The weather had been cold and miserable since the fall harvest nearly nine months ago. Wanfred Holm had spent the lions share of that time laboring on the docks. The HMS Gladespeer has spent that miserable season stripped to her bones and bare for the world to see. Wanfred had celebrated his eldest son’s twelfth birthday and had managed to secure him a position with the West End Shipping Company. The boy’s responsibilities would include pulling nails from old boards, running water to the men working on cranes and hoists, and general maintenance of the yard. Journeyman Holm didn’t worry about the safety of his son. The yard was managed better than any he had ever seen. The landed nobles that owned the place were seldom seen except on pay day; they wanted to be sure each man new where his bread was buttered.
The real management of this yard was handled by Petar Meyers. It had been years since anyone called him by that name. Likely that last person to do so was his mother. Nowdays the boys in the yard just called him Rusty Pete. Speculation abounded as to where the name came from. Some say it was earned back when he was a boy pulling rusty nails out of salvage wood. Others claim that the mail he wears over his leather apron was the source. For those that work in the yard the knowledge of his namesakes origins are as likely to be sounded as the depths of the Rhywind Sea.
The men in the yard were in good sprits on this day. The weekend was here and the gentry would be by later to fuss over the accomplishments of the men. The contract to refit the princess’ ship was lucrative and several bonuses had been paid to the men for keeping to the schedule completing the work three weeks ahead of schedule.
Most were content to have Rusty Pete in a good mood. This kept the work load reasonable. Each man in the yard had his head down to avoid being singled out for any extra duties that Pete might find to extend the working day. Wanfred was hiding under his poor-mans cloak of invisibility. He worked a chisel against the bowsprit of a newly commissioned ship. He was nursing the work hoping to finish his day out on this task before retiring to the pub for a few drinks then home to the misses.
Wanfred looked up from his labors to see Pete thirty feet from his work station. One of the other men was bearing Pete’s scrutiny at the moment. Wanfred slunk deeper into his imagined cloak, working the metal chisel against wood with renewed energy.
“She’ll need another dovetail cut three feet from the point.” Pete’s seasoned growl was directed at Wanfred and he knew it. His invisibility cloak had failed him once again. Wanfred looked up at the yard foreman with a nervous smile. “Nobody marked it on the beam.” Half of his word were lost to the dryness in his voice. Before he could clarify Pete ordered him to complete the cut before going home.
Deflated, Wanfred answered with a nod and a yes sir. He knew if he did not respond in a loud firm voice Pete would anger and there would be a more detailed inspection that guaranteed further uncompensated work. Pete opened his mouth to speak again when his attention diverted to a couple of figures walking on the road near the edge of the yard.
Pete knew everyone in the west end. He could recognize most by the way they walked. It was this same keen ability that allowed him to see when a man slacking in his duties. Without a word Pete turned and started walking to the edge of the yard. If Pete didn’t like what he saw when he got to the road, the men of the yard would be privy to a show. No one came into the west end uninvited, unless they wanted a sound thrashing.
Two men turned down the broad cobbled lane. The taller of the two bore a hunter’s bow, the other sporting pistols and a musket. So equipped, many would be over confident of their safety. The West End had a reputation for being populated with people of the heartiest sort.
A dozen years ago the city of Dowery was threatened by raiders from across the Rewind Sea. The royal guard and the constable’s forces were unable to repel the invaders. Savage vandals ran through the streets unchecked. It was in the west end that the counterattack began. Armed with the tools of their trade, the people if Widdowborn emptied into the streets. Civilian phalanxes blocked the progress of the raiders. Armed with clubs, hammers, hooks and other working tools they retook their town and expelled the invaders. Since that time there has not been a need for the royal guard or the town watch to set foot in the west end. The people of the west end protected their own.
Pete could see that the two interlopers were not locals. His head became hot at the thought of anyone entering his home unannounced or uninvited. The warehouse windows behind the two men reflected their carefree advance. Pete could feel his weight bering down on the chip rocks under his heavy boots. The clouds that swirled around his head before a fight began to coalesce. He passed by a crate where Bessy leaned against a box of nails. Bessy was made from Ainsley Oak and set with seventy ten gram studs. Bits of bone were still imbedded in her hardwood body. Brown streaks seasoned the blonde wood forming darker patches where the studs entered her frame. Pete and Bessy had a long history together. Pete invited his favored beat-stick to the coming party. Holding her tenderly behind his back, he approached the fence that separated the street from the yard.
“Yer new here yah.” Pete said in an unusually warm baritone to the strangers. The two men had seen Pete approaching. The shorter of the two addressed him with words that told him that he and Bessy would not be having a welcoming party just yet.
Since the time of the raider’s attack, the people of Widdowborn had worked out a system for maintaining security. Pete was an integral part of that system like many others here. People who entered the district were assigned levels of access based on an old identifying system. These two men had been granted safe passage for a business transaction. This granted them a grace period where they could spend their coins in they manner they chose. Once that grace period had expired they might lose that liberty.
The two men were allowed to continue on their journey to the old Meadflower Brewery and Distillery. In less than an hour the two men returned riding on a flatbed wagon piled high with supplies. The wagon rolled to a stop in from of Rusty Pete’s Yard. The two men rolled out a cask of Whall Ale, a local favorite. “A gift to the men of the yard.” The pistolero had said. The pistolero who identified himslef as ròmm go Brách handed Pete a bottle of Old Law Whiskey. It took sand to make such an offering. Pete decided he liked people with sand.
Pete was impressed enough with these strangers that he ended the shift early for the men of the yard. He sent the strangers on their way with a proper Widdowborn escort.
After the men had gone, Pete took a long pull off the bottle and tucked Bessey back into her bed. Even though the men had knocked off early, Pete was secure that all was well in his world.