Chapter 3

Cods, haddocks, anchovies, tunas, mackerels, herrings, lobsters, crabs, squids, octopi, shrimps, prawns and all kinds of whitefishes and plaice. They were all lined up in front of the three men in the hundreds. Skiff cast his eye quickly along the platform and felt his jaw drop slightly. At the other end were three large swordfish. Swordfish of all the creatures. Skiff had considered a squid a rare catch the other day, but to have three swordfish lined up for eating like it was an everyday occurrence was bizarre – there was no way his little rod was ever going to be able to pull one swordfish up, let alone 3.

Skiff studied the two men standing either side of Dave. One was almost the same height as his boss, a burly olive skinned man who had a tattoo of a scantily clad woman in fishnet stockings on his left forearm. He had fine chestnut tresses scraped back into a long ponytail, with little stray hairs flying around his face. The other man was smaller (although probably still taller than most of the other citizens) but unlike his stocky companions he was almost streamlined in build, with angular eyes that were observing the front rows of customers for those that might be considering helping themselves. His hair was slicked back with so much gel that Skiff imagined a strong wind would freeze it in place.

Skiff edged closer, slipping through the crowds of people until he could see the fish up close. Their scales glittered in the sunlight, as if teasing the lack of silver in Skiff's pockets. Skiff looked at the little placards at the front of the stands that told him the prices. His jaw dropped even lower then – these were being sold at twice the price he'd dare to ask for. And, when he cast an experienced eye down the fish up close, he was concerned to see how many of the fish looked ... less than fresh.

"Excuse me?" Skiff called to the three men, pointing at a haddock that was sitting just in front of him "When was this caught?"

The streamlined man's lip twitched, as though he resented the question.

"All these fish are fit for eating" He grunted.

"You didn't answer my question" Skiff pointed out.

Streamlined man turned to Dave.

"Sir? We have a ... complaint on our hands"

"What is it Zak?"

Zak nodded towards Skiff.

"Guy wants to know when the fish was caught"

Dave's eyes swivelled towards Skiff, or uh, eye as he recalled, not trusting himself to stare into the depths of the dark glasses. One of the man's eyebrows rose, as if in recognition.

"Oh" He chuckled, a throaty sound "You're the small stand fisherman"
Skiff felt his cheeks burn pink with humiliation. 'Small stand' why he, a descendant of countless generations of honest fishermen, was no 'small stand'. His fish stall was by far the biggest in the village – at least it had been, until this Pescecorp showed up. Skiff sighed internally. More like Pesky-corp. But he wasn't backing down without a fight.

"It's not as big as yours no, but at least all my fish are fresh"

A few people gasped, and Skiff was well aware that many eyes had turned on him. It was a spectacle – come and see the Eastport-Pram take on the big company. Who was the scammer?

Dave didn't seem particularly intimidated by Skiff's challenge. He drummed his sausage like fingers on the table.

"Funny. I could have sworn one half of your small stand said 'discounted fish – caught yesterday"

Skiff's cheeks burnt redder still, and he thought he heard a couple of laughs in the crowd.

"All of my fish are caught within a 24 hour period, so yes, they were fresh" He mumbled "And your fish are piled on top of each other, that'll encourage rot"

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Dave didn't like it. No-one had ever dared challenge him, least of all a poor fisherman with less meat on him than one of Pescecorp's plaice. Zak stepped forwards but Dave put an arm in front to stop him. Resorting to physical violence wasn't required yet. They had to play the silver-tongued company game first.

"Normally yes, however our fish are all sold within a 24 hour period, or otherwise disposed. No fish on our stands is rotten"

"Disposed? You just ... dump the unsold fish?" Skiff was baffled. The company surely couldn't expect to sell thousands of fish in a single day to a tiny little village.

"You said so yourself – we can only sell fresh fish. If they rot we wouldn't want the good people of Brigodston eating those and getting ill now would we?" Dave's smile was composed and cal, but Skiff noticed a temple in his head was beginning to throb. The sailor was definitely getting to them.

"That's a waste of fish!"

"It's eco friendly" The olive skinned man, who had not said anything, yet spoke up "The unsold fish are returned to be part of the environment"

"So you're dumping thousands of dead fish bodies BACK into the sea?!"

Several shocked gasps spread through the crowds, and whispers started.

"The dead fish are caught much easier by the other fish - and so sustain a well fed ecosystem for our catch the next day. The fish we catch are then much better quality" He poked a finger towards a particularly large Tuna in front of him "We just help the circle of life"
A few mummers of admiration surged through the crowds, and people pushed forwards to buy fish. Skiff was left feeling dejected.

"Cheer up kid" Dave laughed. Skiff thought it sounded a lot like a hyena from one of the old nature documentaries he used to watch in school – harsh and cold.

"But what about overfishing?" He continued, not wanting to go down without a last little fight.

"Marcos here was right" Dave lit a cigarette "We help sustain a better ecosystem out there"

"But if you kill off all the fish before breeding system they won't come back!"

"Oh we'll find other places by then" Something short of a sinister smirk crossed the man's face. "Then you'll have the town to yourself again small stand"

"But if you've killed off all the fish there won't be any left for me TO give the town" Skiff protested, feeling hot under his shirt, even though it was relatively cool with the sea breeze around the dock.

"Better start stocking then" Zak smirked, grabbing one of the nets from the pile by the Pescecorp boat and chucking it at Skiff. "Do it like we do if you think we're so good"

"Plus you could always find some other job" Marco's leered "Now we've got yours I'd suggest writing in your application"

"I heard fishnet stockings are in fashion" Zak giggled "You could always move onto fashion"

"This town does need a little livening up" Dave smirked, and flicked his cigarette butt at the ground near Skiff's feet "I'd say small stand could recycle those fishing rods of his into lovely coat hangers"

"Or mannequins"

The three of them laughed and returned back to the centre of their stand to gather money from customers. Skiff watched in disbelief as the equivalent of a month's savings was poured into the greedy hands of the three Pescecorp workers. He looked down at the net that Zak had thrown at him. It was a much thicker net than Skiff had ever used, and the holes were smaller, designed to keep even smaller fish in. Well, if it was a fight for fish that Pescecorp wanted, they'd found one. Skiff didn't care if he had to paddle back with a wet backside the next day – he was going to collect so many fish that even Dave would tremble beneath him.

He knew this was highly improbable of course, Skiff only had his small dinghy, and Pescecorp practically had a ferry. But he wasn't going down without defending his family's honour. Brigodston had always been Eastport turf, and Skiff was going to keep his father's legend alive. He bundled the net into a compact package in his arms and set off back home. Oh yes, rod and net combined, he was going to bring something really special back to Brigodston tomorrow, he just knew it.