Soda and Weed.

(Disclaimed.)

OMG, auto correct, stop correcting my dropped h's!

Chapter three:

They had washed off in the Thames, which, Eddie hated to admit, was not exactly much cleaner than the sewers, but it had been fairly decent advice, so far as things that clerk had told him had gone. The two now sat in the pub, feeling and smelling slightly better, except for the scratches, but it was a pub on the west end. No one actually cared.

Pad was drinking strait whiskey, because apparently he was a regular and they allowed it, but the bar tender had taken one look at Eddie, looked at Pad as if he were crazy, and had given him apple juice without even asking. Eddie did not mind so much, after all, he had never consumed alcohol before, and now was probably a bad idea. And what would his mother say?

Pad's medallion now hung around his neck, and Eddie asked casually, "So, what's so special about it?"

"What? This?" he asked, "It... It's all I have left of my mother. I'm sure she has the other 'alf. Or... or 'ad it at one point. She might 'ave pawned it." His finger traced the curve of his half and frowned, "Maybe something special will 'appen when we join the pieces together."

"I'm not expert on the matter." Eddie confided, "But my Dad might know something about it."

"Yer old man?"

"He's an adventurer—"

Pad rolled his eyes and took a drink.

"—He's a good one." Eddie added, "He's not like me, and he certainly did not grow up wealthly."

"Married yer mum for money, eh?"

"Yes." Eddie admitted, "And now he's gone missing. We don't know where he was even seen last. He—"

"Probably ran off with some 'ussy."

"Do not talk about my father that way!"

But Pad just ignored him and laughed sardonically, "Parents sure are trouble."

And there was silence again. Eddie let the remark slide off his shoulders and tried to convince himself it was not true. His Dad loved him, and his mother. Maybe he just loved the money, and not them. Maybe. No, no there was no way that was true. If he was having an affair, he would not set the Maverick off to drift. He would not fake his own death.

Would he?

Eddie frowned. He did even like his Father?

Yes! Of course!

No.

No. He did not. He did not hate the man, and he did not wish him dead, and certainly, he was a good son and he respected his father's wishes, but he did not love him, and Love and Respect are two different things. He respected his father, he did not love him. It seemed like right now all he wanted to do was find the man and punch him in the face.

"Pad." Eddie mumbled, looking at his glass, "I had fun, in the sewers, with you."

"So?"

"Would you like to be my adventuring partner?"

He glanced at the other boy out of the corner of his eye, and he was frowning. He drained his glass, refilled it, and did not say a word.

"Please?"

He was silent for a while, tracing his finger around the glass' rim. He frowned, his eyes fogged over, and Eddie waited patiently, until he eventually said, "Fine."

"Fine? You're agreeing so easily?"

"Ya expected me to say no?"

"No!" Eddie said quickly, "Its nothing like that at all!"

"Well, I knew if I told ya no ya'd pester me with money, power, promises to find me mum... Like ya feel you have to buy off yer friends. Only people like that are the ones that don't 'ave any."

Eddie winced.

"I 'it the nail right on the 'ead there?"

"Yes."

"That's just sad."

"You... You don't me a lot of people when you're a lonely little kid on the west end." Eddie admitted, sweeping his finger along the outside of the glass and picking up the cold droplets of water on his finger, "It's true, I guess."

"Oh, now don't get that pathetic look on ya face, Go'vna!"

Eddie looked up at him, and said, "This is what my face always looks like."

"Yeesh! No! Yer as droopy as a lost dog in a window!"

Eddie tried not to look so dejected. He looked back at his glass and kept silent, until Pad spoke up again, "Don't give me no silent treatment, too!"

"S-sorry."

"This 'adventuring,'" he said after a while, "The pay's good?"

"Once we have a reputation, sure." Eddie shrugged, "The pay's fair enough."

"Any ropes I 'ave to know?" he asked, "'Oops to jump thought?"

"Well, you'll need to be registered, and you'll need to get licensed. I think."

He coughed, turning away and hiding his mouth between his shoulder and the back of his hand. It was not as bad as before, not as deep and rasping, but it did sound painful for him to breathe afterwards. Eddie bit down on his lip to keep from asking, and hesitantly, he reached for his handkerchief, but his hand and his jacket came away from his lips clean, no blood, no phlegm. Nothing.

He cleared his throat and grimaced, then took another shot of whiskey. He let out a breath as if the burn of alcohol soothed the burn of the coughing, held a hand to his throat, blinking several times. Eddie was not sure that made any sense at all, and even then, he was only seventeen. He should not be drinking.

Before he got too drunk (because what would the neighbors say?) Eddie took the bottle away, and he wondered if he should reconsider. He did not want his partner to be an alcoholic, but Pad just shrugged it off and muttered, "Well, it's about time I had a drinking buddy."

Eddie frowned at him, "I won't be drinking this."

"Take a swig." Pad grinned, "I dare ya. I bet ya can't."

