Another Way

Part Eight: Many Happy Returns

Monday, September 3, 2007

"Happy birthday, Miss Claire."

"Thank you, Jonas." Because they had company, Claire didn't hug her burly bodyguard, but she did favour him with a smile as she accepted the present. "What did you get me?"

He smiled avuncularly at her. "That would be telling. Why don't you open it and see?"

"Yeah, c'mon Claire," Lindsey urged her. "Open it up."

"Don't rush me, don't rush me," Claire told her friend. Carefully, she began to separate the paper from the tape holding it in place. "Have I thanked you for coming? If I haven't, thanks for coming."

"Hey, it's no big," Roger said. "Your dad chartered a bus to get us and our folks here, just so you'd have someone you know here for your birthday."

Lindsey looked around the decorated living room, over to where her parents were chatting with Claire's father. "That's some kinda awesome, right there. But it's also kinda sad that you haven't made any more friends since you got here."

Claire shrugged a little as the paper came off. "Haven't had much chance to mix with kids of my own age, you know? I start school tomorrow and then we'll see. But for now, I'm just glad you guys are here." She held up the revealed gift, which appeared to be a folded bundle of cloth.

Roger squinted at it. "Okay, I give. What is it?"

Claire shook it out. "Oh. Oh wow. It's a new gi."

"Oh, one of those martial arts things?" Lindsey stared at her. "Wow, you do martial arts?"

"Not seriously," Claire assured her. "But Dad wants me to be able to defend myself, so he's got Jonas teaching me." Though I wish Damien and Abigail were here to do it instead.

"So how come you never talk about it?" asked Roger. "If I could kick ass with martial arts, I'd want everyone to know."

Claire snorted. "And then they know you do martial arts. Rule number one with going into a fight. Never let the other guy know what you've got up your sleeve. If you've got a weapon, wave that at them then kick them in the kneecap and run like hell."

"So no flying jump kicks?" Roger sounded obscurely disappointed.

"Hah, no." Claire grinned at him. "If you're in a fight, you don't want to fall over. Jumping in the air, or even kicking at anything above the knee, is a great way to fall over. I told you. I'm just in it for self defence."

"So what happens if you run into someone who knows martial arts too?" asked Roger. "Or has a knife, or a gun?"

I turn off his voluntary nervous system and see how he likes flopping around like a fish. "I try to surprise him with something that'll slow him down and then run like hell." She shrugged. "Sometimes, running away is the best defence. Especially if you drop your purse first."

"But then you've lost your purse," Lindsey pointed out.

"No," Claire corrected her, "you've lost a purse. Which is what muggers are generally after, anyway."

"Wow, this conversation's taken a turn for the dark," Roger said cheerfully. "Linds, you're forgetting Claire's best tactic."

Lindsey frowned. "And what's that?"

Roger pointed at an imaginary perpetrator and put on a dramatic tone of voice. "Sic 'em, Jonas!"

Lindsey giggled; Claire snorted with laughter. She shook her head. "If I ever said that … wow. No, I don't think I'll ever say that."

"Thank you, Miss Marchant," Jonas said imperturbably from right behind Roger; the boy jumped.

There was a brief silence, then Lindsey changed the subject. "So wow, this is a big house you've got. With a heated indoor pool, no less. I gotta say, I'm just a little bit jealous."

Claire shrugged. "Dad always says, if you've got the money, you may as well enjoy it. And Brockton Bay winters might not be that cold, but I bet they're too cold to really want to go swimming."

"I hear it can get pretty cold in Chicago, too," said Roger. "I wonder how Everett's getting along there?"

"Oh, probably just fine," Claire replied. "He always made friends easily. You can bet, whatever group he ends up in, he'll be the one calling the shots."

"I'd like to thank you all once more for coming." Earl Marchant, better known as the supervillain Marquis, shook hands with the men, then gave each of the women a decorous peck on the cheek. "You and your children really made the party work for Claire."

"Hey, it's no problem, Earl." Lindsey's father, a heavy-set man, slapped him on the shoulder. "You've helped us out enough in the past. This wasn't anything at all. You've got a good kid there."

Earl looked over at where Claire was saying her own goodbyes. "Well, I try. You've done a good job with your daughter as well. If you ever decide to move to Brockton Bay, look me up. I'm reasonably certain I can find work for your construction company."

"What's this?" asked Roger's mother, who happened to be a corporate accountant. "Favour trading and kickbacks? I'm shocked, I tell you. Shocked." Her giggle betrayed the several glasses of champagne in which she had indulged.

