Chapter 7: Heavenly Tribute
Summary: Grus gets a fun taste of what the average life in the Navy has to offer.
'Man what a dump,' Grus thought as he eyed the port his ship was dropping anchor within. Just one of a chain of islands that he'd never heard of but whose waters the Navy was obliged to patrol.
Or in this case, pick up their yearly Heavenly Tribute. The first such mission Grus had ever been assigned. His captain, Vice Admiral Onigumo, was barking orders into a snail, the two support ships for added protection coming in behind their ship to form a blockade.
No pirates were going to make it through that. Personally, Grus thought it was a little overkill, after all, how could an island that looked like…that, even have much for the heavenly tribute in the first place?
Wooden shanties lined the coast, some on stilts with old and failed pontoons to deal with winter flooding, others built out of a hodgepodge of driftwood and mud. The ship was tied off, the gangplank set down with a somewhat concerning crunch on the old wood of the pier, and Grus was flagged over to follow his commander down onto the island.
The island didn't get any better as he directed his guys to secure the main (the only) street. Didn't need any civvies causing problems, though again, what could this island really have?
Turned out, a lot more than Grus was expecting. Hefty barrels of grain, wine, and chests of gold and beri were escorted into a pile on the dock to be sorted through, categorized, and registered by some Cipher Pol guys in their black suits. The town's Elder, a tiny old man with a skin so weathered he could be mistaken for leather, watched anxiously.
The people of this little shanty town didn't bother watching from their windows, instead seemed focused on going about their limited lives. A few tired women doing their washing in the streets, a ferrier re-shoeing a donkey with a bent back, and a gaggle of brats watching them load the crates onto their ship from beneath the stilts of a hovel.
Grus watched them, kids were dumb and he didn't need the Vice Admiral ripping him a new one if they caused trouble. With a sigh, he tugged his hat down, settling himself nearby. His mudboys could keep an eye on the rest of the sad street with its sad old ladies and exhausted beasts of burden.
"Nah nah, Oingo, if ya had some of that gold, whatcha do with it?" one of the kids, a bandage wrapped around his head completely enveloping one eye, whispered. The boy's skin had still healing pox scars across what was visible of his face.
"If I had tha' box right there," Oingo, thin from not enough food, head too big, sighed wistfully, "I'd sail ta' Scrooge 'nd get one of those doc's to come make my granny better."
"I'd get new boots for me da'."
"I'd get mama's medicine!"
"I'd buy a whole roast chicken!" which set off a chorus of whispered wishes for potatoes and pork and rice and apples.
"One of those big strawberries, 'n my ma' could make it into tha' pie thing she does for Samcalan…"
Hell, didn't these kids have any normal dreams? Normal kid wishes, like a bike or somethin'? Grus crossed his arms.
"Just one…jus' a little," Oingo whimpered, taking a few steps forward, fingers outstretched. And that there was exactly why Grus was watching them.
"Oi, careful kid," he grumbled, startling the gaggle. They dispersed, scurrying away. Except for Oingo, looking up at him, big brown eyes watering. "Don't cause your granny problems 'cause you stole something." And don't cause Grus problems by extension.
"...Y-you stole it first!" the kid yelped then took off running. Man, what a pain. Well, at least the kids shouldn't be a problem anymore. The rest of the day proceeded as planned, the Cipher Pol agents judiciously counting the tribute, his mud boys guarding. Himself however…
Well, he took a walk around the town just for the kick in the teeth. Clearly, this place had once been more prosperous, the buildings new, the cobblestone fresh, the donkeys young and the women smiling. Once, they'd had doctors and medicine and kids with normal desires.
Grus resettled himself near the Cipher Pol guys in their black suits, and black sunglasses, and clipboards. Funny how they looked so different from the Navy, funny how they barely looked at him or his men other than to snarl at them to keep out of the way.
"It appears they'll make quota."
"King Scrooge's outer islands tax policy appears to be paying well. I'll recommend to The Auditor that their tribute should be increased next year."
"This island is short on grain in comparison to last year."
"How irritating, just a little more was required."
Grus frowned.
The mud flowed from his fingers, copying the weight, the design, the coloring. He had to get it right, the correct consistency to last just long enough to make it to the Celestial treasury. It's only a small bag of beri, not enough that anyone in Mariejois would miss.
But enough to make life a little better here. Enough to make the bile in his mouth less sour.
When he's done, he slips off the boat in the early hours of the morning and leaves it carefully hidden under the hovel on stilts.
He needs a better job.
Notes:
Whoo! So hyped for him to appear in the anime!
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