?Nae, nae! Look ye, th? boxes here gae intae th? wagon for Master Merrick. Th? boxes here are tae wait for th? Taern House wagons, and this pile be th? ones tae gae intae th? ship. Dae ye see th? markings on them?? Hudson was at one end of the warehouse with the shift foreman. He could feel a headache starting at his temples. It was a more than usually chaotic day, and his voice was already growing hoarse from shouting across the vast floor-space over the din of people working.
The rapid changes in weather, from bitter chill to warm rain and back to dry chill, had prompted a wave of illness that decimated the available work crews. Rhys had come in but after one look at the older man?s bleary eyes and the sound of his congested, rattling breathing, Hudson had turned him back out the door for his home. With a ship in harbor and three major deliveries to boot, every hand to spare had been moving cargo.
The changing guard had dutifully given their report of Sylvia?s late-night visit; Hudson had made a mental note of that with internal surprise that showed not at all. For now he was far too busy to wonder ? sharp black eyes caught a sight of a crate being loaded ungently, and he lift his voice once again to shout over to the crew as he strode in that direction. ?Careful there, lads! There be glass in that ? ye dinnae want tae ken th? cost of replacing it!? The crew in question lowered the crate onto the wagon-bed with more care and abashed expressions.
It was noon and time for the lunch break before Hudson had a chance to address all the workers at once. ?I ken ye be overworked taeday, with th? other lads out ill. I ken it be hard tae keep up with sae much, a load that would be great even with th? rest of yer mates tae aid ye. Sae here be th? deal, lads. Ye keep yer heads with th? work, dae it right, and we get th? loads out early, and I?ll see th? rounds at th? pub taenight! If we make th? deadline but dinnae meet it early, I?ll still see th? first round for ye all.?
The cheers and catcalls filled the warehouse briefly before the crews turned to their lunches. Hudson retreated up the stairs and closed the door to his office. Shutting the solid wood cut the noise of raucous laughter and shouts by more than half. Scarred hands pressed against his throbbing head for a moment before he walked slowly across the room to the window. The sight of the harbor and the ships floating there was calming; beyond, the slate of the ocean was pierced with patches of emerald where sunlight broke through the clouds.
Glass was cool under his hands, against his forehead, while he leaned there for too-short minutes. His lunch was wrapped in a small basket on his desk ? he made no move to eat. Black eyes were fixed on the sea and the fleeting illusion of peace to be found there. He had the persistent feeling he could find that peace, if he chased it fast enough, sought it hard enough. He knew it was an illusion; knew that it was a dream. He wasn?t sure if he had the will to wake.
The rapid changes in weather, from bitter chill to warm rain and back to dry chill, had prompted a wave of illness that decimated the available work crews. Rhys had come in but after one look at the older man?s bleary eyes and the sound of his congested, rattling breathing, Hudson had turned him back out the door for his home. With a ship in harbor and three major deliveries to boot, every hand to spare had been moving cargo.
The changing guard had dutifully given their report of Sylvia?s late-night visit; Hudson had made a mental note of that with internal surprise that showed not at all. For now he was far too busy to wonder ? sharp black eyes caught a sight of a crate being loaded ungently, and he lift his voice once again to shout over to the crew as he strode in that direction. ?Careful there, lads! There be glass in that ? ye dinnae want tae ken th? cost of replacing it!? The crew in question lowered the crate onto the wagon-bed with more care and abashed expressions.
It was noon and time for the lunch break before Hudson had a chance to address all the workers at once. ?I ken ye be overworked taeday, with th? other lads out ill. I ken it be hard tae keep up with sae much, a load that would be great even with th? rest of yer mates tae aid ye. Sae here be th? deal, lads. Ye keep yer heads with th? work, dae it right, and we get th? loads out early, and I?ll see th? rounds at th? pub taenight! If we make th? deadline but dinnae meet it early, I?ll still see th? first round for ye all.?
The cheers and catcalls filled the warehouse briefly before the crews turned to their lunches. Hudson retreated up the stairs and closed the door to his office. Shutting the solid wood cut the noise of raucous laughter and shouts by more than half. Scarred hands pressed against his throbbing head for a moment before he walked slowly across the room to the window. The sight of the harbor and the ships floating there was calming; beyond, the slate of the ocean was pierced with patches of emerald where sunlight broke through the clouds.
Glass was cool under his hands, against his forehead, while he leaned there for too-short minutes. His lunch was wrapped in a small basket on his desk ? he made no move to eat. Black eyes were fixed on the sea and the fleeting illusion of peace to be found there. He had the persistent feeling he could find that peace, if he chased it fast enough, sought it hard enough. He knew it was an illusion; knew that it was a dream. He wasn?t sure if he had the will to wake.