The hand she laid on his arm could have also been attributed to the champagne; in point of fact, she had slept with Earl twice since Abigail's departure. Roger's father, Earl was certain, did not know of this indiscretion. Nor had Earl been overly disappointed when the move to Brockton Bay put an end to the affair; she had been dropping hints about leaving Roger for him, which he most certainly did not wish her to do.

"Not at all," he said airily. "I just like to work with people I know and trust."

"Well," agreed Lindsey's mother, "I can't argue with that."

"I wish you didn't have to go." Claire hugged Lindsey tightly, then Roger as well.

"I wish we didn't either," Lindsey said. "But school starts tomorrow, and you know how the parental units are about that." The roll of her eyes and the dryness of her tone conveyed her opinion quite readily.

"So when are you going to visit next?" Claire looked from one to the other.

"Uh, when we can?" Roger shrugged. "Maybe I can talk Mom and Dad into letting me stay over for a weekend?"

Lindsey slugged him on the shoulder. "Not without me, dork."

"Ow. Hey. That hurt." Roger turned to Claire. "See what I have to put up with when you're not around?"

Claire grinned. "You do realise that means that, in teenage girl speak, she likes you?"

Roger rubbed his shoulder. "What?" He stared at Lindsey, who had turned an interesting shade of pink.

"Does not," she muttered.

"Oh, really?" murmured Claire. Grabbing Roger by the lapels, she pecked him on the lips before releasing him once more. Bending a challenging look at Lindsey, she raised an eyebrow. "Still not interested in him?"

Lindsey's face was a somewhat deeper pink now; she mumbled something incomprehensible. Claire dusted her hands in satisfaction and looked at Roger, who had also blushed very slightly and was staring at her like a stunned trout. "Well," she told the both of them, "it's about time someone sorted that out for the two of you."

Roger finally managed to get his jaw in working order. "You kissed me!"

"And see what Lindsey thought about that," Claire pointed out briskly. "You like her; she likes you. For God's sake, why don't you both just admit it? Then you can get on with the awkward teenage romance drama." She turned to the girl. "And Linds, I expect a full report on a weekly basis. If he backslides, let me know and I'll be on the next train to straighten him out."

Still just a little pink, Lindsey managed an awkward smile. "It's a deal." She offered her hand; they shook solemnly.

"Hey, wait," protested Roger. "Don't I get a say in this?"

Both Claire and Lindsey turned toward him. "Nope."

As the bus rolled away down the driveway, Earl turned to Claire. "Sorry to see them go?"

Claire sighed. "You know it, Dad." She brightened. "But it was a great party. Thanks for getting them up here. That was a wonderful surprise."

"Talking about surprises," he murmured, "what was that about between you and young Roger? Am I going to need to be sitting down for a serious chat with the lad?" He seemed to be more disturbed by the incident than he was letting on; she wasn't sure why.

Chuckling, she shook her head. "Nope. I was just clearing the air between him and Lindsey. She likes him, but she didn't know what to do about it until I kissed him. After that, she was pretty certain."

He echoed her chuckle. "May I assume that you were cheating just a little with your powers?"

Her expression managed to convey the impression of utter innocence. "Maybe?"

"Well, all I can say," he said, "is that I'm glad that you didn't ensure that the boy would be besotted with you."

She lowered her eyes. "I do kinda like him a bit," she confessed, "and he likes me a bit. But he likes her more than he likes me and she likes him more than I do. And since I like her as a friend, that's why I did it that way."

He nodded. "There are certain ethics that must be adhered to in our line of business. Finding them is the trick."

"Yeah." She nodded. "I hope they'll be okay."

"I'm sure they will, chick," Jonas said from behind her. Unlike Roger, she didn't jump. "In the meantime, you've got your preparations for school tomorrow, so I'll start with clearing up."

"I'll give you a hand." She paused. "Talking about preparations, how's that new muscle configuration working out for you?"

"Benched nine hundred fifty this morning, chick," the burly bodyguard replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. "Between them and the new bones you gave me, I figure I could push half a ton with a bit more work."

"Just make sure you don't push yourself too hard," Earl cautioned him. "Claire's putting a lot of hard work into making you as good as you can be. We don't want you hurting yourself because you're being careless."

"Believe me, sir, I'm bein' careful," Jonas said. "Miss Claire already yelled at me when I detached my shoulder tendons that one time. I don't want to have to go through that again." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, sir, you ain't got the bulk I do, but Miss Claire could surely make you a whole lot stronger'n you look. Just sayin'."

