Chapter Song: Downstream (Shira Kammen) - Sieber, Kammen, Fulton and Schatz (Music from Braid) - ( watch?v=tiWXrVXOMAU)
*Belle: Belgium, Tim: Netherlands
Chapter 5: The Warehouse
The market square was brimming with all the world-weary life Kattleroot could muster (and half the rest of the surrounding region too). There was the clatter of wooden stalls being forced together and the creaks of crates being lifted from the back of box carts. Near these, tired mules whined and huffed in restless exhaustion. Gruff exclamations were exchanged between the rough handed work men lifting the produce and chattering voices were tossed back and forth between people haggling at stalls or waiting eagerly with the few coins they'd scraped together and put aside for the day. Those who didn't have money to part with brought with them produce or items to trade instead. An old woman held tightly a bundle of around six leeks still streaked with dirt which she must have foraged out of her yard that very morning. Another man was struggling to keep hold of a live chicken that squawked indignantly from against his dirty shirt front. A whole live chicken was something that would certainly fetch a lot more than any coin the man could have scraped together. Even Arthur couldn't help but eye the bird longingly, thinking bitterly of the much scrawnier wild fowl he'd been so pleased to take down that same morning.
In the centre of the square where the crowds seemed to condense considerably, were the capital merchants. Arthur noticed Antonio glance a little wistfully at the condiments stand, the little jars of Jams and sauces in stacked neat rows, clustered together by colour. They never really had real sauces or spices in Kattleroot, other than garden herbs or the weak broths left in the bottom of pots after boiling vegetables. This meant that many villagers were crowding around the exotically named jars with eager wonderment. It may seem strange that the capital stands were so popular on Market day when the people of Kattleroot could barely afford the cheap necessities offered in the square on a normal occasion. However, Arthur knew that several villagers would save up for months, getting by on only what they could dig out of their yard to eat, just so that come Market day they could afford 'capital this' or 'capital that'. It was petty and ridiculous, Arthur knew: to throw it all away for a tiny sample of the luxury products consumed daily in the Capital. It's not that the farm dwellers were stupid: they knew that they'd be better off sticking to the village stalls. But it was as if as soon as those fancier carts came in, laden with snippets of a richer way of life, they were dropping the affordable loaf of bread, raiding their pockets and trading in their long earned coins for a lump of 'capital' soap.
Antonio was distracted from the capital stalls and their usual swelling crowd of onlookers, by an old shop on the edge of the square. Arthur followed his friend over to the shop's entrance and stood by him patiently as he peered into the window. This was a normal occurrence on their trip into the square. It was the antique arms shop, nestled into an alcove between the tiny seamstress' workshop and the chemist. Through the dusty window a display could be seen of old muskets and armour sets, a wooden rack in the centre filled with swords of varying lengths and extravagance, their blades shining like new due to the polish wielding hand of the shop's dedicated owner.
Arthur found these things vaguely interesting, particularly the suits of armour, the metal battered but gleaming, the sturdy breastplates bearing the crests of old families or the striking patriotism of the Spades insignia itself. However, Arthur's intrigue was minuscule in comparison to how taken Antonio was with the shop's merchandise. He'd always had an infatuation with ancient swords or weapons - not because he especially liked the idea of violence, he'd explained - but because there was just something captivating about them that he found difficult to phrase into words. Perhaps, he thought, it was from watching his father for so long. From when he was very little he would sit and watch, mesmerised, as his father would somehow forge weapons or simply commonplace metal objects seemingly from nowhere. Heating up the shapeless metal until it glowed white hot, and then bashing and bending it until it began to resemble something real and solid that you could hold in your palms.
