The Scent of Corruption (The Fighting Sail Series Book 7) (44 page)

“It will last for as long as it does, and not a moment more,” she replied wisely, and it was my turn to smile at the queer logic. “There ain't no point in trying to anticipate such things,” she added hurriedly, noting my reaction. “Folk spend too long trying to guess the future, when what they really should be concerned with is the present.”

My expression faded; I didn't agree, but then neither did I argue. She was clearly sensitive and we had only just met: I did not wish to upset her. Even then I was well practised in not making enemies, and felt she may prove useful later. Besides, whatever folk might say, I never really set out to hurt anyone. But if I had only known my future, her statement would have had my full support.

* * *

S
he left me to eat my meal and said little else when I paid and left. For a while there had been the noise of something being kicked against the pot house wall and as I stepped out into the bland winter sunshine I saw a ginger haired lad of about my size but a year or so younger with a bladder ball at his feet.

I was wearing what roughly comprised my Sunday best, while he was far more scruffy, with a woollen hat, plain canvas shirt and cotton trousers cut short to just below the knee. He was also barefoot, whereas I wore proper shoes that were shaped slightly differently for right and left. Such things were of little importance, though, and his feet were so heavily stained, any deficiency was not immediately obvious. As I yawned and stretched, the ball came rolling towards me. I considered it for a moment, before booting it back easily enough. It was returned straight away, and at a far higher speed. I failed to trap it with my foot, but fortunately the mis-shapen thing hit my calf, and bounced towards him.

It didn't take much more for us to be kicking the old bladder back and forth in a way that was sporting and only mildly aggressive. At one point he captured it, and tried to dribble past me, but I flipped the thing away, and took possession, only to lose it again when he tackled rather roughly, despite his unshod state, from behind. We played for a good quarter of an hour before, by unspoken agreement, stopping to settle on the nearby sea wall.

“You're not from round here,” he told me, and I think they were the first words either of us had spoken until then.

“From Ninfield,” I said. “Small village to the...”

“I know where it is,” he interrupted. “We've a cousin from round there. He's mad, of course,” he continued, with strange authority. “But then they say everyone thereabouts is.”

I glared at him and was expecting a fight when I noticed he was grinning, and found myself smiling in turn.

“So what brings you to Hastings?”

“Looking for work,” I replied. “Do you know of any?”

“Oh, plenty,” he grunted. “That is if you don't mind watching others. Should you want to do it yourself, it's another matter.”

As well as being something of a wag, I guessed he was one of the boys ashore the pot house girl mentioned, so persevered.

“Is there any at all hereabouts?” I asked, seriously. “I'm not so fussy.”

“Not much on the water,” he said, after thinking for a spell. “Else I'd be out there now. Billy Danton's lad is off with the measles at present, but it's a large boat, one of the biggest, and they have crew enough to cover. Besides, most round here employ local folk – that's not to say anything against Ninfield,” clearly the time for teasing was over. “But if you've grown up with the fishing, there ain't so much to learn; so mostly we relies on Hastings families, and each other.”

I nodded. That made perfect sense, but was of little use to me. “What about anything not connected with fish?” I would have far rather been involved in coastal trade or perhaps passenger transport.

He seemed unusually cautious, and eyed me carefully before replying.

“Not a lot,” he said. “Some of the boats might be used for other purposes from time to time, but I wouldn't know about that, and they don't take kindly to strangers asking, so best not to.” His tone was firm and I could tell this was more than idle conversation. “As for anything else on the water, well the choice is limited for those what don't like fish. How do you feel about lobster?”

It was getting late and would soon be dark, while there was still a fair way to go if I was to make Rye that day so I decided to move on. He apparently sensed this and stood up when I did.

“Look there's nothing to stop you helping the day boats when they lands; we all muck in and another hand is always welcome. Can't promise a job, or even payment, but you might get to hear of a berth or, if you're really unlucky, earn a few fish for your supper.”

It didn't sound like much of an opportunity, but I was pretty cocky in those days and usually reckoned on getting something out of nothing. Besides I had already made two acquaintances, and one almost seemed keen to help. It's amazing how far you can go with a few gullible folk to lean on.

ASIN:
B00SG1K1Q8
ISBN:
0994115296

About Old Salt Press

O
ld Salt Press is an independent press catering to those who love books about ships and the sea. We are an association of writers working together to produce the very best of nautical and maritime fiction and non-fiction. We invite you to join us as we go down to the sea in books.

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