P&P FF
"Captain's Concession: A Bennet's Destiny"
Previously:
Leaving of the memory of a childhood that was not much of one, Emil entered a small jewelry shop.
Standing Ground
CH. 4
Emil looked at the many pieces of jewelry in the case before him, or on the shelves behind him. There were gold chains from Africa, each link shouted they had come from that continent's rich resources. And the lines on each chain attested to the skill of its artisans. The chains varied in thickness, some were as fine as silk threads, and yet others were so robust they demanded to be seen first and foremost. All of the chains lay draped over velvet cushions, shimmering under the soft glow of the shop's lanterns.
Beside the gold chains were cameo brooches, the good captain had been around enough to know their origins most likely traced back to the ancient traditions of Italy. Their delicate pieces featured profiles of noble ladies and dainty figures, were carved with precision from shells or layered agate. The cameos were set in smooth bezels of gold or silver, their borders were skillfully adorned with tiny seed pearls or garnet.
On the next display, Emil's eyes caught the sparkle of diamond tiaras and hairpins, their stones likely sourced from the many mines of India. The diamonds were cut in the old European style, their facets designed to catch candlelight and turn it into a dance of bright oranges and yellows across the room. These pieces spoke of the grandeur of the balls that the upper class of society enjoyed.
Moving along, the captain noticed an array of bracelets and necklaces studded with Scottish agates, each stone a mosaic of earthy hues. He shook his head; those pieces were mostly fake. They held no natural beauty of the Scottish Highlands; they were poorly polished agates ones he did not even consider buying. Emil gave whoever had sold the shopkeeper the 'Scottish' items some credit, at least they had gotten the Celtic cross done correctly.
Lastly, Emil admired a collection of pocket watches, their cases intricately engraved with scenes of English country life. The watches, crafted by skilled London horologists, were not just timekeepers but symbols of the technological advancements of the era. Their smooth ticking was a comforting sound in the quiet of the shop, a reminder of the relentless march of time and the fleeting nature of beauty.
"May I help you, Captain?" The shop keeper was finally able to break away from a customer who had taken up so much of his time.
"I hope so." Emil pulled out a rare uncut diamond and the jeweler let out a low whistle and asked how much he wanted for it. "A thousand pounds and that ruby red jewelry set behind you." Again, for the same reason as before, he kept the English dialect in place.
"But that is worth the same as your diamond." Protested the man.
"No, it is not." The captain began to point out why the diamond was less in value and the jeweler's jaw dropped; he had not spotted those things when buying the items from the seller.
"Are you sure you do not want to come work for me? I am thinking, maybe, I have been cheated on some of the things I have bought."
"No thank you." The captain smiled. "However, if you need a second opinion on your items, I suggest you have Mr. Burg come look at them. So, do we have deal?"
The man tried bartering a bit on the price. He hoped to make a little more from the captain. However, Emil knew his merchandise well and, in the end, got the deal he wanted.
"You drive a hard bargain; nonetheless, I confess you are being fair. We have a deal." He then smiled wide. "Your mother will love it if you take it home for her." The business owner knew how often the captain had been known to buy expensive pieces for his family members.
"One might think that." With that he walked out the door, his polite reply giving no real indication who the necklace set was for.
Emil shut the jeweler's door with no unneeded bang, the ruby jewelry set in a box under his arm. As he stepped onto the cobblestone street, a sixth sense kicked in—it was as if there was an extra set of unwanted eyes upon him. With the instincts of a seasoned seaman, and one who had years or protecting his family while visiting his mother's home, Emil placed the box atop a sturdy barrel beside the shopfront, his actions casual but deliberate. The box, a beacon of his recent transaction, would be safe; the locals knew better than to cross him.
No sooner had he stepped away from the barrel than a shadow detached itself from the alleyway. A large man with multiple scars upon his face and patch upon his eyes, sneered as he approached, his intentions clear in his stance. "Captain," he loudly growled, "I have heard tales of your treasures. Let us see if you defend them as well as your ship." Without another word or warning, the man swung a fat, meaty, fist towards the seaman's face.
Emil's response was swift and practiced from years of experience. He ducked, feeling the rush of air as the man's fist passed overhead, and countered with a solid punch to the man's abdomen. The attacker doubled over, gasping for breath, and Emil followed up with a well-placed kick that sent him stumbling backwards, right into the wall behind them both. The street was silent except for the scuffle, and the few people that gathered kept a respectful distance, knowing the captain could handle his own battles.
As the man limped away, clutching his side and using language as bad, if not worse, than any sailor, under his breath. An old seaman with a weathered face chuckled from his perch on a nearby crate.
"Ye should've listened, boy," he called after the retreating figure, "Captain Pedersen may not look it, but he's got the fight of a dozen men in him. I told ye he wasn't one to be trifled with."
Emil picked up the box, undamaged and untouched, and tipped his hat to the old sailor before disappearing into the evening, the ruby set still in his possession and the respect of the sailors near the shops, and not far from the docks reaffirmed.
Emil next went to a place of business involving produce sold from estates. The air was thick with the scent of leather-bound ledgers and the musty tang of coin. Around him, the room men's voices buzzed with the low murmur of negotiations. Estate managers, stewards, and others huddled over documents, their fingers tracing the lines of text that detailed transactions of grain, livestock, and other such items to be bought and sold.
The walls were lined with shelves displaying samples an estate owner would produce from various estates: jars of preserved fruits, sheaves of golden wheat, and rolls of fabric, each tagged with the name of the estate it hailed from. It was a place where the bounty of the countryside met the commerce of the city.
"Hello, Captain Pedersen, how might I help you?" A gentleman asked in a borderline patronizing tone of voice; the 'gentleman' as ignored another associate engaged in a heated discussion with a new merchant as the two haggled over the price of the most recent harvest.
"I need to talk to a Mr. Keith Smith."
"You are speaking to him. What do you need?" When told, and upon seeing the captain pull out a very expensive sapphire the man, like the jeweler, let out a -soft- low, whistle. "And what if things do not work out? Are you not out a great deal of money?" His eyes, which he thought showed no emotion, shouted Mr. Smith believed the seaman before him to be mad.
"I have no land at risk, so do not worry, debtor's prison would not be my fate."
"Your money, not mine." The man wrote out a receipt and handed it the captain. *"May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back."
"Same to you." The captain's words were far more sincere than that of the businessman's.
*Part of a very old Irish Blessing.