"There is something in what you say," Earl conceded, "but I think I'll stick with the basic protective upgrades for the moment."

"Any time you want to push it farther, Dad, just say the word," Claire assured him.

"I'll keep it in mind," he replied urbanely; she knew that there was no more to be said on the matter.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Claire huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Dad, you know I love you dearly, but you're being way over the top protective, you know?"

Her father turned an amused gaze toward her and raised his eyebrow. "My darling Claire, I do not wish to belabour the point, but your life has come under serious threat not once but twice in the past seven years. Three times if we count that Schmidt character from Gesellschaft."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. He wasn't any sort of threat. I had control of the situation the whole time."

"Be that as it may." His voice was level and reasonable, holding no hint of his true thoughts on the matter. "There was the incident with the Brigade that forced us to leave Brockton Bay and then the attempt on Abigail's life in Boston. Either time, you could have been badly hurt or even killed. I do not wish to even chance that again; after all, we're back in Brockton Bay now, where it all began."

"But I've got powers now, Dad," she pointed out, attempting to match her tone to his. "You saw how I dealt with that boy who held a knife to my neck. I'm not going to say I've got nothing to worry about -"

"Good," he interjected. "Because if you were so foolish as to say that, I would order Jonas to turn the car around and take you home again, school or no school."

"And you would too," she replied dryly. "But that aside, while I do have to worry about things, the fact is that I don't have to worry so much about them. For one thing, nobody is going to recognise us as Marquis and Marchioness. And for another, my powers are much more subtle than yours. I can use them to defend myself without drawing attention."

"Your points are entirely valid," he agreed readily enough. "However, do note that getting into the habit of depending solely upon your powers and not on your other skills and talents, however tempting, can lead to disaster. Especially if someone finds a way to circumvent them. Or to put it another way, Jonas and the others put a lot of effort into giving you the training that they did, and they wouldn't want to see it go to waste. Isn't that right, Jonas?"

"Never a truer word, Mr Marchant, sir," rumbled Jonas from the driver's seat of the car. "You listen to your father, chick. You're good – better'n any other I've seen at your age – but he still knows more'n you do right now."

Claire nodded earnestly. "Yeah, I know that. And trust me, I really do appreciate the time and effort you and the others have put into making sure that I'm not totally unprepared for whatever might happen."

"Just remember," Earl told her seriously. "No matter how much you might prepare, it's what you haven't prepared for that will trip you up. So always be ready to react to unusual circumstances."

She rolled her eyes again. "Dad. I'm just going to school."

"My point exactly."

"Well, here we are."

Earl knew that he sounded heartily insincere as Jonas pulled the car to a halt outside the gates of the Northwest Middle School. He didn't much care; his doubts about allowing Claire to come to school at all were beginning to surface once more.

"Looks like it." Claire leaned across and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "See you this afternoon, Dad." She undid her seat belt and grabbed her bag; by this point, Jonas had rounded the car and opened her door for her. "Thanks, Jonas."

"My pleasure, Miss Claire." Apparently oblivious to the stares of passing children heading into the school, Jonas seemed to be enjoying playing the role of devoted manservant to the hilt.

"Just one moment, Claire. Jonas, wait with the car." Earl opened his door and climbed out. He walked around the trunk to where Claire awaited him.

"What's up, Dad?" She looked at him expectantly.

"I'm walking in with you, is what's up," he explained.

"No, no you're not," she retorted, keeping her voice down. "Nope. Just … nope."

"Claire, I'm worried about your safety -"

"Dad, you can't hover over me every second of the day." She lowered her voice to a murmur. "They don't know who you are. You won't be able to scare them like you could as Marquis." Taking a breath, she went on in a normal tone. "Seriously, Dad. I'm thirteen, not eight. I had my birthday yesterday, remember? I'm perfectly capable of walking into the school on my own. In fact, you can save gasoline this afternoon; I'll take the bus back. There's a stop only a block away from home."

Earl was astonished to find himself gritting his teeth. His girlfriends had all been besotted with him, while his employees had known to follow his orders. Rarely had he found his will being thwarted in this manner, in such a way that he could not retaliate. Claire was clearly his equal in stubbornness. To think I encouraged her to stand on her own two feet.

"No," he ground out. "You will not take the bus. Jonas will pick you up in the car."

"Then I'll walk into school on my own," she shot back. "Jonas drives me to and from, but I don't get walked in like a kid. Deal?"

"Deal," he agreed immediately, before she could change her mind.

