Sailors swear, nobles complain about the dirty streets, merchants groan at the concept of having to pay for things, and I carry cargo. Up and down, sweat of my brow, then up and down. Seeing sunrise and about to see the sun set. The monotony of the day is rarely broken. When it is, it usually is another worker asking for a hand.

“Here, let me-” I say before helping a broad shouldered guy push a barrel onto a caravan.

“Thank-” He says, interrupting himself to put in effort too.

We spent a good minute pushing that thing. By the time we are done I’m gasping for breath, hoping to rest for a moment, just for the man to say.

“Thanks, new kid. We need the rest too.”

He points at a huge pile with like twenty of those things. This is going to take forever.

----------------------------------------

The sun is a few minutes from dipping its rays in the sea, and I'm almost done working. I’ve lost count how many pieces of petty gossip I’ve heard the past few hours. Romantic stories of eloping devolve into affairs and lies. They bore me a bit at first, but some are simply inescapable. Talented people, with their gift of gab, fill the air with suspense and mystery. Some of us, the laborers, can’t help but react to what is said and comment on the stories, whispering like kids talking of topics they shouldn’t.

Not the case for these two though. Above me, on the ship, a couple of dark haired, fair skinned men speak of things few seem to care for. They wore white shirts covered by red capes, their small, well trimmed mustaches looked almost the same. If their appearance, or the fact that they were standing there for half the day, didn’t give it away, the papers they held and the annoyed glares they gave made it obvious: They had money, were educated, and owned this operation.

Their conversations have mostly delved onto matters of profit and taxation. Technical jargon I couldn’t comprehend so I simply ignored. But now that the day is over, they finally speak of something that caters to my intentions.

“Did you hear that Cassian and Aureus Boreus are leaving next week, on the same vessel as us?” One of them mentioned as he disembarked.

“Uh… Yeah. What about it.” The other responded.

“You know the Boreus brothers aren’t in good terms, right?”

“Still? I thought that was old news.”

“It is old news, it just hasn’t stopped being true. They are traveling together as some business trip abroad.”

“And you know this because...?”

“Well… that’s because if they create any issues, I will be the one most hurt by it.” The first nobleman sighed.

They've got my interest. I act like I’m struggling to get up one of the last crates, trying to stay close enough to them to hear them speak a little more.

“Oh! You did mention wanting to expand to trading alchemical knickknacks. So you now deal in Boreus’ business, eh?” The second man said, playfully hitting him on the shoulder. “Well, I’m sure they won’t create many issues.”

“HEY! Be careful with that thing!” The first man shouted. “That’s fragile product!”

His face is hidden by the heavy crate I carry, so I can't see who he's reprimanding. I’ll make a safe assumption of the target being me, so I say.

“Alright, alright.”

I put down the crate slowly and then pick it back up with just as much care. The more I stay here, the better, anyways, so who cares what they say.

“You don’t know the brothers, right?” The first man asks, going back to the last topic.

“Never met them.” The second responds.

“Me neither...”He says. I chuckle slightly despite his response not being at all funny. “But I’ve heard some bad, bad things, Julian. Just keep an eye out for anything about them, to make things easier for me, alright?”

“Sure thing, Sir.” Julian says. “I’ll take care of the men’s pay, you go home and rest.”

They exchange a polite reverence, noble etiquette from what I can tell, and one of them leaves. By now the sun has set. Julian, standing by the caravan we had just filled with merchandise, rings a small bronze bell. The crowd of workers quickly moves towards him, creating a disorganized line. After putting down the crate I join the other workers waiting for their wages, some complaining of how little they’ll be getting payed, some simply socializing. Most people know each other, it seems. Everyone is exhausted, but the atmosphere is cheerful nonetheless.

“Hey, new kid.” The man I helped earlier mentions behind me. “How much you getting payed, huh?”

“Uh…” I think before responding. “Two silver?”

“Just two?” He says. “Ask for a little bit more. Tell em’ to put some copper in your pockets.”

“Yeah!” A woman from further behind the line pops out to say. Her tall and muscular figure stands out in the distance. “I get payed three, but that’s because I carry way more than anyone here.”

“Shut up, Risha.” The man behind me says. “You eat more in a day than any of us eat in a week.”

Workers laugh at the exchange. She snorts and chuckles a bit before saying back.

“It’s all muscle, though!” She mentions while flexing her left arm.

My incredulous enjoyment of this slice of their life is cut short by Julian. I’ve arrived at the front of the line, and the frowning noble is looking directly at me. A few moments of mean mugging build up the pressure. His eyes eventually look up, away from me, before he refers to all the line saying.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Don’t talk about your payment, gentlemen. That’s a rule.”

“Shut up and don’t underpay the kid.” Another voice retorts.

