1. The Bar
Lady Remora Windgates Price perched uncomfortably on the edge of the dirty bar stool and wondered if perhaps now was an appropriate time to belch.
She had, on occasion, found it necessary to burp. Cucumber sandwiches in particular had a tendency to inspire a hint of the vapors. Burping was a small, ladylike expression easily hidden behind the flutter of a fan. Never before had she been exposed to anything quite like the extravagant belches produced by the patrons of the Jolly Rooster.
The entire process was morbidly fascinating. Particularly loud and forceful belches were often accompanied by spontaneous applause.
In truth, she wasn’t entirely certain she was capable of producing a belch.
Absently, she lifted her heavy glass mug to her lips, only to find it empty. She blinked at the stray mound of yellowed bubbles clinging desperately to the side of the glass. Empty? How could that be? What was this—the third? Fifth? No, surely not the fifth drink.
Trying to remember exactly how many times a full glass of ale had sloshed onto the bar in front of her was difficult. Her thoughts felt like wet wool, heavy and muzzy.
After a moment’s reflection, she had to admit that perhaps her eagerness to appear exactly like the other patrons of this establishment had inspired her to drink a trifle too much of the house brew.
The ale tasted so vile that she either had to sip it or gulp it. It hadn’t taken long to realize that gulping was the more acceptable choice. The corners of the room spun and she closed her eyes. Acceptable, perhaps, but not necessarily wise.
Drunk or no, she had to admit that this little trip had been a singularly useful endeavor. Not very successful, but useful nonetheless.
She reached into the pocket of her borrowed overalls and removed a scrap of yellowed paper. She had paid a rather large sum of money for the two neat columns of information on that paper and she had yet to regret it.
The list contained the name of every airship captain that frequented Westmouth Port. The names in the leftmost column could be obtained at no cost from the Office of Docket and Writ. The far shorter list of names in the rightmost column, however, would be found on no official document. Pirates, thieves, vagabonds, smugglers—these were the sordid underbelly of the airship world. They were also exactly the sort of captains she was looking for.
She could hardly walk up to them as Lady Price and make her request, however. She needed some indication of their personality and behavior before she could entrust her money and welfare with them. A bit of research had given up the name of the most likely tavern for these sorts of captains to frequent—the Jolly Rooster—and a bit more research and a small pouch of silver coins provided the clothing and persona of someone who would also be welcome at such an establishment.
She felt distinctly out of sorts in her borrowed coveralls. Modestly clad or no, she felt exposed without her petticoats and skirts. She’d kept her corset, of course, but even its familiar support wasn’t enough to dispel the feeling of dreadful conspicuousness. She’d even purchased a leather aviator’s cap, the only hat she could find that wasn’t remarkably out of place, yet had enough room beneath it for her to tuck away her hair. Even in bustling Westmouth, red hair was an oddity.
Her disguise must be working, though. She’d been able to survey her quarry without drawing undue attention to herself.
Unfortunately, the list of possible captains was growing shorter. Already, she had crossed more than half of the names from the list as being entirely unsuitable. Only two names remained and she couldn’t be certain when those captains and their ships would return to port.
She was impatient to set her plan in motion. It simply would not do to have the very first step—securing the services of a less-than-respectable airship—fail so immediately and with such finality.
Mungo DerWint was the first name on the list, and also the first name crossed off. Shortly after arriving at the bar, she’d seen him brutally accost a stranger who had the misfortune to pass too closely behind his chair during a card game. She wasn’t entirely certain the man was still alive—he had been dragged into the streets by his boots and left there.
At the same card game, she found two more of the captains on her list.
Captain James Mercy: so named, she had been informed, because it was the last thing his victims cried for, and the last thing they received. His pirating left only the blackened hulls of the ships behind. She was not looking to associate with murderers. Mercy was not remotely suitable.
The last captain at the table was one she had actually considered—for all of the half hour it took her to realize that he had fondled, pinched, and slapped every female form that came within reach. Even the women of questionable virtue avoided his table.
She could not be assured of her own safety while aboard the ship of a captain such as that.
She sighed. No, none of them would do.
Vexing, at the very least. Her plan could be altered to avoid the necessity, but not easily, and certainly not with as much chance of success.
Morosely, she glowered at the list of names. Surely one of these men would be appropriate for her needs.
“Hey!” a voice shouted, painfully close. She turned, realizing she had been hearing the word repeated with increasing volume over the last few seconds.
She paled as she recognized the speaker as Captain wench-pincher.
He leered at her, leaning close and placing a hand on the bar to either side of her, effectively trapping her.
“Tha’s better,” he said.
The combined odor of his breath and his armpits hit her with a suddenness that set her eyes watering.
It was quite possibly the worst thing she had ever smelled.
“You’re a pretty little thing. I’ll buy you a drink!” he declared.
Her eyes would have widened with alarm if they hadn’t been squinting to avoid the miasma. “No, I very much do not think you will!” she said stoutly. What a beast!
He laughed. “Oh, a saucy wench. I like that.” Leering at her with a smile dotted intermittently with gold caps, he reached forward and grabbed her breast.
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