"Great," she said, swinging the backpack on to her shoulder. "See you this afternoon."

Earl watched her walk away, joining the mass of adolescence currently pouring in through the gates; in moments, she was out of sight.

Did I just get played? I think I just got played.

Turning to Jonas, he found that the bodyguard already had the front passenger door open. Earl studied his expression; it was as bland and inscrutable as the man's broad, battered features could manage. Climbing in, he allowed Jonas to close the door, then put his seatbelt on. Jonas got into the driver's seat and started the car. Earl waited until the vehicle was in motion before he spoke again.

"Jonas?"

"Sir?"

"Did my daughter just do to me what I do to everyone else?"

There was a long pause, no doubt due to Jonas working out the most diplomatic way to answer.

"If she did, sir, it's only because she learned from the best."

"Indeed." Earl leaned back and closed his eyes. "Thank you, Jonas."

"You're welcome, sir."

Holding a plan of the school in her hands, Claire manoeuvred through the surging, shifting crowd of her peers. Okay, if I'm here, then my locker should be just around this corner -

"- so I'm wondering if Mr Wilson will be as deadly boring in History this year as he was last, and have you seen the gym? I think they repainted it, I really do. Also, I think they rearranged the cafeteria a bit. Hopefully this means that we'll be able to – whoa!"

Rounding the corner, Claire nearly ran face-first into another girl, around her age but a few inches taller. The girl had long brown curly hair, large eyes behind round-lensed glasses and a wide expressive mouth; at the point of the almost-collision, she had been half-turned toward her companion, a strikingly pretty redhead. Her torrent of words cut off with the exclamation; Claire stopped her with a hand on each shoulder so that they didn't encounter each other more forcefully.

"Sorry, hi," the red-headed girl greeted and apologised to Claire in the same breath. "I'm Emma, this is Taylor. She's a bit of a motormouth, but she means well."

"Motormouth, hah," Taylor replied good-naturedly. "I can hardly get a word in edgewise, the way you talk." She turned to Claire. "Sorry about that. Taylor Hebert." She held out a hand to shake.

Bemusedly, Claire shook it. "Hi," she said. "Claire Marchant. Pleased to meet you. And you too, Emma."

"Same here, Claire," Taylor told her, then squinted. "Are you new here? You look new. I don't think I've met you before. Is that a Boston accent? Are you from Boston? Did you just move here? If you did, then welcome to Brockton Bay, our capes aren't as bad as they say, really. And welcome to Northwest, it might not be the best middle school in town, but with me and Emma here, it's definitely the coolest."

Metaphorically, Claire staggered back under the torrent of words. "Uh, yeah, I'm new here," she said. "Dad and I moved here from Boston back in July. I hope I'll like it here. They say the winters are milder."

"Oh yeah, they're milder all right," Taylor agreed. "Some days you can even walk along the Boardwalk in shorts and t-shirt – have you seen the Boardwalk? It's pretty awesome. Do you have anything like it in Boston? And the Market. You've got to see the Market. If you want to buy anything at a good price, go to the Market first. Emma and me can show you around sometime if you want."

"Taylor, seriously, let the girl talk," Emma cut in, laughing. "Sorry, Claire. Taylor can be a little overwhelming at first. I think she's a bit excited by the first day of school. And I think she also had too much coffee before she left home."

"Too much coffee?" declaimed Taylor. "Never! No such thing! Though," she added thoughtfully, "Mom is talking about weaning me on to tea. She says it might make me a little less hyper. Whatever that means."

Claire tried not to let her grin spread too wide. "That's fine. Uh, I was actually trying to find my locker. I have the combination, but I just don't know where the silly thing is hiding."

"Locker?" Taylor took on an expression of intense concentration. "Look no further. Sherlock Hebert is on the case. What's the number?"

Claire consulted the sheet. "Uh, one five four three."

"That'll be just back this way," Taylor stated at once. Turning, she ducked into the crowd; Emma and Claire followed, their pursuit made easier by the fact that Taylor was a bit taller than most of the others.

"So is she always like this?" asked Claire as they pushed through the mob in pursuit. "Not that I think it's bad or anything," she added hastily. "But it must be a bit hard to keep up with her."

"Oh, I just go with the flow," Emma said cheerfully. "She only ever stops talking to let her brain catch up. But she's so much fun to be around. She's one of those people who doesn't even imagine the existence of a glass half empty, you know?"

"Wow, she's lucky." Claire tried to imagine that sort of mindset. Not even acknowledging the possibility of something bad on the horizon.

