The first days were over, the toll of them was written in discolored purple welts all over his body; the bruising hurt, but that did not matter. The hammock's sway combined with a day of shoveling coal was too much. Kincade had closed his eyes once wriggled into the hammock. It wrapped around him like a baby being swaddled; it comforted him and was a reminder of his time in the navy, the sound of the flames, the smell of coal coke.

And he slept in darkness; he was not visited by sweet dreams. In the recesses of his mind, he floated on an expansive sea in the darkest of nights. No stars were overhead to guide him, only the pull of the ocean tide. The drift of the sea was gentle at first. Kincade drifted until he noticed the sound of roaring and rushing water.

Turning, he started to swim, kicking his legs for all they were worth; his arm failed to pull him to safety. The sea had grown to a tumult only matched by the pandemonium of sound. A great whirlpool, a vortex of spinning water, pulled at Kincade, forcing him round and round. Helpless, unable to pull away, unable to help himself. His head snapped back, and above him was a terrible fe-fi-fo-dum giant. But with the face of Harry, a long-time friend and business partner. This Harry was pointing with one hand and manically laughing. In Harry's other giant hand, a syringe on the needlepoint a single drop of liquid green and smoking.

"Wake up, lad," Boson called out and slapped the bottom of the hammock. With a thud, the pains of the previous day burst to life again. Kincade roused with a grown; opening his eyes, he attempted to move and immediately screwed up his face as each and every muscle called to him and yelled in protest.

"One day's work does not excuse you from another lad," Boson said

"My dear man, I shoveled coal all day, and surely that buys me at least a few moments of sympathy and a word or two of encouragement," Kincade said.

At that urging, Kincade rolled to his right, the hammock twisted, and his whole body started to tip out. He realized that he would need to move his stiff limbs somewhere in this procedure and suffer the pain of the overworked muscles and bruising to plant his feet on the deck. Or fall to the deck instead. Kincade let out yet another grown and fell onto the deck. Calling forth a bellowing laugh from Boson.

"Lad, there has not been many a day when I have laughed. Not many, t'all. For your gift of laughter, I have some eggs and a little beer for you over there," Boson waved and pointed to where Kincade had spent the whole day yesterday shoveling coal. After a quick search, Kincade found the plate of eggs and a small bottle of beer. He moved over to the workbench, clearing a section for the plate and bottle, breaking the wax seal, and pulling the bottle's cork.

"Boson, where is the cutlery?"

"Lad, no need for graces down here, nothing wrong with your hands, were all friendly like," Boson said.

Kincade looked down at the coal dust staining his hands, then to his left wrist where that damnable brass shackle ticked, then listened to the grumbling in his belly and the sight of two boiled and peeled eggs.

"I simply couldn't, sir. I am a gentleman, after all." Kincade said to Boson and himself as a protest and an affirmation of his status.

"Look, lad, you and I are in this together. We work for the Lieutenant now, which is the whole of it. You ain't no gentlemen no more. You are an indentured servant, and it will go a lot easier for you as soon as you realize that there ain't no airs and graces for the likes of us." Boson moved over to Kincade; he fished around in a draw for a few moments and produced a spoon. Presenting the handle to Kincade resting it on the back of his wrist as if it were a fine bottle of wine, and bowed as Kincade accepted it and attacked the eggs first, cutting them in half and scooping the half into his mouth.

"These eggs are good. Did you make them?" Kincade asked Boson.

"No lad cook brought them while you were asleep."

"Are more people on board who have been… encouraged to work?" Asked Kincade choosing his words carefully.

"No, lad. Some of the Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate's big leviathan ships have room for more of the encouraged, as you say. But we only have you, lad." Boson said.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"Can I have a look around upstairs?" Kincade pointed his spoon at the door.

"Lad, Mr. Wallace wants you to stay here and nowhere else." Boson shrugged his shoulders and took a small clay pipe from his pocket.

Moving to the furnace, he took a small wooden rod from a shelf to the firebox's left. He poked it through the door's grate. Using the rod to light the tobacco, which had been retrieved from a small wooden box that appeared and disappeared into the same pocket the pipe had been kept.

