The Widow’s Saloon (Part 1/7)
Chapter 1
The Delta Comet cruised into the port at Harbor Side, laden with over a thousand souls. It was the fastest ship of its day; on this latest journey, it had shattered every record for a passenger craft. Led by Captain Marces, the crew had conquered the crossing from Catfish City, across Ocean Bay, with a speed that left other ships wallowing in their wake. Marces was young for a captain—still in his early thirties—but he had been born on the sea, literally. His men did more than respect him; they swore their captain bled brine.
Captain Marces stood on the deck, watching his crew secure the ship to the dock. This had been a fine crew; they were disciplined, tireless, and fast. He made a mental note to have the more efficient deckhands paid a bonus, though most were already disappearing into the crowds on the wharf.
He signaled to his first mate, who stood at the foot of the gangway. The mate caught the captain’s eye and, seeing the hand gesture, returned a friendly, vigorous wave. From the deck, Marces watched the display and muttered to himself in psychological anguish.
“What...?” Marces groaned, irritated by his first mate’s relentless enthusiasm. Does this man think I'm just saying ‘hi’?
“Rhote!”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Are there any passengers still aboard this ship?”
As if on cue, an older couple stepped forward from the shadows of the midships. Vlorance and Henry Kallowary were clearly struggling, their faces strained as they wrestled with several heavy chests. Rhote hurried to assist, hauling their luggage onto the gangway where the ramp would work in their favor. When the task was finished, he looked back up at the deck and offered a wide, squinting smile and a double thumbs-up. He hoped to impress his new boss with a professional, "can-do" attitude. After all, he was the captain’s first first mate.
From his perch on the Comet’s rail, Captain Marces saw only a man desperate to please.
“That’s the last of them, by my count...” Rhote called out. He stopped himself abruptly, the word “Dad” nearly falling from his tongue. He bit it back so hard his teeth clicked. What, he wondered, a cold sweat pricking his neck, was that about? He shook off the sudden surge of discomfort and corrected himself. “That’s the last by my count, sir!”
The captain scowled. “By your ‘count’, Rhote?”
“Yes, sir, Captain!”
“Why don’t you go make sure with your eyes?”
“Yes, sir!”
Rhote jogged down the deck, his boots thudding against the wood before he disappeared behind a steel door amidships. Marces stood in the silence, listening as the footsteps receded down the corridor, cabin doors opening and shutting in a rhythmic beat. Rhote was a decent mate; Marces desperately wished the man were less jumpy, but his talent had been impossible to ignore out on the open water.
The captain turned his gaze toward Harbor Side. The settlement had grown, graduating from the cluster of tents it had been only a year ago, but the streets remained little more than veins of hard-packed dirt. There were still fewer than a dozen permanent structures. One of them, a stark, two-story frame, stood lonely on the town’s southernmost boundary. Marces had no way of knowing that the building was fated to become the harbor’s beating heart. He leaned against the rail, tapping a rhythmic cadence against his cheek with his index finger as he studied the horizon.
“Hey there, Harbor Side,” he muttered. “What’ve you got in store for me next?”
Chapter 2
Vlorance Kallowary brought her broom down like a hammer, catching the stink-lizard mid-scuttle and sweeping it toward the threshold. The creature skidded across the floorboards, spinning wildly until it caught the doorjamb and launched into the air. It tumbled end over end, limbs splayed and bulbous white eyes wide with shock.
The creature nearly collided with Henry Kallowary as he crested the steps, his arms wrapped around a precarious mountain of crates and luggage. Henry made brief, startled eye contact with the flying lizard. As he side-stepped its flight path, his face twisted into a mix of sympathetic grimace and apologetic grin.
Stink-lizards were not truly lizards at all; they were squat amphibians marked by a single, pale gray streak running the length of their spines. The creature landed with a wet thud in the dirt outside, where the fine silt of Harbor Side immediately clung to its moist skin. It had glistened like a polished stone while in flight, but now it looked like nothing more than a discarded lump of clay.
Henry navigated the doorway and eased his heavy burden onto the long, dusty bar top. He let out a long breath and leaned over to peck his wife on the cheek. “I see you finally got rid of the nasty thing.”
Vlorance did not lower her weapon. She wielded the broom like a fencing sword, jabbing playfully at her husband’s chest. “I sure did!”
Henry chuckled and turned toward a red door at the back of the room. Vlorance was still busy parrying the empty air where he had been standing, her focus entirely on her imaginary duel. When she finally looked up and saw his hand on the knob, her eyes went wide.
“Oh no, wait Henry, stop!”
It was too late. His momentum carried him through the threshold and directly into a putrid cloud of stink-lizard musk. It was a concentrated wall of physical stench that was thick and overwhelming. Henry’s eyes watered instantly, his vision blurring as he recoiled.
“Phoo!”
Vlorance appeared at his shoulder, covering her nose with her apron. “I trapped it in there earlier. I forgot to mention it.”
Henry shoved the door shut, the original purpose of his errand completely vanished from his mind. He leaned back against the wood, gasping for cleaner air.
“I'm afraid it sprayed an unholy amount of stench in there, Vlo. It'll be a week before we can use that room again.”
“I can see that,” she said, her voice softening as she looked at him.
Vlorance loved the way the wrinkles on his face pressed into thin, familiar lines whenever he smiled. He reached out and took her hands in his. Henry’s fingers were large and calloused, work-stained and stiff with arthritis.
The ring finger on his left hand was missing, lost along with his gold wedding band in an incident years ago—an event he had never fully explained.
