My Pleasure, Darling

24: Soulcrusher IS a Good Name

Back the way I came, and port seven is still empty. I pick a little restaurant and have a late lunch. It's still bright and light out, but it's three already. I've spent a lot of time going up and down the docks and flirting with a dirty racist. I order a salad. You know. Fat girl wants to be good in public, but we all believe she stuffs her face at home. Actually, I quite like salads.

I order a couple of drinks when the salad is done – non-alcoholic – and then a coffee. I don't even like coffee that much, but I feel bad, taking the seat if I don't keep buying things. I don't even realise the time going by. I order myself a dinner. Pasta.

I had hoped to be on the phone by now. To tell Elise that I've spoken to a wonderful Captain who taught me all about his ship. No such luck.

I pay when the sun starts getting a little deeper orange on the horizon. No point in sitting around anymore. I walk past it again, just in case, but the number seven is utterly empty.

There's a pub, I hadn't noticed before. It's not quite in full swing, but a few burly characters are sitting in the window with big pints. Big pints – are those pints? They look like they might just be gallons of beer. More power to them.

I decide to go in. Who knows? Maybe one of the Aldiraz ship Captains is here and willing to make a huge detour for the sake of a few vampire outlaws.

Worth a shot at least.

I order a beer. I'd ask for light, but I'm pretty sure that this pub that serves mostly sailors doesn't really do a lot of light beers or fruity cocktails. I sit at the bar with my beer. I sip it.

Beer is kind of nasty in my opinion. So I don't enjoy it.

The pub fills up as it gets darker outside, as the sun slowly slides, leaving its rays red, then pink on the three little clouds in the sky. A man sits next to me. Short. Broad. Not fat, not really, but just very broad. I reckon he's probably pretty strong. He orders a beer, then looks over at me.

"What are you in for?"

I laugh once. It's like we're in prison. He's given a beer, but is waiting for an answer. "Oh, I don't know. Wash my sorrows away?"

"Good place for it. Cheers." He clinks his glass against mine.

He's older. Grey beard. Black cap, but I reckon there's a balding patch underneath. Skin is dark, and he wears a weary look on his face. He drinks his beer like it's nothing.

"Yeah, I figured."

"Family of one of the sailors? No, don't tell me – some jackass loser who's a petty crewman and not worth his salt broke up with you."

I grin again at this. I almost feel too tired, too despondent, to play the game. Besides, in my experience, men of this age respond better to good conversation than witty conversation. "Nah. I was looking for a ship, but I guess it isn't here."

"Which one?"

"The Soulcrusher."

"Why that one?"

I look at him. "It's called The Soulcrusher. When a boat is in your town with a cool name like that, you want to see what it's made of."

"Couldn't find it, huh?"

"Papers said it was supposed to be in dock seven, but it's empty. I guess they were wrong. Maybe they had their license revoked."

"The Soulcrusher is in dock 17." He takes a swig and grins at me. "Misprint."