Chapter 2

“You called my name when you came through the door.” Hank moved his hand over the scarred surface of the leather but didn’t open the locks. Instead, he glared at the scratches on the brass; then he looked at his hands—they had just as many scratches.

“To see if you were home.” He didn’t look at Hank. Instead, he rifled through the drawers.

“You knew I wouldn’t be.” Or shouldn’t have been. Hank put the suitcase on the bed and crossed the cramped room; the floorboards creaked under his weight, and he had to duck not to hit his head on the copper ceiling lamp.

The walls were creeping in a little more with each passing day. If it hadn’t been for the brass pipes snaking their way around the room, bringing in water from the water tower in the courtyard, he’d believe the room was shrinking. Like a wild animal caught in a too small cage, he tried to fit his bulk between the small rickety table by the hearth and chest of drawers. Soot had climbed the wall despite Hank cleaning it just the other day.

“You were here so why does it matter if I called your name or not?”

“But I shouldn’t have been unless I’d lost my job.” Hank stared at his father; the wrinkles had deepened considerably since Mum had passed away seven months ago, but today he was filled with energy—manic almost.

“You would have lost it sooner or later anyway. Stop thinking about it.” Demetrius pulled out the bottom drawer and turned it upside down on the bed, sending Hank’s socks and underwear tumbling down on the dirty floor. Hank frowned at the muddy footprints on the floorboards—he’d cleaned the floor yesterday.

“Dad!”

“What?” Demetrius stopped and looked him. “What is it?”

“Did you lose me my job?” Hank heard the cogs turning in the wall clock as he waited for an answer. He didn’t need the knot in his belly, the throbbing behind his eye was enough. Hot and bubbly, anger built in his gut. Couldn’t he, just for once, be allowed to live his life as he wanted?

“We don’t have time for work.”

The room spun, and Hank steadied himself on the iron railing he’d placed in front of the fireplace. “I needed that job; we needed that job. How am I going to pay for this?” He gestured around the room, the glow of the fire reflected in the brass pipes and gave the floorboards a warm tone where they shone through the dirt. It wasn’t much, but it was a roof over their heads.

“We’re not.”

“What?” Hank tried to blink away the pain blossoming by the brass funnel in his head.

“I’ve sold it.”

“Sold it? You can’t sell it; I don’t own it. This is a rented room, Dad!” The pain flared behind his left eye again, more intense this time.

“I know.” Demetrius threw a double-breasted, wine-red, velvet trench coat at him.

“What’s this?” A coat like that cost more money than either of them had, not to mention Hank never once had considered wearing wine-red. Wine-red wasn’t practical, wine-red made you stand out, and Hank did not want to stand out. With his height and the brass funnel, people stared at him wherever he went; he did not need wine-red to add to the spectacle.

“You needed a new coat, can’t go dressed in rags on this trip.”

“But Dad...” Hank swallowed as he touched the fabric—velvet. Who in their right mind went anywhere covered in velvet?

Demetrius spun around. “There, I think we’re ready to go.”

“Now? What about my things?” Hank gestured around the room.

“Sold them.”

“You sold them?” Bile wanted to climb his throat. He’d never had much, but what he had he’d worked hard to obtain.

“You don’t need them, can’t bring them on the ship.”

“Ship?” No way was Hank getting on a ship. He had to get hold of Polly so she could put a stop to this nonsense.

“Of course, how did you think we’d cross the seas?”

“The seas?”

“Really, Hank, I’m surprised anyone ever hired you. You come across as a bit dim.” He held up a finger. “I know you’re not, not really, but that’s how you come across when you ask all these questions.”

“Dad...I think we need to talk about this—”

“There is no time. Elazar Steel is waiting for us.”

“Elazar?”

“See, there you go again.” He grabbed the suitcase and brushed past Hank.

“But Dad!”

Demetrius waved at him to follow, and with a deep breath Hank did.Seamen and Bold Ships

In the times when the winter festivities were in honour of ghosts and spirits, a sacrifice in ale had to be made to keep the god of death and intoxication at bay.