Enochi Fungi, social gadfly and otter about town was going to book a cruise on a local luxury vessel! Or more factually, I was going to try to work my way across seven segments disguised as Random Guy. But - and this was a good part - I would have luggage.
I glanced up at the sign over my destination. Happy Al's Storage and Trunks. Well, that's not quite what it said, but metaphorically it wasn't far off. Quinlans didn't go in for Samsonite luggage, but they did have occasional need for rigid boxes of the locking variety. Some of the items on display very much resembled old-fashioned steamer trunks, except without the metal strapping. That would've cost more than I was worth. But wood and leather could do a pretty good job, if worked properly.
Happy Al, who it turned out went by the name of Steve, greeted me effusively as I walked in the door. I guess the business had been slow and Steve was bored to the point of suicide. That could work for me.
“I'm looking for one of those,” I pointed to a steamer trunk. “About this size.” I held my hands apart to illustrate. I wanted a trunk that would be bulky enough that someone couldn't grab it and run away, but small enough for me to carry. “And with a security loop, like the one in the window.”
Steve straightened. “Sir, all of our trunks have security loops and locks. We carry only the best stock.”
Um, on the one hand that was good. On the other hand, it sounded expensive. But this part of my plan had very little wiggle room.
Steve made for the back of the shop and returned in seconds with a trunk that was just about perfect. I gave it a brief once over, including opening it to check the interior. This was as close to exactly right as I was going to get.
“How much?”
“Eight irons, four coppers.”
Ouch. I let surprise show my face and didn't move for a two-count.
“That's, uh…”
Steve became chagrined, realizing he'd overreached. “That is, of course, retail. However, it's a slow day so…”
I took the hint. “I have seven irons six coppers.” I open my hand to show him. “That's all I have in the world. And I do need this item.”
Steve looked briefly relieved, then managed to suppress it. Apparently, that was still above cost. “That will be acceptable.”
I handed him the money and took the trunk. It was a good thing he hadn’t dug in his heels: I might've spit up my remaining two irons just to see his expression.
The trunk had a nice lock on it, made of whatever insanely hard wood they used instead of metal. It could probably be forced by a determined thief, but the point was to not attract the attention of thieves in the first place. To that end, as soon as I was back to my tree, I started rubbing dirt on it to take the shine off. A few minutes attention got me a suitably grubby and timeworn trunk. Next, I harvested some dry grasses for cushioning and lined the inside.
When the preparations were all done, I climbed the tree and retrieved Bender. I removed the matrix from my much-maligned backpack, then placed it carefully in the trunk, making sure the organics were packed densely enough to not shift. I spit out my one remaining spider and put it in the trunk with the matrix. The spider was my insurance policy. It would make some modifications to the trunk to make it harder to open or steal, and if worse came to worse, some thief was going to get a face full of plasma cutter.
The backpack wasn't looking good. The cube had stretched it, and I couldn't be sure that it wouldn’t spring back into normal shape. If not, I would stand out, even without the matrix. I sighed, shook the backpack a few times, then put it on. I’d stand out more without one at all.
One last item to take care of.
“Hugh, you got a second?”
“Sure, what's up?”
“I'm about to apply to be a deckhand. Anything I need to know? Is there a guild or union?”
“No, not like what you mean. There's a guild, but it's mostly just for arbitration and setting rates, and you’re in it automatically if you work on a ship.”
“So there isn’t a problem with treatment of laborers?”
“These are Quinlans, Bob. They can live off the land. If someone started beating the deck hands, they’d just all swim away - if they didn't outright disembowel the miscreant. Have you met Quinlans?”
“Hmm, fair point. So they’re cantankerous, mobile, can find food anywhere, and can sleep anywhere.”
“Uh-huh. Kind of hard to develop an oppressed underclass in those circumstances.”
“What's the pay?”
“A half-iron per day. If someone tries to offer you below that, snarl and walk away.”
“Gotcha. Thanks.”
That was better than expected. Hugh had gotten a job right away, so I didn’t really expect a problem, but any Bob would tell you that Murphy was a bitch.
I arrived at the riverfront, trunk slung over my shoulder, and headed for the docks. There were several boats tied up, but only one had any activity. Some pallets were being unloaded, and there was also some cargo waiting to be brought on board. It looked like my best bet, if only because the other two boats appear to be deserted.
Still, I examined the two deserted vessels, frowning. They weren't empty - there were some pallets and boxes and bales. But it was odd that no one was about. However, Quinlan deck hands were swarming over the third boat, practically sprinting from job to job. I noted in passing that they weren't wearing the almost ubiquitous Quinlan backpacks, although one Quinlan
