“Part of the shipment’s late. We got lucky. We were here first, and signed for what was waiting. You looking for work.”
“I am. You hiring?”
She gestured at the boxes on the dock. “That cargo isn't going to load itself. Although the lazy sods I already pay for no reason seem to be hoping it will.”
The Quinlans unloading the boat replied with pro forma insults and one Quinlan middle-finger equivalent. It seemed good natured though.
“Say the word, and I'll start hauling.”
“You got it. Get to work.”
Well, that was easier than I had any right to expect. There was no need to ask where they were going: boats almost always went downstream, unless they were very local, and on this river segment, downstream was east toward, the Garrick's Spine segment.
“Can I drop off my trunk?”
She gestured to a corner of the boat, attention already on to the next problem. I dropped off the trunk, and after a moment's thought, took off my backpack as well.
Being a deckhand on a Quinlan boat was very much a strong-back weak-mind kind of thing. Pick up box here, put box down there. Rinse, repeat. My Manny was much stronger than a native, and I didn't get tired, but overheating could be an issue, so I didn't push it. Every once in a while, the entire crew would take a fiver in the water to cool off, which told me I wasn't the only one with that problem.
The work was accomplished with the minimum of conversation. We’d keep working until all the cargo was moved, so malingering of any kind was pointless. Everyone just wanted to get it done.
When the last box of been loaded, we parked our butts on the edge of the boat, while the Quinlan in the vest - who turned out to be the captain - argued over the paperwork with the dock master.
“Welcome to the Hurricane,” one of the deckhands said.
“I'm Orrick, this is Ted, and this is Freda.”
I was momentarily taken aback, and looked closely at Freda. No, definitely not the same person. Same Quinlan name, though, which the translation software converted to the same English name.
“Enochi,” I replied. “Enochi Fungi.”
Orrick look mildly surprised. “Uh, a family name? And your deckhanding?”
“We’re are an old family,” I told him. “But we were never wealthy. My mother always told me ‘we've earned that name and you'll damned well use it.’ ‘Yes, mom.’”
That got chuckles, but I wasn't sure if my momentary flippancy hadn't set me up for trouble. I’d forgotten the family names were little short of hereditary titles in Quinlan society. Had I just painted myself as a target? Well, I’d have to roll with it.
“We also had a paying passenger,” Ted volunteered. “He’s out shopping. Captain Lisa told him to be back before midday or he would have to find another ride. He's cutting it pretty close.”
“He also has a last name,” Freda added, “as he reminds us constantly. I've come close to opening his throat a couple of times, but the captain says we have to be polite to the paying passengers.” She made a face to indicate her opinion of the command.
Captain Lisa finished haranguing the dock master, and the two exchanged signatures. She marched up the ramp and glared around.
“His highness not here? Oh well. He paid in advance. Let's haul ass, people. We need to hit Melon Patch by nightfall.”
We jumped up and started releasing lines and pulling up boarding ramps. There wasn’t much to it, but I made a point of taking orders from the others without complaint or trying to improvise. Just as we were at the point of pushing away from the dock and raising sail, a fat Quinlan came puffing, yelling, and waving one arm. The other arm was holding onto a trunk - not unlike mine, except much newer looking.
Quinlans were fat by nature, resembling beavers more than otters in that respect, but this individual was fat even by Quinlan standards. And out of shape, to judge from the panting and gasping.
The captain growled under her breath, but motioned us to lower one gangplank. The Quinlan put his trunk down and trudged up the ramp, still trying to catch his breath. As he passed the captain, I heard him say, “Have someone retrieve the trunk, please.”
The captain gave him a sour look, but motioned to me. I had a strong urge to ‘accidentally’ drop it into the water, but I was in a uniquely bad position to get into a game of tit for tat, so I played it straight, bringing the trunk on board and depositing it with the other miscellaneous items, including my trunk. But I gave the translation software specific instructions for converting his name.
“So who is he?” I asked.
“Snidely Whiplash. His family is big in the wine business, as near as I can tell. He's just an entitlement welp, though.”
The beverage wasn't exactly wine, but it was the results of fermenting some local fruit, and as with most alcohol, it was big business. I was no stranger to snot-nosed kids who thought their parents’ success made them a big deal. This voyage might end up being more difficult than anticipated.
With our passenger safely - if obnoxiously - aboard, we cast off. Ted and Freda pulled up the sail and we wallowed majestically out of port. The Hurricane was basically a barge with a sale and it had all the racing feel appropriate to the design. I began to wonder if we'd make it to the end of the segment. Speaking of which…
“Hey Orrick does the Hurricane jump segments?
“If we've got the cargo to justify it. Otherwise, we circle into the Arcadia River and head back to the other end. Lisa’s not one of these big-time operations with a set route. If