What enchanted him about the old swords however was the element of mystery about them. Had they been used by an ancient war hero - perhaps even the king or Queen - to defend the kingdom during a bloody war? Were they endlessly designed and perfected only to be hung from a hook in an aristocratic manor house? Could they be so ancient as to have beheaded a dragon, or some other mythical creature of the old world? Arthur supposed when you thought of it that way, you could understand how giddy the boy got whenever he came across a really unique old sword or weapon. He knew that had they not been busy Antonio would have liked to have gone inside the tiny old shop and had a closer look at the blades. The shopkeeper, long since used to him dropping in to gaze without the ability to purchase, would usually bring him out some long awaited item from the storeroom that they had received from the palace itself or had just been dug up from the centre ruins. On this occasion, Antonio settled for a few minutes eyeing the antiques through the lead piped lattice of the shop front window.
As he waited for his friend, Arthur overheard a frustrated conversation between a few villagers on the edges of the jostling crowd.
"Look at them all, fighting for a glance of the capital goods. Like the stuff's gonna save em' from starving come next month," an elderly man curled his lip, turning to address the woman beside him.
"Well," the woman glanced around her as a barefoot little girl shoved past to see the capital confection being unloaded off the carts, "I hear it's just some way for the council to win us over. They think if the send a few of their stuffy merchants here and we'll eat out the palm of their hands. There's just not many of us here who realise they're ripping us off. Robbing us blind they are. See those jars there? Out of date, I can bet. The trash they don't eat quick enough gets sent here for silly amounts of coin. When will this kingdom start caring about its people? The ones who are really providing for it and receiving nothing for our work! I'd like to see the fancy capital crowd get by without our potato crop or Rainyoak's fruit trade."
"-And who knows what'll come once Stillwater ends. Right now, with all..." The man waved a calloused hand at the bustling swarm of people, carts and stalls, "...this. We're getting by easy."
The woman bent in to mutter something else but their voices were shrouded by a passing group of shoppers and they were swept up in the irregular shuffle of hurried feet and whisked out of Arthur's sight.
"Okay, c'mon, let's move," Antonio had straightened up and was tapping Arthur lightly on the arm, jerking his head in the direction of the side street beside the antique store.
Arthur more or less forgot about the villagers as he continued his trek across the village with his friend.
Down the cobbled side street and past the scruffy back exits of the mismatched Kattleroot stores led the two boys to a familiar clearing between the rear ends of crumbling buildings and away from the aggressive enthusiasm of the Market square and its patrons. A large building towered before them, its wooden frame now aged and covered with the green growth of moss and ivy as if nature itself was attempting to reclaim it as its own. The place was far from dead however. Nor was it anywhere close to being 'reclaimed' by anything.
They called it 'The Warehouse'.
It was a hub of sorts and the region's main delivery centre. If there was anything interesting to be had, the Warehouse was where to find it.
Arthur and Antonio had pushed through the paddock style doors of the place with a heave, the familiar scent of wood chippings and the sound of yelling greeting them upon stepping inside. They were immediately shoved aside and forced to flatten themselves against the wooden wall as three burly looking men pushed past with a large crate in their arms, grunting and cursing at its weight. Deeper into the darkened building the boys could see the place was positively throbbing with people, either piling carts or waving coin and babbling about their idea of a good deal. It was Market day, wasn't it? Of course the place would be in chaos. The Warehouse was in no way an exception to this rule.
It seemed like a centre of everything: Requisitioned crops were sent from the warehouse as were most of Mr. Carriedo's weapons. It was the centre of both honest and shady trading, of profit and business, of gain...and also loss if you weren't quite sharp enough. In all truth, the Warehouse was the slickest organisation in the entire Farming region. The council had their eye on it at all times, tried to keep tabs on what came in and out, who was doing business and with whom. But the fact remained, they needed the Warehouse. They needed the deliveries and the crops and occasionally even the service that the place offered to them. It was so integral now to day to day life that it was impossible to remove. And yes, that made it dangerous.
