Chapter 10 – Anywhere But A Cool Dry Place
Lord Fop had heard of islands on the Grandline left untouched by civilization but he hadn't been aware that Loguetown was founded on one of them.
This 'Smoker' was so far down the social ladder as to be actually in the ground the ladder was resting on. The idea of him becoming grafted onto the illustrious Fop family tree was repugnant. On the other hand, he knew which side his bread was buttered on - the money side. That was the only thing that was more important than breeding.
He did not think it was an accident that the Marine had gone missing. Obviously this man was going to be difficult and not accept the immediate class scaling offered by a marriage into his family. Compared to the previous years' Marines, this one seemed a bit more cunning. Yes, that was the word. Like a fox.
Lord Fop knew what to do with wild animals; hunt them down, stuff them, and mount their heads on a wall. It was only a matter of time before this particular quarry was run to ground.
But first the game had to be flushed out and the hounds were having no luck.
"M'lord, we've looked everywhere." Barring any place with dark shadows. The incident with Jeffrey in the dining room had the servants very reluctant to startle the captain.
"Obviously you haven't looked everywhere because you haven't found him!"
"We'll try – behind you, m'lord."
One of the maids was leading the captain down the hallway. "Captain Smoker, so good of you to join us," Lord Fop lied.
The officer muttered something incomprehensible. The maid curtsied lowly and said, "M'lord, the captain found Master Clarence in the – "
Lord Fop noticed his son. "Yes, yes. Take the boy to Nanny. Perhaps that will stop her hysterics. Captain Smoker, if you would come this way."
Lord Fop ushered the Marine into his study. The cotillion would soon be over and time was running out. But Lord Fop had a secret weapon that this Marine could never have prepared himself for.
"Would you care for a brandy, old chap?" Baron Brightwith asked when they entered.
Smoker wasn't sure about the 'chap' remark so he let it slide. "Cigar," he said shortly. That was the only thing that had brought him back in here – that and the fact that he was running out of ideas to entertain the kid.
"Of course." Lord Fop smiled and gestured to Jeffrey.
The serving man opened two sturdy oak doors revealing an inner room bigger than Smoker's quarters on the ship. The walls were lined with rich oak shelves and all of the shelves contained row after row after row after row of ...
Caves of jewels, islands of gold, bounty that would fill the holds of a thousand fleets. He'd heard the stories of the Pirate King's final treasure growing up as a kid. It hadn't impressed him. But this…
Never had he believed such aplace like this existed.
"I make it a point to have a box of every cigar variety from all four Blues as well as the many islands that are along the Grandline. Only the best, of course. Every cigar must be rolled by hand or really, what's the point in having one?" The aristocrat gazed at his collection proudly. "So, Captain, where would you like to begin?"
Smoker swallowed thickly and tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Whatever you recommend."
"Jeffrey, let's start with two Changvar for the captain."
The servant handed Smoker two cigars. Someone took his jacket. Someone else put a glass of brandy in his hand. Then he was led to a circle of comfortable leather chairs where the other lords were already reclining.
The aristocrats were speaking about blooms and binders, credos and cutters, and the dreaded lacioderma. Fop noted that the Marine did not participate in the discussion but followed every word. When there was an appropriate lull, Lord Fop said, "Captain Smoker, I've heard you had urgent business on the Grandline."
He received a look that could only be translated to a rude word. Perhaps that was only as far as communication had evolved in Loguetown, Fop thought dully. He continued with his plan. "I imagine you'll have to be leaving the party shortly to prepare the ship and hoist anchors and what have you. I'll have one of the servants send for your man and get your carriage ready. Jeffrey, you didn't put the captain's coat away yet, did you?"
The captain glared and made a point of making himself more comfortable. "I'm not in a rush."
"Oh. Well." Lord Fop pretended to be annoyed which, if he were any judge of character, would give this man a perverse sense of satisfaction. And it did.
Then Baron Brightwith began discussing tomorrow's hunting party, a topic that Fop had strongly advised come up during this small gathering of gentlemen. It seemed to interest the Marine slightly and why shouldn't it? The subject of conversation was in the man's name. After it had been parleyed around for a few minutes, Fop said, "Yes, well, it really is a pity that you won't be able to join us tomorrow."
The aristocrat made certain that the man understood that he did not find it a pity and would in fact be glad to be rid of him.
"It truly is," the baron added. "I've heard that the weather is going to be splendid. A bracing day of hunting followed by an excellent dinner with good company; does life get much better than this?"
The baron's expansive gesture happened to stop on the still open humidor. Fop couldn't have planned it better himself. He ended with the coup-de-grace.
"Are you certain you can't stay one more day, captain?" Lord Fop's reluctant tone made it abundantly clear that one more day with Smoker would be one more day of painful torture.
The aristocrat waited for the Marine's response. His surly expression didn't change as he puffed away.
I let you and your 'companion' through the front door of my home. I ignored the physical assault on my staff. I plied you with the finest champagne and brandy. I fed you a dinner that your thug-like palate cannot possibly appreciate properly. I am giving you my cigars. What more do you want, you horrible man?
Lord Fop was considering a desperate last plan of dressing the servants up like pirates and having them fake an attack on the mansion, when the Marine said, "I'll think about it."
The lord smiled. "Wonderful."
The grandfather clock in the corner chimed eleven.
Merrick sighed. It had only been that long? Civilizations had risen and fallen during the amount of time he felt like he'd spent in this room. And the woman still didn't seem to be interested in anything but the swords hanging on the wall. His attempts to lure her away with promises of a showing her the 'special family sword' had been met with outright skepticism.
"It's beautiful. An original third generation Sarinyasa! Amazing!"
Kill me now, Merrick thought. He pretended to give her his undivided attention.
"Can I take it off?"
"Certainly," was his automatic response. Then he realized she was talking about swords again. Tashigi pulled the Sarinyasa from its display hook on the wall and admired it up close.
"Do you see craftsmanship on this blade?" He didn't have a choice when she almost jammed the sword up his nose. The trade off was now he had a great view down the front of her dress.
Tashigi looked up from her examination of the sword. "Merrick, do you hear something?"
A/Ns:
"blooms and binders, credos and cutters, and the dreaded lacioderma" – aka oils on the cigar paper and tobacco leaves, humidification devices and cigar scissors, and tobacco beetle larvae
Humidor – a place for the storage of cigars in a controlled humidity
