Their plans for the evening settled, Yuri watched as Edina made her way toward the port exit. It felt odd to him that this morning could be so bright and mild after their shared experiences of the night before. He took to the lawnchair, clipboard lying open upon his lap as the woman soon disappeared in the throngs of visitors and working folk.
A man detached himself from the passersby. He was small, fairly unremarkable in his dress and manner, the sort of person who’d be noticed only by the security captures of any establishment he chose to visit. “Hello,” the nondescript fellow tipped his hat. “Might I inquire as to your destination?”
“That would be Pelorum,” Yuri fixed the guest with an amiable smile. “Interested in a passage, or shipping freight?”
“Oh, heavens no,” the little man shook his head. “I’m an aerophobe. That’s a fear of flying,” he stated.
“I’m aware.”
“I’ve been seeing a counselor,” the visitor continued. “She’s tasked me with spending time here in the port, watching the boats come and go, talking to their crews. Oh, where are my manners? I’m Earnest Hekubah,” he extended his hand. “Tailor by trade, psycho ceramic by trapping.”
“Yuri Antonov,” he answered as they shook hands. “So is the therapy working?”
Hekubah frowned. “Not so well, I’m afraid. But then again, that’s the problem. If I were to so much as step onto your ramp I’d break out in a cold sweat and my heart would thump so as to make one think it’s popping right out of my chest. Oh!” he exclaimed as his eyes moved up the cargo ramp. “Sister! Amituofo!” He removed his hat, laying it upon his heart as he delivered a half bow toward the nun in her orange robe.
“Sister,” Yuri nodded in response as she moved in serene calm, a gracious smile and a blessing on her lips for them both. As she strode away, his eye fell once more upon the little tailor. “You know the Sister?”
“A remarkable woman,” Hekubah gazed after her departing form. “In my profession I’ve come to serve a great many dignitaries, most of whom, to put it gently, are ‘all tophat and no tails.’ But The Sister?” he breathed. “Her reputation among the poor and downtrodden has managed to escape the confines of the Blackout Zone. At risk of abusing the metaphors of my profession, she is truly cut of the finest cloth. Might I inquire?”
Yuri responded with a shrug. “I don’t know my own self.”
“And dreadfully rude of me to ask,” Hekubah apologized. “Tell me, Mr. Antonov. If one were interested in taking a guided tour of your vessel…for therapeutic reasons…might such a service be arranged?”
“I’d have to take it up with the Captain,” he said, his tone dubious.
The little man fished in his pocket. “My card,” he proclaimed as it passed between them. “I shall be glad to pay for said tour…and,” he offered an intimating smile, “if one were to come by my shop, I could offer a wide selection of apparel for a gentleman such as yourself. At an advantageous price, of course.”
Yuri’s eyes rose from the business card. “I could use a few things,” he ventured.
“Oh, smashing!” Hekubah chortled. “I shall be delighted to serve. But I fear I’ve taken far too much of your valuable time. Until we next meet, Mr. Antonov,” he offered a tip of his hat, “Adieu.”
“It’s a pleasure,” a slightly dumbfounded Yuri replied as the odd little character melted into the crowd. Suddenly assuming the worst, he jammed hands into his pockets, only to find what few things he kept still present.
At least he’s not a pickpocket, the First Mate thought, though he couldn’t escape the odd tingling of the hairs on the back of his neck.
He’d settled once more into the chair, watchful of the passing crowd for any bit of eye contact which might produce a lead. What came his way instead was a series of quick shouts and disturbance from down along the berths. Yuri craned his neck, attempting to see through a small crowd that had gathered around the scene, an altercation, by the sound of it.. At first, there was nothing to see from this distance…until she emerged.
The woman stood out, not so much for her black on black attire, or even the pumps which augmented the look. She was, to put it simply, statuesque. He found himself staring. This might’ve embarrassed him until he realized that every other man on the thoroughfare, and more than a few women, were also transfixed by the exquisite nature of this newcomer. She carried herself with the poise and lifted chin of one whose customary social orbits were many levels higher than Yuri could rightly imagine. Yet, she moved through this crowd with confidence and ease. Directly toward him.
As those eyes fixed upon him, Yuri was barely aware of the mule’s engine coughing to life from behind him. Somehow, as if drawn by invisible command, he found himself upon his feet as this graceful creature glided his way. “
Nī Haō, Miss,” he said in a voice that didn’t seem his own. “How may I help you?”
<Tag Quill, Cal>
Zoie Hart
wanderingwolf
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