"Lunch break is over, boys," a small, tight-faced man shouted. He was dressed sharply, pristine given the fact that he was in a shipyard.

This Yharnam dock was full of ported steamboats and wind powered ships, clinging to more traditional ways. The steamboats poured out smoke, coloring everything around it dark. This was furthered by the factories near the water that also billowed angry black into the sullen sky.

The group of men let out chorus of grumbles.

Fredricx's eyebrows twitched, feeling a blood vessel throb in his forehead. Their too short lunch was over. Back to the task of loading and unloading these ships. He stood, hopelessly brushing dirt from his clothes.

He wore black trousers, which were coupled with suspenders, a dingy white collared shirt that was half unbuttoned, dulled leather shoes, and a hat that had seen better days.

"Halfway through, Fredricx," Lucas breathed as they started their task again. He was dressed similarly to Fredrix, but with cleaner shoes.

"Mr. August could make a stuffed bird laugh," Fredricx groaned as he picked up a crate from the ship's belly and began up the stairs to the top deck. "He treats us like the diseased. Even the war was better than this. Half of one shilling per day. How is a man supposed to feed his family?"

"You say that everyday," Lucas dismissed him, "It's better than working in a factory. At least, we get to work outside. Little risk to our fingers and limbs in those awful machines."

"Just our backs," Fredricx scoffed, "Those make our money."

"Mr. Vinge," August barked, "I am not paying for you to talk. You would hate to lose out on today's wages. Do you understand?" The man with the scrunched face continued in an obnoxious tone, so the ship could hear, "Or can a man of your breed not understand?"

"I understand, Mr. August," Fredricx hissed through his teeth, while attempting a neutral expression. His hard set jaw was obvious even with his full wiry beard. Anger turned his body against him, heart and breath quickening. "I understand, sir," he forced out again, clenching his teeth and words.

On June 14, 1858, Fredricxon Vinge was born in the British Colony of Claethorpes. It was comparable to Constantinople's case. Before, Claethorpes was an agrarian town, interacting peacefully with its neighbors. Claethorpes was governed by a band of elders until the British, toting guns and sickness, threatened the town into signing a binding agreement. Claethorpes was now under British rule in exchange for a small pouch of a strange currency, pounds. The elders had no idea what their new overseer's rule would entail. They promised protection, citizenship, and prosperity at the additional cost of soldiers, loyalty, and taxes. The British Queen desired pounds to be given to her as taxes. How was Claethorpes to tithe its pounds when they only had the contents of the small pouch? How could they know they were being treated honorably even when they were being assured by their overseers that they were being treated like royalty?

The Company demanded that other towns under British Colonial rule cease all communications with another. The thriving community became stagnant and isolated, taxes became heavy, and with the inability to produce more pounds to send, more soldiers were required to settle Claethorpes' debt to the Queen. Of course, Fredricx's father was selected, and by default, his family as well. They departed from Claethorpes and moved to Yharnam, which at the time, housed a fraction of the British Royal Navy. Fredricx's father became a sailor, a decently respected one.

***

The ashen sky had twisted into night. Everything was illuminated by the growing, yellow moon. Fredricx and Lucas were walking up the creaking dock. The ocean air was cold against their skin. It was later than usual, but they were still determined to collect their half a shilling. Mr. August had cheated Fredricx before, blaming it on his meticulous record keeping. The small office building was right before the streets of the city and doubled as a home for the shipmaster. The trek wasn't long, but with an aching back and ocean chill, it lasted ages.

Lucas pounded on the office door with his fist, inhaling sharply with a muffled cough, "Mr. August, we did what you asked, sir. We are here to collect our wages."

Fredricx scoffed internally, "Asked?"

The door swung open, revealing August in a long blue nightshirt and a cap on his head. "Very good, Lucas," he yawned. The door shut again, but not before they got a whiff of roasted beef. Within a couple of moments, August appeared again and dropped a couple of coins in Lucas's hands. The door began to shut.

"Mr. August," Lucas started, sliding his foot between the closing door and the frame. August scowled. "You didn't pay, Fredricx." Lucas pulled open the door forcefully, ripping the handle from August's hand.

He disappeared again, but this time, the door was left ajar. The roasted beef taunted them as their stomachs screamed almost in unison. Within long moments, August appeared and dropped one single coin in the hand of Fredricx. It was half of a shilling.

