Page 52 of Apple Boy

“Can you, perhaps, fit me in later, lady? Your name, good mistress?”

“Charity. T’is me name, and aye, handsome sir, if you’re in need, sweet charity is what you’ll find between my thighs!” She delivered her come-on with a saucy leer; her hands resting on her wide hips displaying her ample form as uncle remained watching her like a starved dog.

“Ohhh yes, I do like giving to charity!” Ivon purred lasciviously.

“UNCLE” I hollered frustratedly. I was not only freezing cold but worried about standing in Cheapside with just my inebriated, lustful uncle to protect us. Ivon turned and waved distractedly at me to let me know he’d heard. He bowed and kissed the prostitutes hand, and she said,

“Oh sir, I’ll be right here on this corner when your business is done.”

Adam and I walked on, and Ivon caught up with us. I was mad as hell with him for nearly disposing of us so he could tumble a harlot. The only reason we’d dared enter this district was because we were to meet with Ivon’s man and hear news of Adam’s brother. Otherwise, I would have been reluctant to set foot in Cheapside after dark.

We continued walking to the end of the street and then turned onto a small side street that housed a row of five establishments on either side and terminated at the dockside. A large galleon rocked mournfully as lanterns swayed and the eerie howls of the biting wind mixed with the calls of seabirds fighting for morsels from a fishing boat docked beside the galleon.

We entered the Bargewright Inn, and the scents of hops, apples, and potent baccy smoke mingling with the fishy sweat of the common sailor. It was a deeply unpleasant concoction. The tavern was dark and dingy with low illumination coming from a roaring fireplace and lanterns hanging on wall hooks. My guess was that in true light I wouldn’t even dare to sample the rotgut in here.

We eased through the groups of sailors waiting to be served by the harried barkeep. I noted the way some of the sailors traded glances as if we were beacons in this salt-of-the-earth tavern—young, pretty and handsomely attired when compared with the haggard, wind-burned sailors. It was quite a relief when I spied Ivon’s man Luca sitting in the corner of the busy tavern. I turned to look at Adam and saw the expression of disappointment etched on his face. Luca was sitting alone, and I guessed Adam hoped he would be sitting with Evan.

“Ahh, Luca!” Ivon bellowed on spying his man across the tap room. Luca stood and bowed to his master then beckoned us to sit. We all slid our backsides on to the benches either side of the table. A scrawny maid was collecting empties, and Luca gestured for her to bring us a round of what he was drinking, which appeared to be ale.

Ivon ruffled Adam’s curls fondly again. I could not restrain my laugh at the expression on Adam’s face. “This youngling’s chomping at the bit. What news have you?” Ivon sat back and spread his legs as if he were lounging in his carriage. Four flagons thunked down onto the table and Adam, and I reached to grab a drink so we both had something to do with our hands. Luca tossed the maid a coin. She winked at Luca and left us be.

“Your Evan was identified by Madame Betti herself, Master Adam,” Luca revealed. “She recognized the apple stalk and leaf tattoo on his arse.”

Ivon let out a bawdy guffaw and slapped his thigh. “I knew it! I knew it” he roared, his calls lost among the chatter of the tap room.

“His identity was also verified by Madame Sheena. But the ladies—they know him as Gabe Arden, not Evan Sewell. It appears that Gabe never slept with the girls at the brothels. He likes a lady with experience, and always prefers to tumble the madams who are older and choosier about who they let warm their beds.” Luca added.

“Both madams appeared to be quite smitten with ‘Gabe Arden.’” Luca said. “They call him their Apple Boy!” He snickered.

“So, Evan has a lusting for older women! Wonderful!” Ivon let out a belly laugh.

“Why did we need to meet here in Cheapside? Where’s Evan?” Adam puzzled.

“Have you approached him?” Ivon interjected.

“Evan works in the Half-MastTavern directly across the street. I drank there last night, and the barman matches your description. His hair is shorter, but you look similar, and he does have a scar beneath his eye. But it was the Pasturelands accent what gave him away.” Luca informed.

We traded a glance and seemingly on the same page, Adam and I stood in unison.

“Thank you, sirs. I’ll take it from here.” Adam said courteously.

“We shall wait for you to ensure the man is your kin and you come to no harm”, Luca informed. Ivon was ready to pass out from the drink. He nodded his approval and slumped head first onto the table.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GABE ARDEN

We stepped out into busy side street as fine rain began to fall. The wind whipped up the stench of fish, seaweed, and urine. Eerie maudlin moans echoed through the timbers of the ships and buildings. My stomach lurched. Directly across the street, I saw TheHalf-Mast Tavern. From first appearances it looked like a rough establishment, popular with sailors and ruffians. Men were standing around outside, their flagons resting on upturned barrels and they had clay pipes in hand. The sailors seemed unaffected by the tempest, and the rain did not dull their enjoyment of the evening, the roars of filthy laughter, and the distinct accents of Corvay and Reuss echoing into the darkening night.

As expected, when we pulled our cloaks tight against the squall and crossed the street we were at once bombarded by filthy catcalls from the rambunctious seamen. Adam and I made to enter the tavern, but our passage was hindered by a swarthy sailor who was built like a bull, his arms, shaped like ham hocks, folded over his barrel chest.

“And where d’ye think you’s going?” He said sending his narrowed gaze in an unsettling leer at Adam and me, making our measure from head to toe. He puffed out his chest with bravado as his crewmates watched on and snickered.

“Ye know my mates an’ I ‘av all been at sea fer near four-month.” There was an atmosphere of danger in the air, a powder keg of energy that needed just one spark to bring a world of pain to our door.

“Does strange tings to a hard workin’, hot-blooded man.” He gave me the filthiest of passes, licked his weather-cracked lips, and then smiled revealing brown teeth. My blood ran cold.

“In a dark alley, wit yer soft skin an’ golden hair I could near pretend you was a woman!” The sailor reached out, tangled his filthy thick fingers in my hair and in response his friends roared with laughter and bashed their fists rhythmically on top of the barrel tables. His fingers tugged my clean locks in an attempt to make me squeal, but I refused to make even the slightest of sounds. I knew even a whimper would encourage this brute.