"Of course I can! Mum will kill me."

He expected to be mocked, but Pad just gave him a peculiar look, like he did not believe him, with his eyes half closed and one eyebrow raised. The look said more than his joking dare ever did, and Eddie was filled with a sudden, incurable curiosity. He looked at the whiskey, then at Pad, then back to the glass bottle, then to his apple juice.

Eddie, with a few misgivings, picked up the bottle and tipped a small amount into his mostly-full glass. It was just a second. It wouldn't kill him, after all. Pad's eyebrow dropped and he rolled his eyes, then he chuckled and shrugged. Eddie, with even more misgivings, picked up the glass and took a quick sip.

It was sweet, because of the apple juice, but it burned because of the whiskey. Frowning, Eddie pushed the bottle glass away, he coughed "Never again."

"Suit yourself."

"I can only imagine how disastrous drinking it strait would be. I'm sixteen. I should not have done that. How does Dad drink that stuff? How do you drink that stuff, old—" he coughed, "Old boy? Great Scott it's like cider from the Devil's Grove."

Pad laughed. "I suppose ya could really do with a spot'o tea now, eh, Gov'na?" The jest was heavily laced with sarcasm.

"Yes."

"Well, if ya can't 'andle even that, and if you can't 'andle a rat with its 'ead blown off, you might not be the kind of bloke they want."

"I can handle it! The rat I mean—"

"You nearly threw up!"

"It was twitching!" Eddie insisted, "Besides, you should see the sort of low quality stuff these people produce. They must take what they can get."

"Beg pardon?"

Eddie took the notebook from his pocket and set it down, "It—it's actually pretty funny, really."

Pad reached over and tugged it towards him, so he could get a better look, "They spelled—"

"I know." Eddie replied, "I know."

"I mean, I'm almost illiterate and that is just—"

"Just shoddy workmanship."

"—low class." Pad wrinkled his nose.

They sat at the bar with the notebook between them in awkward silence, until Eddie picked it up again and tucked it away. Once Pad had sobered up a bit, and their clothes had dried, he paid for their drinks, left the bottle, and the two of them walked back to the adventurer's association. It was interesting to note that while they were walking across the bridge, they saw an unfortunate-looking fellow lugging a giant's rat tail with him. The giant rat-tail. It still had bits of confetti clinging to it. He tossed it over the bridge and caught his breath as they walked past, and looked completely repulsed at the stains left on his white shirt.

When they walked into the building, the clerk looked up at them, "Oh, you two again."

"Yes." Eddie replied as he walked towards the counter, "I wanted to know what the procedure for getting a partner registered. He pretty much took the test with me, so—"

She handed him another notecard, exactly the same as the first, "If he can't write, you do it for him."

"It's not like I can't." Pad stepped back before it could touch his hands, "You're handwriting's probably better than mine."

Fair enough, and it was probably true, anyway. Eddie moved away from the mess left by the tail and started writing. Name, Pad. He turned to his companion. "Do you have a last name?"

"Not that I can recall."

He turned to the clerk, "What do I put if—"

"Nothing."

Male. London, England. Age, 17. Birthday—

"When were you born?"

"Eighteen fifty four?"

"Month?" Eddie asked, "Day?" Pad just shrugged "You... You don't even remember what your parents look like, do you?"

"Not really."

Eddie, a little embarrassed, wrote down simply '1854'. Height, 5"6'. Hair, brown. Eyes, brown. Weight, 123. Skill: Firearms. Then, he handed it back to the clerk.

She looked at the card, then at Pad, then at him again, "There is no way he is only one hundred and twenty three pounds, kid." Then, she crossed out what Eddie had written and scrawled '135-140.' She tucked it away, then, she took out his card, remarked, "I'm going to have a scale put in, because I just know you aren't done. You're going to bring in two more, I just know it." and wrote '120-125' when he had written '103'

"'e's a terrible blighter, isn't 'e?" Pad offered with a grin.

"You've been drinking."

He stopped grinning and stepped away from the desk.

"Great." She said, storing his card in the back with the handful of other adventurers that had either aliases or one name, "Well, you two are certainly going to be seeing a lot of me, so I guess now is a good time to tell you my name. It's Bridgette. Don't wear it out. Don't come in here every five minutes looking for a quest. There are Adventure's Associations in all major cities, and just because we wire all missions to all cites does not mean you can be lazy and not go there. You're an adventurer. Travel some. Especially you." She pointed to Eddie, "You need some sun."

"Lovely. Thank you Miss Bridgette."

"I said don't wear it out."

"Very well Miss Bri—"

"And to keep you from wearing it out, I'm going to send you away. A man called 'Evans' stopped by looking for you."

"Really? Fancy that. What did the old boy tell you?"

"Meet him at the airship dock and get out of my hair."

"The airship dock?"

"Seriously? You don't know where that is?" she asked, gaping, "Do you at least know the bow from the port?"