"Boson?" asked Kincade.

"Aye," responded Boson.

"Would you mind sharing some tobacco with me? I will repay you When I return home." Kincade is offered by way of payment.

"Lad, no need to repay me. Steamspire Royal pays you a wage but charges you for personal items. So you will be working off your food board and clothing tobacco. You will pay if you use it or not." Boson said, handing Kincade a small pipe and a yellow bag retrieved from a different drawer in his workbench.

"And that includes damage to the ship or cost for any extra effort you course me, eh my lovely." Mr. Wallace called out from the top of the stair.

"Boson can tell you a wonderful tale about paying for the damage you course to the property of the Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate. The price you must pay to me?" Wallace continued

"Don't you mean to pay the Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate?" Kincade said defiantly

"My lovely, I am the Steamspire Royal Trading Syndicate. As far as you are concerned." Wallace retorted.

"No man is above the authority of his position." Said Kincade

"Which tells you just how much authority I have, my lovely." Wallace slapped Kincade with enough force to spin him around and knock him down to his knees.

"Still got a little rebellious streak in you, my lovely. Now give me your wrist." Wallace grabbed Kincade's left arm, holding it up by the ticking brass bracelet, and with the other, he placed a small key into the only opening on the bracelet, opened it, and then snapped it closed with a sharp click.

"There you go, my lovely; you get to keep clapping for another couple of days." Wallace slapped Kincade on the back and left the engine room.

Kincade grabbed the bracelet with his right hand. He looked directly at the door; the clicks' tempo had slowed, and the redness in his cheek already blackening as a renewed bruising started to set in. Kincade examined the bracelet was smooth brass the whole way around and barely half an inch thick without any exposed movements. But definitely, a clockwork-like mechanism, Kincade concluded.

"Well, he is still a dick," Boson said, holding out his hand. Kincade took it and chuckled a few times to lift him from the deck.

"Just before I go home, I will be at that man's death, and I mean to go home soon, Boson," Kincade said. Taking Boson's offered hand, he got up and picked up the pipe from where it had fallen after Mr Wallace's sudden visit.

Following the same process that Boson had, Kincade moved to the furnace and lit the tobacco in his own pipe, which was currently the only possession he could call his own. Kincade took are few puffs from his pipe and looked down at his right hand. Nervously he rubbed the tips of his fingers and thumb together repeatedly. "Harry, it was you. I will get home somehow and get my due for this horrific nightmare." He thought to himself.

"That coal will not shovel itself, you know, lad," Boson said as he looked at the pressure gauge on the steam chamber. Kincade surveyed the pile of coal. One piece stood out as small, with a pointed and rounded end about the size of Kincade's palm. Bending down, he picked it up and rolled it around in his hand once, then twice. Wiping an area of the wall by the furnace with his free hand and drew two vertical lines.

Picking up a nearby shovel, the shovel blade hit a latch on the firebox door. The firebox door swung open with a pipe between Kincaid's teeth and a head roll around his shoulders. He returned to yesterday's task. The shoveling of coal as he puffed and winced each and every time he bent over. Running the shovel blade along with the reinforced decking and into the coal bay at the base of the pile, scooped a half-a-heads worth and threw it into the firebox for the first time today, but not the last. The morning wore on, and Boson started to sing to himself.

* * *

"Wake up, lad. You sleep like a cat that has gotten into the rum the night before." Boson.

"All and all, my good man, I have established a considerable volume of toil days which, when collected, shall a ford me a considerable period of rest." Kincade jumped out of the hammock.

"And what does that mean, a cat drinking rum? That is not a real saying, I am sure of it." Kincade said.

"Breakfast is over there," Boson said

"Eggs again? Why do I never see the cook?" Kincade asked as he ate.

"Because they don't sleep in, lad," Boson said. Kincade moves over to his usual position by the furnace marking another day on the wall by placing a diagonal line across the second group of vertical lines.

"Don't need shoveling this day, lad." Boson moved over to the voice tube on the wall removing a leather plug he blew hard before saying, "Boiler room to bridge, we need to drink." and replaced the plug.