Scooting past the workmen and between two wooden beams which towered up to support the building's high ceiling, Arthur and Antonio made for a room on the left. The floor was streaked with hay and two skinny horses took up half of the space, snuffling and shuffling on the spot anxiously. The boys barely gave the stored animals a second glance before stashing their game bags into a rickety wooden cupboard with the number '3' scratched into it, locking them away with a rusty key which Antonio then slipped on over his head. As previously mentioned, a sack of food in Kattleroot was worth more than a whole safe of gold. What's more, Market day seemed to leave many people with itchy fingers.
"Have you told your mother you work here yet?" Arthur passed his friend a glance as he bent down to dust straw off of his trouser leg. He was always finicky about stuff like that.
"Ehh, no," Antonio gave his shoulders a slight shrug and looked guiltily at the shorter boy as he straightened from fussing over his clothes, "you know how she can be. She's way too proud for her own good! She'd make me quit straight away even though the extra coin I get from helping here is pretty much what stands between us and starvation. We can't earn enough to feed a family of eight on Pa's blacksmith alone."
"She still doesn't realise?" Arthur frowned at his friend.
"She thinks I help out in the south fields near Rainyoak every day," he traded a sheepish look with Arthur, " it's not like it makes me feel good to lie to her or anything, but I'm doing it for them, right?"
"She might understand. The Warehouse isn't all bad," Arthur reasoned. Antonio was awful at keeping secrets anyway.
"Well, how about you, Art?" The darker haired boy retorted harshly, "does Mel know?"
"She knows I'm doing delivery work but... she hasn't exactly asked," he sighed. "Maybe you're right. We were lucky enough to get jobs here underage. We shouldn't go taking chances for honesty's sake...We are doing this for them."
"Hey! Arthur, Toni, over here!" A voice rung out above the constant hum of the warehouses throng; piercing through it.
The boys had been hovering in the doorway of the storeroom when they'd heard their names being called from across the vast room. From behind a nearby stall they caught sight of a young girl around their age flapping a hand at them erratically, her dark blond hair bouncing as she tried to get their attention, the choppy tips just brushing her shoulders as she moved.
"Belle!" Antonio grinned at her and began to fight through the passing people to meet her, Arthur close behind.
"Where've you two been?" She ran a hand through her hair, straightening the green cloth hair band she always wore, "I've been on the front stall by the town entrance all morning - we're swamped!"
"Just out in the forest," Antonio answered vaguely, helping her to shift a box of strange leather straps.
"You know it's dangerous to hunt out there!" She scolded them, reading Antonio's vague answer easily.
"We know what we're doing," Arthur assured firmly, reaching to pick up a strap that had fallen from the box, "we'll be fine."
"Well I worry, you know! You two are the only best friends I have, Okay?" She set the box down with a huff and rose up, smiling at them again.
"Tim won't be mad will he? That we're late?" Antonio asked the girl somewhat feverishly, remembering easily the ripping they'd been given last time they'd turned up this long after opening time.
"Who won't be mad? My brother?" she clarified distractedly.
"Who else?" Arthur muttered dryly but he was smiling at her as he said it.
"Okay, okay, Sir Arthur," she rolled her eyes at him, long since used to his sarcasm. She'd always call him this whenever he made a particularly dry comment. It was... a term of affection, he supposed. At least she wasn't calling him Turnip.
She returned her attention to the crates at her bench "well, he's been tied up all morning, so I bet he hasn't even noticed."
The two relaxed slightly, their tensed shoulders sinking. Perhaps they could act as if they'd been there for hours and Tim would be none the wiser.
"Anyway, enough about that, listen you'll never believe who was in here looking for whiskey-"
"You two! Get over here you money-wasters, you're late!" A loud voice cut Belle short mid-gossip.
"Shit," Arthur muttered under his breath as he and Antonio caught sight of the man who happened to be their boss.
