Antoinette laced up her corset on the other side of the room. Ben sat on the small bed and leaned against the wall. His thoughts drifted as he played with the two Adels in his hand. Today was payday. They were simple, honest and hardworking people. Roosters crowed in the distance and a few carriages rolled down the street. The city was waking up. He stood up and placed the money on the table beside her. He turned and looked out the window at the back alley filled with rats scurrying about for one last meal before daybreak. He took his jacket and cap, kissed Antoinette on the neck and stepped out of their small apartment.

The first thing he noticed was the penetrating cold breeze. He put on his jacket, fit his cap and faced the cold. Ben’s presence was imposing to the rats, and they lept and ran in all directions. He walked down the narrow alleyway, passing the homeless and the drunks. 

“Mornin’,” said Donkin, joining him.

“Good day,” replied Ben, nodding.

They continued on in silence, exchanging a few mornin’s and good days with those that joined or passed them. Eventually, the alleyway opened up into the courtyard. 

Darkness gave way to greyness.

At the centre of the courtyard, they met a few more Caps.

“Jimmy okay?” asked Ben. He had become fond of the man. Jimmy was no longer part of the Caps but he was good to them, always giving them a way out or in where it would benefit them and harm no one else.

“Yeah, got schooled I heard,” said one of them.

“Heard he is get’n married soon,” said another.

“That butcher’s daughter?” another conversation started.

“Heard he had dealings with them ladies of the night,” answered another.

“Nah,” a man smacked his lips. “Heard that was to throw off some men tryna kill him.” Ben looked at Donkin.

“He’s good Ben. The Scrussian is watching,” remarked Donkin quietly. They exchanged needs and plans. 

Ben had joined the caps a while ago; he felt they did good things for the poor and the hungry in the city. Now, however, there was something else brewing—something he didn’t want to be a part of. The Flicks. Another group had formed a year or so ago. They wore suits and every member carried a flick knife. There had been some skirmishes here and there; some blood had been drawn, but there were rumours that Old Man Greg was putting together a posse to show them who was in charge.

Ben listened for a while longer as the group of Caps exchanged words, nodded at Donkin and put all that behind him for the day. He had a shift at the Adelwreth Harbour he had to get to. He was halfway down Peasant’s Way before the shadows started and reached the gates of the harbour before the sun had fully cleared the horizon.

***

Work at the dock was plentiful. Ships came in almost daily, pulled in by rowboats and moored to the pier. Counterweight cranes were pushed into position and loaded. The crew and the dockworkers laboured to empty the ship of its cargo, packing and storing the wares into crates that were then loaded into carts that went throughout the city. Manifests were checked and foreign purchase orders inspected. The carts were drawn mostly by Clydesdale horses: huge, lumbering beasts that stood with pride and had a slow yet powerful gait. 

As soon as the ship was emptied, the loading process started. Most of it was ordered months ahead of time by mail. The mail ships had different loading and unloading areas, with postal service men processing the documents with speed, getting them out to those awaiting them in the city.

Artisans hopped onto ships that needed repairs; on-site seamstress repaired sails. Others repaired fishing nets, built crates and tended to what needed tending.

The Von Borg lay stately, moored to the side of the peer. It was a peaceful day: no rain, no wind—only fair weather. Ben fixed his cap and put his hands in his pockets. 

Mister Cord’s hulking figure edged from the office towards the gates. 

“Another day, another Adel,” said a man coming to stand next to Ben. More and more dock workers crowded by the gate. Mister Cord took his time. Not too far away, the morning routines of the market square were taking place. Ben had to remember to buy bread after his shift.

Men exchanged salutations and greetings with one another, most of them knowing each other since childhood. Not a lot of people stood by Ben, however. They knew he liked his space. They respected him, and with good reason.

Mister Cord finally reached the gate and searched through his ring of keys for the one with which to unlock the gate, cautiously eyeing Ben. The gates finally swung open. The workers turned to Ben, waiting. A boy walked into the harbour but was caught by the back of his shirt by another before he could enter. Ben smirked, then walked on.

“Mister Cord,” he said, tipping his cap.

“Ben,” replied Mister Cord.

After Ben entered the contingent, the workers spread out to their respective workstations and errands. Ben walked up to the side of the ship, marvelling at its splendour. It had four masts and a row of cannons. It was mainly a cargo vessel, but it could hold its own against pirate vessels and the like. He set his cap on a crate and neatly folded his jacket next to it.

“I don’t understand, Cal,” Ben heard a young voice say from not too far off. “What makes him so important?”

“Important?” scoffed Ben.

“I mean, the others… even old Cord treats him like a king in this place,” said the voice again.

“It’s ‘cos they has known Ben a long long time Peet,” said Cal “Isn’t ‘cos he don’t deserves it.”

Ben fetched some ropes and helped push the crane into position.

“Yeah, well ain’t nobody g’na tell me to treat him that way,” said the youngster again. “I’ll walk when I wanna walk. Taught old grabby grabs a lesson just now.”

“Watcha means?” replied Cal.

