Usual disclaimers apply: I'm just a fan, writing for fun, no copyright infringement intended, no profit in the making.
I arrived in Galway on the 15th, and instantly knew this was a good place. The merchant's warehouses bustle, the rich swank up and down the main street with their self-satisfied wives and lovely daughters in tow, and the taverns are full of men with money to spend.
It shouldn't be too hard to find a steady source of income here, now, should it?
I think I've already found a likely place to start. I sat in one of the worst taverns yesterday night and a young man came in. He was well-to-do, taking him from his clothes, but he drank like a sailor on shore leave. Soon enough, he starts a fight with one of the jokers at the bar, and I sidle up to him part way through and help him throw the loser out into the street. We're now good friends, yet we haven't spoke a word. That's how it works in places like this.
I introduce myself. Well, you understand, I introduce one of myselves.
I tell him I'm looking for work locally and he asks me what I can do. I can see his family is probably in business - he's well-off but not rich enough to be a land owner, and there's something about the way he talks that makes me think he works for a living. I say I've done all sorts of jobs and run through a list until I come to warehouse hand, when he slaps my back and promises to ask his Father if there's a vacancy in the family business. A merchant, then.
It's as easy as pie. Within fifteen minutes I know all there is to know about Liam and his family and I'm well on the way to a written list of the household valuables.
Later he becomes maudlin, telling me in drunken sobs that his Father doesn't value him as he should; that he's in love with a woman he won't be allowed to marry; that the world conspires to stop him being happy.
I've heard it a thousand times before, and as I look at my own shabbiness and his obvious comfort, my sympathy is strained and half-hearted. But he's too drunk to notice that, and finally falls asleep at the table. The barmaid, a nice looking girl by the name of Molly, is obviously used to him, and as the tavern empties she cleans around him. Eventually, I go too, but I watch from the outside as she douses the lamps and leaves him to sleep it off where he sits.
I resolve to return the following night and renew our acquaintance. I'm expecting it to be a profitable one, all things considered.