"Thank you, sir," Lucas smiled, showing crooked teeth, and he released the door, which was promptly snatched closed by the small man. Fredricx clutched the coin, body heating. "That man is always disrespecting me," he muttered to Lucas as they entered into the streets of Yharnam.

Feverently, he inhaled the night air. It was crisp, fishy, and smelled of blood. "Thanks, Lucas," Fredricx gave a small smile at the corners of his mouth.

"No problem," the other man replied as they walked. They both lived across town in Central Yharham. The streets were paved with bricks as were the houses and stores. Wrought iron fences lined pathways and fronted homes. Homes had barred or chained windows. It was night at Yharnam, which meant thick, hungry tension.

They walked mostly in silence. Fredricx's steps were becoming laboursome as every couple of paces, he would be reminded of his muscles twisting around in his lower back, which he tried to rub with his hands to no relief.

With some time, they climbed a set of stairs and passed a well. The door adjacent would lead Fredricx to his apartment. "Goodnight," he said to Lucas as they clasped hands and turned to the entry way.

"Wait, Fredricx." There was no hesitation as Lucas spoke and outstretched a closed fist, "This is the extra that Mr. August gave me. It's just a couple of pence. I want you to have it."

"I can't take that."

"I don't have anyone else to feed. You have a wife," Lucas offered the small coins again with a nod.

Fredricx sighed, but accepted them. "Thank you." They locked eyes, and Lucas walked away, leaving Fredricx to go inside.

"One more set of stairs," he muttered to himself as he ascended. He found a smile as he saw the familiar door.

It opened before he could reach the handle. "There you are, cobblestone feet," a woman taunted, holding it open so Fredricx could enter.

They hugged, Fredrix gripping her tightly against his torso. "Sorry, I am late. August wanted me and Lucas to do some extra work."

Ettie's head shook with fury. Her brown curls bounced with the motion. "He didn't pay you extra, did he? That man and his horrible attitude. I wish I could rip off that quirky mustache from his narrow face."

Fredricx gratefully sat down. "August didn't pay me extra, but paid Lucas a little more. Lucas gave it to me." He handed the coins to Ettie.

"How could you accept this?" she questioned, placing the coins in a tucked away jar, which held a few pence.

He pulled off his leather shoes, sighing in relief. "He insisted I take them." Fredricx willed himself not to look at the jar again, tucked between a bag of flour and cornmeal. However, he was unsuccessful. Stress bubbled as he stared at the jar. Even though it was only slightly revealed, it was obvious that it was less than a quarter full. Rent would be due soon.

Ettie suddenly appeared in his line of vision. "Stop it," she said softly, hands going from her hips to hold his hands. "It's fine. I am working tomorrow at the Jenkins' household. They pay me well."

From his sitting position, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled Ettie toward him. The side of his head was pressed into her stomach. "I just want to take care of you."

She rubbed his scalp, brushing aside his slightly longer than shoulder length hair. "Let's eat, Fredricx. I know you are hungry."

They embraced for a long moment. He inhaled her floral scent. It smelled like the detergents she used while cleaning the clothes of the rich.

Fredricx brought her in closer before letting go. Silently, he stood and made his way over to their cluttered table. Folded clothes that didn't belong to either of them consumed their kitchen. Ettie sat down in a mismatched chair and handed Fredricx a plate of bread, potatoes, and a single scrambled egg.

"Looks good, Ettie," he smiled before wolfing down his food. "Your bread is the best part," he finally smiled, using a tarnished knife slather butter on to the chunk of bread.

Fredricx, finishing off the last of his meal, remained sitting as Ettie was eating. She was graceful even in the middle of their cramped, stressed apartment. "How was your day? I didn't see you this morning," he asked her, leaning back in his chair and using his hands to support his head.

She swallowed her mouthful, "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to get up and head over to the Ghirah Manor early. Their children are so mischievous." She smiled, spreading her happy lips. "I caught them sneaking sweets from the cook. They told me that if I didn't tattle on them, then they would give me a cookie from their loot." From her apron pocket, she produced a small parcel. Unwrapping it skillfully, she pulled out a tan cookie, broke it in half, and gave one half to Fredricx.

"I hope you don't get in trouble by those children," he said through a mouthful of the sweet. It was exactly that, sweet.

Sugar was expensive, beyond a luxury for the working class. Their wedding anniversary when he was in the army several years ago was the last time that Fredricx had something so sweet.

"Thank you." His eyes were closed as he chewed the last of the cookie. With a deep exhale, he stood. "I'm going to bed, Ettie. My back is killing me."