"Don't worry, I know where it is." Pad answered, grabbing Eddie's collar and pulling him away.

"Glad to see someone has some skills. I was beginning to worry."

Eddie followed Pad south until they reached the dock in question. It rang with voices of passengers waiting for commercial flights, the whoops and hollers of sailors, the whipping of propellers, and the roaring of engines. Hammers tapped sharply on metal, and the place smelled of oil and grease and freshly welded metal. And of smoke, of cheaply-prepared food and alcohol and sweat and—dare Eddie say it?—life. It was a busy place, a vibrant place. Stewards shouted for a boarding flight and a mass of people carrying baggage nearly swept them away. Eddie had been standing there gaping; Pad cursed and pulled him along, like a dim-witted younger brother.

"So, how do you know this place?" he asked once they were pressed against the wall, watching the river of delighted passengers shuffle past. He hardly heard himself.

"What?"

"So." Eddie found himself shouting, "How do you know this place?"

"Oh!" Pad shouted back, "I take a few jobs 'ere and there." He replied over the din, "Ya take what ya can get when yer desperate. You know 'ow it goes."

"I-I'm sorry."

"It beats digging for coal and—" he turned away and coughed, "Getting the black lung! And I know my way around an airship, for the most part."

"Great, one more thing you'll have to teach me!"

"That'll be the day."

"Edward!"

The two boys turned, and shuffling along at the rear of the throng was Mister Evans. He extended a hand to Eddie, who took it, and he reached for Pad, but he just shoved his hands in his pockets and followed them at a leisurely pace. Someone called his name and he waved, but he did not get sidetracked.

"Well, if you came here that must mean you were admitted to the Adventure's Association."

"Yes. Yes I was."

"Just as expected, that's quite a feat, you know." Mister Evans replied. He looked back again at Pad, who was still following, gun at his thigh, hands in his pocket, hair in his eye. His clothes were patched and a mess and now that he was in bright electric lights he looked like a street urchin. Strange. He had not seemed to out of place before. "Do you know him?"

"Yes." Eddie answered as the three of them broke away from the crowd into the section of the dock that housed private airships, where spaces were rented and ships could be tethered for months for the right price. Eddie saw on ship that was in rusted, dusty condition, and wondered just how long it had been there, but there was not much time to gawk. He had to introduce his friend. "This is Pad, he joined my adventuring party"

Pad extended his hand, realized there was still grime in the creases of his knuckles and dirt under his nails, and did not meet his eyes. Mister Evans looked at it, and raised his hand, but did not take it.

"You've found a partner already, old boy?" he asked, "That's... encouraging."

He looked at Pad's hand in disgust and dropped his hand. Pad crossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably.

"I didn't exactly join." He said gruffly, hiding his hand again, "We were just lookin fer the same thing."

Eddie desided the less they dwelled on that awkward silence, the better, "So any way, Mr. Evans, why did you ask me to come down here?"

"Ah, yes." He replied, "Come along, this way."

The followed him again, Pad looking at the rusty old airship as well for a second before he moved on as well. It was not hard for him to catch up, he took long, smooth strides, and he flicked his hair out of his eye with a little toss of his head. Mister Evans stopped again, this time in front of a bright red airship, with a zeppelin balloon floating up, "Here."

"Wh—what is that?"

"Gilbert's airship." Mister Evans answered slowly, as if he could not believe Eddie had even asked, "It's the maverick, dear boy. After it was found on the Mediterranean Sea a few days ago, I fixed up. There is no need for you to rent a ship when you've got an almost perfect one—fully stocked, too, you boy's won't be running out of provisions anytime soon."

"Almost?" Pad asked.

"The Flight Core's too badly damaged, and we can't fix it here. Of course, if you're looking for Gilbert, this is probably for the best. You won't be able to see him if you're too high up."

"We don't even know where to start."

"I just so happen to have a clue for you." Mister Evans answered. At least he was speaking to Pad. Eddie looked away from the ship towards the two of them. Pad was only about two inches taller, and he was certainly much thinner, but he had a great deal more presence. He seemed to be capable of staring anyone down right now, but Mister Evans only seemed to be impressed by that. He cleaned off his glasses and put them back on, clearing his throat, "The last time I met Gilbert he told me he was on his way to Cairo."

Eddie felt cold.

Gilbert had not told them that.

"Cairo?" he exclaimed.

"That's a city in Egypt, right?" Pad asked, mainly for his own confirmation, "If we keep flying south by southeast from London and then cross over the Mediterranean Sea it should be right there."

Eddie wondered how he had even known that if he was so uneducated. He must know more than he let on, sometimes. Maybe he had picked it up around the airship dock. Mister Evans bid them good day and walked away to join the loud crowds at the main part of the dock, leaving the two of them alone. They looked at each other, and Pad seemed to relax at once.

"Pad... What do you know about actually flying an airship?"

He laughed.

Yeah, I know that conversation doesn't happen in a bar, but, whatever.