Tim was the face behind the Warehouse. The mind behind its success. The pair of clever hands that somehow managed to pry their way into the heart of the trading system. It had been he and Belle's Father's enterprise in the beginning, but it was only when the man had fallen ill and his son had taken over that the Warehouse really took off. Business became shadier under Tim, sure - but the profits? The influence? No contest. Tim made the Warehouse what it was. In all its gritty splendour, the business was Tim's baby.
The man himself was tall. Towering even, though this may have partially been an illusion projected by his spiked haircut. His form made all the more impressive by the height of each angular, dirty-blond peak. His tendency to wear his hair up like this revealed a short but prominent scar above his right eyebrow, the origins of which was a popular conversation starter amongst locals. He had a constant hard set expression of ill humour and was never without a pipe in his mouth. Arthur thought this could be for show in a way. Nobody ever had tobacco around here. It was pretty scarce around the farming region and very, very expensive. The pipe also seemed to age him somewhat too, the man really only being in his twenties. It added a maturity. Not that Tim lacked it.
His father used to smoke pipes they said, and this was enough reason for it not to be questioned further. He was clever and serious and strong both physically and in willpower. Most importantly, Tim was one stingy bastard who had no time for anyone who was losing him coin.
He wasn't cruel. This much was clear from the way he'd given both Arthur and Antonio jobs (despite titling them pushy brats before doing so). But not cruel, no, he was much too street smart for that; cruelty earns you no trust. However he was harsh and rigid and had the ability to hold a hell of a grudge if you swindled him in a bad deal. Belle would tell the boys that he was a real softie underneath it all but this was something Arthur had yet to witness for himself. Less so Antonio, who, cruelty aside, never seemed to be in Tim's good books. In fact, he seemed to be very stern with both the boys, only appreciating Arthur more for his knowledge of places and basic business. He would readily overlook how much better Antonio was at lifting or shifting deliveries.
"Too many workmen, not enough common sense," He'd say.
But maybe there was some truth in that.
Antonio reckoned it was because they were the two 'good-for-nothing' guys who hung around with his kid sister. Although this was also one of the reasons he'd thought them trustworthy enough to hire in the first place.
"So maybe he does like us! He just shows it in a weird way!" Antonio would occasionally decide. But Arthur had to say this was unlikely.
Despite the aggressive nature of his words, Tim didn't appear obviously angry but instead kept his expression set as he beckoned them over in a single hand motion.
"Go easy, brother!" Belle called after them, eyes lingering on their tense backs as the two sheepish teenagers sloped off after Tim with metaphorical tails between their legs.
When the awkward trio ceased moving and halted in front of one of the back storerooms, Antonio began to jabber.
"I'm sorry we're late, sir, we uh, didn't mean to! And we'll do any work ready! Even cleaning the horse stalls - if that's what's going, I mean-"
"Quit that," Tim interrupted, holding up a hand and looking at Antonio as if the boy's very presence gave him a headache, "we have important business to discuss."
At that point they seemed to notice the small crowd of other workers clustered together at Tim's request. They were waiting restlessly, occasionally shrugging at each other with worried eyes.
Going to the front of the crowd he rapped his knuckles against the wood of a crate loudly to get their full attention.
"Okay people, we're due a delivery run to the capital again. This one's a big one," He turned to address the entire (rather anxious looking) group now, pacing slowly, "It's the palace."
A feverish murmur rippled through the crowd.
"hey - hey now! Quiet down!" he thumped the crate loudly once more until the voices died down to a soft whisper, "here's the thing...they've been entertaining a lot of guests round there of late. They're low on a lot of prime products - mostly tea. - And guess what?" He paused his pacing to raise his eyebrows at the workers. They knew better than to attempt an answer.
"We got it."
He folded his arms and waited for the workers to digest this. The workers digested, taking care to keep a more quiet volume than before as they turned to mutter to one another.
