The Winter of Our Discontent

Henry Hartford

I
Late in the winter of ’89, having found myself with little money in my pocket, and nothing
much to care for on land, I decided to drop my life on the mainland of the Commonwealth. And
so, my pet finch, Mephistopheles, and I dropped into the Southern Sea, aboard a rusting
submarine that once belonged to my late father.
Such began my career as a smuggler.
Not a poor career, by any means. Harshly nomadic, rushed, and dangerous, but turns a hell of a
profit. Over the next year, I found myself bobbing up and down along the coast of the
Commonwealth, encountering lucid clockmakers, the law, and countless pieces of curious cargo.
No piece, however, was more curious or more impactful to my vastly meaningless life than the
cargo I was assigned to transport at Cape Gantheaume.
Now, to put it nicely, Cape Gantheaume is a shithole. A kinder man may describe it as a
‘wretched hive of scum and villainy’- but I’ve never been one for niceties. Plain and simple,
Cape Gantheaume is a breeding ground for harlots and scoundrels- the crime capital of the
Commonwealth.
And notably, my most frequent destination.
Now, since I spend most of my time out in the Southern Sea, I don’t have much time to lounge
around in Cape Gantheaume and pick up orders and cargo- for that, I have my buddy No-First-
Name Groombridge, barman at the ‘Horse & Groom’, and right about the damned most
charming talker I’ve ever met.
Over time, we developed a system- the Horse & Groom’s private docking port, Bay 42, became
my de facto parking spot for my visits to Cape Gantheaume. He’d always leave cargo right at the
edge of the water, with a note attached- all the boring details and whatnot. I’d take it, do my
thing, and come back- always to a wad of credits behind the grayest brick on the East-facing
wall.
A simple system. I’d drop in every soften, pick up a satchel, or a crate, or a glass container, (on
more than one occasion, live junglefowl) and leave, often without having to interact with a single
soul. When I arrived at Docking Bay 42 at the onset of the winter of ’92, this was not the case.
In place of the usual crates full of illegal spices, or junglefowl, I found a satchel, a bird cage,
and a girl, comfortably sleeping in a shoddy sleeping bag by the edge of the water.
Though I would not know it at the time, this was the first encounter with the woman who would
take my life not six weeks later.
What I did know at the time, however, was that something was extremely wrong- I’m not a
passenger ship, I’m a cargo ship- I don’t do people. There must’ve been a mix-up, surely- though
I already knew this was not the case. Groombridge is not the kind of man to make a clerical
error.
Attached to the bird cage, a note. It read,
Shipment No. 51b- Albany Greene
Oli! You’re going to have questions, I know- come to the H&G at your earliest convenience.
Signed, Your Most Beloved, X Groombridge
II
Leaving the girl behind in Docking Bay 42, I made my way to the Horse & Groom, ever so
slightly seething with annoyance- to both the matter of the girl, and that he addressed me as ‘Oli’
(My name’s Vincent- don’t know why he calls me that- been doing so since Shipment No. 1).
The Horse & Groom, as is usual, was overflowing with the usual crowd- harlots, lushes, and the
like. The smell of grime and rum perfumed the air, and the walls (as the people) were caked with
dirt and soot.
Such was life in the Horse & Groom.
To no one’s surprise in particular, Groombridge is manning the bar- and though the bastard is
busy, he notices me before I step in fully through the door, quickly motioning to “go up”- to his
‘office’, I presume. He hands off the bar to one of his employees, and I follow him at a distance,
making my way through the people and to the rickety stairs at the back of the saloon.
The office, like many other aspects of Groom bridge’s life, never ceases to amaze me- it’s a
rat’s nest of strewn-about papers and cobwebs, yet somehow still serves as the tactical base of
operations for a sizeable portion of the smuggling scene on Cape Gantheaume.