"I dunno." Emma frowned briefly. "If she ever did have something bad happen to her, I don't know if she'd crash hard or just bounce back like it was nothing."

"Well, that's not something we can know till we find out, yeah?"

Emma glanced at Claire. "Yeah. Point." She looked ahead again. "Ah. It looks like she's stopped."

"Or run out of steam, one of the two."

That earned her a snort. "Fair point."

When they caught up with Taylor, she was nonchalantly leaning against a locker, looking somewhat smug. "Is this the locker you were looking for?"

Claire looked at the numbers stamped into the metal. "One five four three. Wow, you found it."

"Hey." Taylor buffed her nails, then casually examined them. "I'm just that good."

"Well, I appreciate it," Claire told her sincerely. She checked the paper for the combination, then entered it into the lock. The locker popped open; Claire unloaded books on to the shelves, then took several out, checking with her class list in the process. "That should be okay for the moment."

"So what are you going to be doing until the bell rings?" asked Taylor. "I was gonna go with Emma to the library and see if they have any new science fiction books in. Wanna come with?"

"Actually, that sounds like a lot more fun than what I need to do," confessed Claire. "I need to go find all my classrooms so I don't get lost between classes."

"Can I see, please?" Emma held out her hand for the class list. Claire handed it over. "Okay then … looks like you've got Math with us, as well as English. And PE. How are you at dodgeball? They're very big on dodgeball here."

"I think they're very big on dodgeball everywhere," Claire replied dryly. "I'm okay, I guess."

"Anyway, it looks like English is your first. Where's your home room? Ah, okay. You're with Taylor in Mr Crandall's. I'm in Mrs Beeton's. You can come with us now, and Taylor can get you to English okay. Sound good?"

"Sounds awesome, actually," Claire replied. "Thanks for helping me out like this."

"That's okay," Taylor told her. "I like meeting new people and talking to them. I learn all sorts of interesting things that way. By the way, did you know that Emma's dad is a lawyer? Well, just a divorce lawyer, not a criminal lawyer, but we don't hold that against him. So what do your parents do? My dad's in the Dockworkers' Association and my mom's an English teacher. If you ever need help with your English homework, just say the word. If I don't know it, Mom will. She's really cool like that. I mean, she's not just a teacher teacher. She's a professor at the college …"

And they're off and running again … Claire met Emma's eyes; they shared a mutual grin and followed their bubbly friend toward, Claire figured, the library.

Taylor would indeed take a little getting used to, but as far as Claire could tell, it would definitely be worth the effort. Good friends, after all, were hard to find.

Danny Hebert stood up from his desk and stepped around it to meet his visitor. "Hello, ah, Mr Marchant, was it?"

"Earl Marchant, yes." The auburn-haired man shook his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to talk to me."

Danny's grin was a little self-conscious. "As someone who lives in a problem area of the city, I'm always willing to listen to someone who says that they can help with a solution."

Earl tilted his head. "If you'll excuse me for saying so, Brockton Bay has more than its share of problems. I can't guarantee to help with all of them, or even most of them. But some of them, definitely, yes."

"Some is better than none," Danny agreed. "And it's far better than being part of the problem, as some people in the city seem to want to be."

"I can honestly say that I came to this city to help solve its problems, not multiply them," Earl assured him. "Now, to show you what I want to help with, are you free to come for a drive?"

Danny paused, glancing at his desk. "I've got nothing that needs my attention right this very second." He stepped past Earl, into the outer office, where the receptionist sat at her desk. "Jude?"

The middle-aged woman – decorative she was not, but she knew her job backwards and forwards – looked around from where she was typing something into her computer. "Yes, Mr Hebert?"

"I'm going out for a bit. If you need me, call my cell."

"No problem, Mr Hebert." She turned back to her terminal and started typing again, fingers rattling the keys.

Danny turned to Earl. "So, where were you going to take me?"

"The ferry terminal."

Earl heard the mixed hope and curiosity in Danny's voice as Jonas pulled the car into the parking lot. "That's correct," he said. "I understand that you've been trying to get it started up again."

Danny turned to stare at him, then looked around, startled, as Jonas opened the passenger side door for him. Almost robotically, he got out, followed by Earl.

Jonas didn't need telling to stay with the car as Earl and Danny started toward the terminal proper. Danny tried several times to start a conversation, but Earl simply ignored him until they had mounted the steps to the patio overlooking the eponymous Bay. Earl leaned on the decorative stonework making up the safety rail, looking out toward the Protectorate headquarters. Talk about ostentatious …

"Okay, so talk," Danny tried once more. "What was that crack about?"

