He took the Captain's arm and guided the man out through the crowded bar-room. As the door swung shut behind them he heard the bartender call, 'And don't come back.'
The Captain swayed and leaned against the wall, and then blinked again and focused his eyes.
'Who are you?' he said, and then, 'No, I don't care who you are. Go to hell.'
He stumbled away. Lee watched him go, and scratched his head.
'We been here less than an hour,' said Hester, 'and you already got us thrown out of a bar.'
'Yep, another successful day. But damn, Hester, you don't hit a drunk man with a stick.'
'Find a bed, Lee. Keep still. Don't talk to anyone. Think good thoughts. Stay out of trouble.'
'That's a good idea,' said Lee.
A few inquiries brought him to a dingy boardinghouse near the harbor. He paid the landlady for a week's room and board and laid his kitbag on the bed before going out to seek a way of earning some money.
There was a brisk wind snapping in from the sea, and Lee pulled his coat around him and settled his hat more firmly on his head as he came out of a side street on to the harbor front. He found a line of shops facing the water —a ship's chandler, a clothing store, and the like—and a dingy bar or two, and the broad, stone-built headquarters of the Provincial Customs and Revenue Authority, with a navy-and-white flag flying from the roof. From each end of this waterfront a quay stretched out ahead, forming a long sheltered harbor a hundred and fifty yards or so wide. At the far end stood a lighthouse on a headland that curved around from the right.
Lee looked at the boats in the harbor, taking stock. For a town in the throes of an oil rush, it didn't seem very busy. There was a coal tanker tied up at the quay on the right, sitting low in the water, so they hadn't unloaded her yet; and the only crane on that side was a big steam affair that was working to set a new mainmast in a barque, attended by more men than were necessary, each vividly expressing his point of view. It would take all day; the coal would have to wait.
On the other quay, to the left, there were two smaller anbaric cranes, the first busy loading barrels of fish oil into the hold of one small steam coaster, the second unloading the timber piled high on the deck of another. Beyond them lay a schooner, at which no activity of any sort was going on, and Lee guessed that to be the unfortunate Captain van Breda's vessel that couldn't load her cargo. Lee couldn't even see anyone on deck. The ship had a forlorn air.
Running along each quay was a line of stone-built warehouses, and at the near end of the left-hand quay was a cluster of offices including that of the Harbor Master. There was a pilot's launch tied up at the steps outside it, and a substantial steam tug a little further on; and if neither of those was busy, trade must be slow.
Lee rang the bell at the Harbor Master's office and went in, having read the brass plate beside the door.
'Good day to you, Mr. Aagaard,' he said. 'I've come to see whether I can find any work around here. Scoresby is the name, and I have a cargo balloon in storage at the Barents Sea Company Depot. Any likelihood of an aeronaut's services being in demand, do you suppose?'
The Harbor Master was an elderly man with a sour and cautious expression. His cat-daemon opened her eyes briefly and closed them again in disdain.
'Business is slow, Mr. Scoresby,' said the old man. 'We have four vessels working in the harbor, and when they have gone, I do not expect any more trade for a week. Times are bad.'
'Four vessels?' said Lee. 'My eyes must be deceiving me. I saw five.'
'Four.'
'Then my eyes do need fixing. I saw a three-masted hallucination at the end of the east quay.'
'There is no work at the east quay, or at the west. Good day, Mr. Scoresby.'
'And good day to you, sir.'
He and Hester left. Lee rubbed his jaw and looked left, along the quay, to the still schooner.
'I don't like to see any vessel so quiet,' he said. 'She looks like a ghost ship. There ought to be something the crew could be doing. Well, let's go and see what price they charge for hemp cord.'
He strolled along to the chandlery, where at least the stink of fish oil and tanning skins gave way to that of clean tarred rope. The man behind the counter was reading a newspaper, and he barely looked up when Lee came in.
'Good day,' said Lee, to no response.
He wandered about the shop, looking at everything, and as usual saw plenty he needed and little he could afford. He scratched his head at the prices until he remembered that this place was an icebound island for six months of the year, and everything had to be imported.
'How's the election going?' he said to the shopkeeper, nodding at his newspaper. 'Will Mr. Poliakov become the new Mayor?'
'You want to buy something?'
'Maybe. Ain't seen anything I can afford, at your prices.'
'Well, I don't sell newspapers.'
'Then good day to you,' said Lee, and left.
He turned up into the town. The blue sky of morning had gone, and a bitter wind was bringing gray clouds scudding across from the north. There were only three people in sight: two women with shopping baskets and an old man with a stick. A group of bears stopped their rumbling conversation and watched him as he went past before beginning again, their voices so low he almost felt them through the soles of his feet.
'This is the bleakest, smelliest, most unfriendliest damn place we ever set foot in,' Lee said.