A wave of “yeah”s create a small commotion. Hands push me forward slightly, showing their support with the gesture. Julian rolls his eyes, forced to put down some extra coins on my pouch, loudly letting them fall and clank against each other.

“You better pull your weight tomorrow if you wanna get payed this much again.” He exclaims, letting his words be heard by the crowd.

“I will.” I politely answer.

I begin walking away, nodding thankfully towards the line. Words of encouragement lift my spirit, despite the pain in my joints. Some informal goodbyes from vastly different voices come my way, and I can’t help but enjoy it and smile. Walking back, I think of what those two rich men said while disembarking. The words of those businessmen make my mind race.

Pieces lay on the board as follows: There’s two inexperienced noblemen, whose relationship is poor at best because of some undisclosed dispute. Nosy tongues speak of an unresolved love triangle dating back to childhood, but the stories conflict too often to take any as gospel. These noble kids, the Boreus brothers, have been sent in a commercial mission to show the House’s wares to a merchant an entire sea away. The owner of the ship (Flavius, I think?), wants none of their drama, but hopes to aid House Boreus in expanding their commerce to far away lands. Obviously, this would mean he has some skin in it. My best bet is that he’s hoping to be the one tasked with transportation and, considering his words, maybe has more money than usual invested in the cargo.

This all means two things: First, Flavius needs this deal to go through or he’ll lose money, what better motivator. Second, the one place his plan breaks down is the brothers, so he will pay extra attention to them and their accommodations. I’m sure that also means he will be okay looking another way, if push comes to shove.

There’s so much that can be exploited. But also so many unaccounted for aspects. I know little of commerce, of that family, or the way any of the shipping business works. But this might be the best opportunity I can get during the little time I have left. I don’t have any idea how to exploit it yet, but I’m sure one will come to me. Seven days until they leave. So six of them to figure out the details of the plan, one day to execute it.

By now I have, without realizing, walked back to the tavern I stay at. I stand still, looking up at the wooden dead fish sign the building has by its side, wondering what it means.

“You going in, kid?” A familiar voice says before pushing me out of the way. “Don’t just stand in front of the entrance. Ho ho.”

He walks in. Same guy as before, hard to miss with that jolly, unmistakable laughter.

You know what? That’s a great idea. Let’s hit the bar.

----------------------------------------

Yesterday, my drinking night bore fruit. Patrons laughed and drank right next to me, happily sharing anecdotes and stories. Few words of my own were necessary, as the atmosphere was jovial already, but at first they understandably saw me as an outsider. I just had to be nice, say some funny things, and overall be less of a stranger to the drunks. Trying to find an opening, I spoke meekly until Kore, that burly coworker, asked me.

“So, little guy, you are here on your own, right? What made you leave that village you lived in?”.

“All the pretty ladies were related to me.” I respond.

Thunderous laughter erupts, ringing all throughout the place. A multitude of hands successively hit my back and my shoulder, approvingly. Guess the joke landed well. I followed it with a natural chuckle, a good lie has some truth to it. Either way, after my attempt at comedy is well received, they warm up to me. I pass a few hours sharing and hearing tales of life, everything from fun to hard times. I can’t help but feel forced to hide most of it, that winter obviously, but nobody pries much. Most just go on and talk about something they care for or enjoy, get hit by a witty remark, then ask for an extra drink with a smile in their face. Eventually, once we were all drunk enough, I found an opening to ask.

“What difference does it make how cheap the mead is?"

“Oh ho ho. Both you and I have no idea son.” Kore said, almost passed out on a table.

“Noble wine must be good, right?” I say, pushing the conversation.

“It is to die for.” Syl, a tall fair-skinned woman with pointy ears, comments.

“Or to kill for!” Another patron added, earning some laughs.

Slowly, the information I sought spilled just like the drinks did. Names ranging from “Golden Flower” to “Hornless Bull” popped up. All high class taverns by the rich side of the port. Some had stories of drinking there once or twice. Details of price ranges and etiquette were the ones I payed most attention to. If the nobles and merchants gossip by the port, when they are supposed to be working, surely they will say even more inebriated, no?

By the end of the night a few of us had promised to save some money and drink there together at the start of the next week, to celebrate the coming end of the year. I accept, knowing that I don’t have enough money to last that long, but happy to be invited anyways. If I have money then, I think, I may have to escape the city, so this promise is just a lie I haven't told yet.

Now that the day is over I walk to my room and throw myself at the bed. I lay there looking at the ceiling, half because I'm drunk and tired, half because I'm thinking. Going to those taverns is the next step, I know that. But I need some way of staying there. My backpack holds barely enough money to last a week, let alone a single high class meal. And if I go there looking like this I might get kicked out before I can even get all of my ten silver out, at least according to stories I heard.

I need to look like a noble, and find a way to stay without paying... How am I going to do that?