"What, starting up the ferry again?" Earl turned to face him. Leaning back against the rail, he shrugged elaborately. "No crack. It was merely a comment. We both know that it would allow people to commute to the city and back with relative ease, allowing more people to take jobs and hold them. Bringing affluence back into this part of the community."

Danny clenched his fists. "Yeah, all of that's true. Doesn't mean you're going to do more than talk about it, though."

Earl tilted his head. "Very true. And you've had this conversation a dozen times before, right? With people who promised the world and didn't deliver."

"Or flat-out told me that it didn't advance their agenda, so they'd back something else," Danny's voice was tight.

"Well, then. Allow me to put your mind at ease." Earl lounged against the stonework, his casual posture at odds with the intensity of his voice. "I want to see Brockton Bay thrive again. I want to invest in the city. If and when I need a workforce, I want to be able to call on the Dockworkers to provide the core of that workforce. And I agree with you; if the people living in and around the Docks are going to have a fair chance, then they need the ferry to be up and running."

"And you'll put your money toward that?"

"I'll put my money toward that."

For a long moment, Earl watched hope play over the face of the tall, skinny man before him. Here was a man who had lived through the worst times of Brockton Bay. It was hard for him to accept that there may actually be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Then Danny shook his head. "No. It'll never work."

Earl's head came up. "Why not?"

"No matter how much money you throw at it, the Mayor's office has the same old answer. You can't reopen the ferry just yet, not until the gangs and the drugs are no longer an issue. They don't want gang members or drug dealers to have an easy way to get into Downtown."

Earl let his eyes narrow just a little. "The drugs and the gangs … around here, that would be the Merchants, right?"

Danny looked at him intently. "You're right, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

It had quite a lot to do with it, as Earl well knew. Since the parahuman members of the Merchants had vanished quite literally overnight, the rest of the organisation had melted away like snow on a hot summer's day. As Marquis, he had found virtually zero resistance to moving in and laying claim to the area most adjacent to the ferry terminal.

Those in his area of control found their protection payments reduced to a pittance, while protection was actually a reality. Those men Claire deemed trustworthy had been given enhancements making them equivalent to low-level Brutes or Movers, allowing them to police those areas effectively. Those in the pay of Earl's enemies – and he had more than a few – were funnelled into their own groups where they spied upon one another and sent reports back to their various handlers.

"Well, then," Earl said quietly, "I was just wondering. When was the last time you saw any Merchant activity in Brockton Bay?" A long pause, while he met Danny's eyes. "Because I haven't seen any in quite some time."

Danny blinked. On the surface, the words were innocuous. But the meaning behind them was something else altogether. Marchant hadn't spoken loudly or boastfully, but his meaning had been clear. The Merchants are gone, and he had something to do with it. Or he knows who did.

The Brockton Bay underworld was a vast and seamy place, where it would be quite easy to lose one's sense of moral direction. Danny wasn't entirely unaware of it; in his time with the Dockworkers, he'd brushed shoulders with many persons of shady character. Some of these people were inclined to speak loudly, but were in the end of little consequence; others didn't talk much but by God, when they did, it was wise to listen.

He wasn't quite sure exactly how shady Earl Marchant was, but he was certain of two things. The first was that the man was deadly serious about getting Brockton Bay back on its feet. And the second was that Marchant was connected.

"Admittedly, neither have I," he agreed. "Well, let's assume that the Merchants are no longer an issue. With outside funding to get it all up and running, I should be able to talk the Mayor into letting it happen. But if you want commerce to really get going, there's something else in the way."

"Oh?" Marchant looked interested. "What is this obstacle of which you speak?"

Danny had the distinct impression that Marchant already knew and was just giving him the straight lines. However, it didn't change anything. Stepping to the outside curve of the rail, he pointed north. It wasn't all that far away, but even if it had been, it still would have been visible. A vast spread of ships, fifty or so at last count, rode at anchor or lay half-foundered within what had once been called Lord's Port.

"The Boat Graveyard," Danny pronounced the current name with distaste. "If we're going to have any chance at all, that's gotta go."

"Ah. Yes. That." Stepping up, Marchant shaded his eyes as he peered northward. "I see. Well then."

Something about his tone plucked at Danny's curiosity. That didn't sound like he was giving up.

"'Well then'?" he echoed. "What do you mean, 'well then'?"

Marchant smiled. "I mean," he replied, "well then. Challenge accepted."

Danny blinked again. Holy shit. He's serious.

End of Part Eight