"So, Ernie, I need you and your team as lifters for this. Tea leaves are light as a feather and your lot are educated enough not to go licking any windows while you're there. George, you'll take the horse - you're a steady rider and not too awful to look at should you bump into any royalty. Harold, you take the other...And you, turnip-boy," Arthur jumped a little at being addressed (wincing slightly at the hideous take on his nickname) "you go too. If anyone's taking these things inside he's your boy. He looks young enough to at least get a little royal sympathy for us country lot. He can do the talking too - should you need it - Might as well make some use of that pretty accent of his."
Arthur swapped a look with Antonio, whose role in all this had yet to be mentioned. Truthfully, Arthur was surprised to be included, though he couldn't decide whether to be pleased that he was thought of as capable or offended that he was being ordered about like cattle and told he still had a baby face. What's more, the idea of actually going to the Spades palace was very daunting. It was a place Arthur had been certain he'd never see. Not from inside the gates anyway.
"I think you all know how important this is. You need to understand this, though. These people don't want our service; they need it. Capital suppliers simply don't have our resources and so they've turned to peasant trade firsthand. Sure I couldn't give a rat's ass that they've run out of their precious earl grey but at the end of the day, we need their business. We have to at least create the idea that we aren't the rough and ready group of dodgy dealers they think we are. God above, it's tea, we're delivering, not stolen horses, they can at least give us that," he continued to prep the employees, pausing every few moments to take a drag from his pipe, "this happens tomorrow, you clear? So no lazy bastards are rolling in here anytime after eight, got it?"
There were firm nods of approval and the excited murmurs at the prospect of a delivery to the palace itself passed between the people in the cluster.
"Uh, sorry to ask, sir, but what do I have to do?" Antonio tried to phrase the question tactfully, his hands stuffed into his pockets.
"Hm? Oh..." Tim seemed to acknowledge the dark haired boy for the first time, eyeing him up and down thoughtfully, "you stay on this end. Help pack the carts and shift the goods. That's it for now. Think you too girls can handle being separated for that long?" He was speaking sarcastically to them at the end, although it was hard to tell from tone alone.
Arthur remembered him using the 'girls' gag a few weeks earlier when he'd asked the two of them if they even followed each other into restrooms the way the women workers did. Arthur had returned the comment with stony silence, however Antonio, oblivious to tone at the best of times, took him literally and explained in detail and with too much enthusiasm that this was not the case, save for once about a year before when the two had both been fit to burst and had then stood in the washroom for about ten minutes arguing over who got to go first.
Thankfully, this time Antonio managed to take some kind of hint and merely nodded shortly in answer to the question.
"Yes, sir," He muttered.
"You can cut the seals on the crates too," Tim added as an afterthought, "you're decent with a knife."
The tall man walked away at that, still deep in thought.
Antonio's face lit up as if he had just been given a huge compliment, watching his boss leave them with a bewildered expression. He let his grin subside and gave Arthur a look.
"You excited then?" He smiled cheerfully at the younger boy.
"About going to the palace?" Arthur asked, kicking himself for giving the same distracted clarification he'd given Belle stick for doing just minutes before.
"Yeah," Antonio nodded, "You looking forward to actually seeing it?"
Arthur rubbed his temple, his mind feeling a little cloudy.
"Yes...Maybe. I don't know." Arthur mumbled, not sure if he was anticipating or apprehending the event, "are you angry that Tim's making you stay?"
"Nah, old Tim's just trying to make me mad, but staying's probably easier for me - and he's got me doing the shifting so I can't be as worthless as he makes out!" Antonio shrugged and gave his easygoing smile genuinely, "besides, the capital...the palace...It's a different world right? Seeing all that at once when I've never been anywhere more built up than this town...I dunno."
Arthur considered the older boy's reasoning.
"A different world..." He repeated his friend's words, "...I guess you're right."
A/N: Another Arthur heavy chapter! But if you stick around, the next is one of my favourites I've written so far :)
Thank you so much to those who have taken time to review, follow or favourite, it really brightens my day and encourages me to post more! :D
