with the Lady as my witness!”
“Well, you live my friend, that’s enough.” Teddy clapped him on the shoulder. A man brought a bucket, they both washed their faces and hands, sticky orange paste falling to the wooden dock. The cool water was a relief, the spice was starting to sting.
The crowd began to dissipate, as a yelling overseer moved toward the dripping pair. Geoffrey drew him closer, gripping his hand tight.
“Surely that crate should have crushed you too friend. I saw what you did...”
Teddy looked him in the eye, not knowing what to say. The man had been right beneath him, he’d seen everything. The strength and power in Teddy’s arms and legs. He’d felt it crack the crate, and shudder the dock.
“...And I’ll never forget you saved me.” Geoffrey gave a reassuring wink as he turned to face a torrent of abuse from the overseer. Red-faced and spit on his lips the man struck Geoffrey across the face, sending him spinning away, blood and teeth scattering across the wood. He began yelling at men to reclaim as much of the powder as he could, then turned to Teddy, veins throbbing, ready to pop.
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“And you son, don’t think you’re getting off easy! Fall the fuck in line.”
“Theodore Khayat, sir,” Teddy began, recognising the man’s rank at once, you didn’t mess with dock overseers if you were smart. Teddy had learned that particular one the hard way. His remark earned a shake of the head from the overseer, and a hand pushed into his chest, hard.
“Like I give a fuck. What the fuck were you doing, distracting men at dangerous work like that? You’re lucky I don’t charge you for the whole crate!”
Teddy couldn’t help but tense. The man drove him backward toward the water for a moment.
“The crane, it broke sir. Man nearly died.” He held the glare, trying to seem passive.
“Oh faulty equipment is it? Well that’s convenient for you!” the overseer was having none of it, jabbing at Teddy’s chest again, and stepping up close. Teddy felt the edge of the dock with his heel, knowing the water was right behind him.
“Yes sir.” A little more forceful this time, anchoring his feet, tensing his chest. The next jab from the overseer resulted in a slight cracking noise, his finger bending back, Teddy’s chest hard as a tree trunk. He recoiled, grasping his finger in pain, but unwilling to show it.
“Well…” He searched for a moment, jaw clenched, “...straight to the dockmaster then. A proper fucking formal complaint must be dealt with, formally. Come on.” He stood up straight, regaining his lost posture. The overseer was like countless others, always spoiling for an excuse to strike out, but the moment he felt the chest that might as well be made of iron, something primal caused them to cower. Teddy walked past, relaxing his chest, taking a deep breath as it loosened.
The dockmaster’s office was attached at the back of the overseer’s mess. The mess itself was a small, cramped space with little more than a kettle and a few chairs. The overseers might be the authority figures at the docks, but they had little more social standing elsewhere. The office sat ajar, stacks of papers and logs on every available surface. Between them stood the dockmaster, chewing on a pipe, waist threatening to bulge out of his shirt and trousers. His outfit had the semblance of formality to it, buttons and cuffs that only an administrator could afford in such an active place as the royal docks.
“Broken equipment?” the dockmaster scoffed, “And who the hells are you? Where’s your permit?”
Teddy produced his papers, a little damp and stained orange at the corners, and handed them to the dockmaster, his sausage fingers grabbing them, unfolding and peering inside. Teddy didn’t know what to make of him yet, only that the man seemed old enough, and fat enough, that he probably hadn’t worked the docks in at least a decade. Teddy’s eyes flicked over the papers facing away from him on the desk, but he didn’t strain to read them. Not worth the effort.
“Myrcato sailor huh? Figures.” The dockmaster regarded Teddy with an air of disdain, “What would you people know of proper equipment, you’re savages aren’t you?” his lips curled in a cruel smile, the sort that relishes in making people squirm. Behind Teddy the overseer chuckled along.
“This city seems just as savage to me, sir.” Teddy replied flatly, arms grasped behind his back. Don’t give them anything, he thought, they’ll just throw it back at you.
The Dockmaster’s smile widened. “Well colour me surprised, we got a feisty one here. Oh I’m going to enjoy hitting you with the book boy. Wonder if the trained ape can even read…”
Teddy didn’t have a chance to answer back, or even have to restrain himself from doing so. The door slammed open behind the men, all three of them turning, surprised, to see the figure standing in the doorway. A woman, wrapped in loose, white robes, hands clasped in front of her, a hood shaded their features. To Teddy it seemed like a funny costume, but the two others stiffened, defensive. Wordlessly she seemed to glide across the room, stopping in front of the overseer, followed by a half dozen meticulously dressed members of the city watch, the Templeton crest on display.
“Hadrian Shoreleave?” Her tone flat, almost without inflection. The overseer seemed flustered, shaking his head and pointing to the dockmaster. The robed woman moved past Teddy, meeting his eyes for a moment. They seemed to linger, flicker for a second, but then she passed, looking at the man she sought.
“Hadrian Shoreleave?” she asked again, flat as before.
“Yes?” The dockmaster hesitated, a bead sweat forming on his forehead. “At your service, Minister.”
“Come with me.” She turned, gracefully navigating the clutter of the room. Watchmen flanked the dockmaster, and in a few moments he was leaving, hands wringing crumbled paper as he was encouraged forward by the watchmen. His head turned, his face pleading with each of them, then turning to the two men he’d been speaking to before. Shock and disbelief were written all over the man. He tripped, not looking where he was going, so the watchmen grabbed, shoved him to his feet, towards the door. It creaked closed behind them, and the office was silent. He was gone, just like that.
“What was that?” Teddy began, confused by the whole situation.
“Bad fucking news.” The overseer’s tone was as grim as his face.
“The dockmaster, he had my papers, my permits.” Teddy realised.
“Gone.”
“What? Surely I can get ‘em back?” a note of panic in Teddy’s voice now.
“No. You’re gone too. No papers, no work.” It was like the man sensed weakness, and it bolstered him, forgetting he had been cowed by the sailor not a few minutes ago.
“Shit.” Teddy cursed, despite himself.
“Shit indeed. Now get off my dock.” The overseer seemed to puff up as he reminded himself he still had some authority.
Teddy did so, stunned. Had he been a bit more collected, he might have realised the overseer was shaken by the encounter. He might have remembered how easily the bully broke when challenged. He might have made his way to his old ship, to find new papers. But he did not. He stepped from wood to cobbles, looking down at the surface he stood upon. Solid ground had never felt so disorienting. There was no compass or sextant to hand in this city. He was adrift, alone in a sea of stone.