“He isn’t gonna be able to grab anything for a while, is all I’m g’na say,” said the youngster, chuckling. 

Ben secured the crane, made sure everything was in order and signalled the crew of the ship that they were ready. It was then that he saw this youngster called Peet. He noticed the suit that he wore. It was dirty, stained and torn, but it was a suit.

Ben took his position with the others, looked over his shoulder at the youngster a final time and gripped the rope tightly.

“Heave!” the men shouted in unity, the course rope biting into their hands. “Ho!” they cried, lifting the heavy net that contained the wares that these merchants had brought across the seas.

The ropes protested and the crane groaned as the weights and counterweights acted upon them.

“Heave!” The cargo lifted slowly out of the ship’s hold, emptying its belly. Further down the pier, another team of men shouted and worked, removing cargo from the second hold.

It was a contest of sorts; teams competed to unload and load as quickly as possible. Normally, there was a sure winner—a team that beat all other teams.

“Hold!” yelled Ben.

“Swing it!” called another. The heavy crane swung over the side of the ship and across the pier. Ropes with men on either side guided the massive beam, not too fast but not too slow. It was a delicate and important procedure.

“Down!” yelled Ben again, and the team started releasing the ropes, one hand gripping as the other let go. It was always harder lowering something than lifting it.

“Ho!” the men called as their arms burnt from the tension of the ropes and the weight of the wares.

Once the cargo was safely on the ground, a boy jumped onto it, undoing the net from the hook, allowing them to swing the crane back over to the ship. Another team of men started packing crates according to their respective destinations. Mister Cord made sure that they were placed in the correct spots, calling out names of crates, yelling at dock hands who got it wrong and teasing those who took too long.

The process repeated many times as the crew hooked the next load. The men lifted it, swung the crane and dropped it. It was almost intoxicating; a man could go into a trance, ending the day without the knowledge of where all the time went.

Ben could not afford this luxury. Every moment was precious to him. A slip of the wrist, a tug out of rhythm, and anything could result in disaster. He inspected the members of his team. They all waited, poised to start yet another round of lifting and lowering.

“Heave!” called Ben when he was satisfied, and like a single organism, his team lifted the next item. First emerged a long, black figure. After a few more seconds, it was revealed to be a cannon. The ropes strained and the crane groaned but his team followed his every instruction.

Ben was worried that the counterweights on the crane would not be enough. At least they had secured it to the pier before they started.

Behind them, Mister Cord grew silent. They could feel his eyes on their backs.

“Hold!” yelled Ben.

The other man instinctively called the answer. Ben could see the veins bulging on the arms and necks of the rest of his team. He soothed them by guiding them with his words. The crane groaned and cracked with the weight. Once the cannon was lowered, the team erupted in exclamations and laughter. Mister Cord himself blew out a sigh of relief.

“Well then, this thing will be going to Delewreth,” he chuckled. “They can come lift it themselves if they want it!”

Ben slapped his men on their backs and ushered them to remove the last item. Everything went smoothly with the last cannon when all of a sudden, commotion broke out on the other side of the pier.

The team unloading the other cargo hold were struggling with a cannon.

“Ben!” some of the men were calling in the distance. The crew members of the ship ran over to the other side in futile attempts to help. 

“Don’t just stand there, you cow hearts!” yelled Mister Cord to the workers who were packing crates.

Ben’s team members were looking at him. They still had a ways to go before their cannon was anywhere near a position to be swung and it was too far up for them to be able to help in time if they were to lower it back into the ship.

Ben heard his name echo across the harbour. He knew what had to be done.

“Hold!” he yelled and tossed the end of the rope to a boy standing close by. “Tie that end to the mooring now!”

“Heave!” he called as they shifted to align the rope so that it would not shoot back once they let go.

“Done!” called the boy.

“Slowly!” he called through the pleas of help from the other side. The rope took tension and the cannon was stationary in mid-air. The crane and ropes protested but they obeyed their duty.

Ben and his team ran down the pier to where the other team was. They were a man short and the young man Peet seemed to be struggling severely.

“Help!” they called.

Ben took in the situation. The rope had started to fray and was caught in the pulley. They could not pull it through—neither could they let it down. The crane itself was not secured in place and the team’s strength was failing. A man started climbing the crane with a new rope and pulley in his hand.

“Wait!” called Ben. He grabbed a rope and started securing the crane. With the weight of these cannons, even a man’s weight could tip the counterweights and allow the crane to fall over. The man climbed up and secured another pulley and rope. The other team managed to lift the cannon with the new ropes and pulley, swing the crane and lower it.

Sighs of relief could be heard all around. Ben motioned his team back to their crane to start the loading process of tobacco, meats and wheat. They had lost time now and had to make up for it. Another ship was being drawn into the harbour.

“See that?” Ben heard Cal say. “That’s why he gots treated that way, saved ol’ Flopper’s life there he did, not to mention our butts.”

Ben had to remember to buy bread after his shift, and he couldn’t wait to see Antoinette once he got home.