Chương 25: A Soft Awakening

More of the crew arrived over the next half hour. They lugged a few essentials in canvas duffels with them. Their mood was far more subdued than that of the other sailors we'd encountered recently. Quiet, uncomfortable murmurs traveled between them. The captain greeted each of them with a nod and a tip of his hat. They nodded dutifully in return. Wynnie showed each of them to their rooms. Meanwhile, I went over some alarm service basics with the captain.

"I'll stay up until the crack of dawn to listen for bells from your ship. If I hear them, I'll ring this one here." I gripped the rope of the alarm bell that Wynnie introduced me to on my first night. It was the one over the entrance desk that she said she'd use to summon the constable.

"I'll ring it for a minute, and then I'll go room to room to make sure everyone is awake."

"Perfect. And at daybreak, you'll switch with the woman?"

"Right. Wynnie will get up early to get breakfast ready. She'll handle the alarm until your crew is up and about."

"Perfect, thank you. And since we haven't discussed coin, I assume the standard rate is fine?" I shrugged. Wynnie hadn't suggested a price. Who was I to negotiate an unknown sum for a service I'd never heard of in a world where I was still learning the ins and outs?

"Sounds good to me."

"Just in case you do need to wake us, I should settle our bill now. Six rooms plus mine, a five-copper rum allotment for each sailor, and the alarm service. Does that sound right?"

"Mostly. For the drinks, it's not rum, but it gets the job done. Is that okay?" He scratched his beard thoughtfully and readjusted his pipe. After a minute, he nodded.

"That's fine. Although you really should have rum. Let's talk later and see if we can work something out." Something fluttered in my chest. Either I was having heart palpitations, or that was genuine bartender excitement. He had something, that was for sure.

"Sounds good. And the sum comes to…" I started doing mental math, but immediately got stuck. I couldn't add in the alarm service without knowing what it ran. Fortunately, the captain was working out the numbers as well. Under his breath, he muttered out the arithmetic.

"Seven times eight for the rooms is five silver, four copper. Plus forty for the rum is nine silver and four. The alarm service adds two silver for ten, one, and four, total." He looked at me expectantly. I nodded slowly, trying not to smile too excitedly.

"That's what I got, too." One gold, one silver, and four copper? That was a king's ransom to us. He reached into his pocket and drew out a leather pouch tied together with a purple drawstring. He fished around for a few seconds and quickly looked annoyed.

"I can't be bothered to count that out. Can I just give you one gold and two silver on top?"

"Sure." I patted my pockets to see if I had any spare coin on me. No luck.

"I'll go get you your change." He waved me off.

"Don't bother. That'll just make it harder for me to sort through all this later."

"Are you sure?"

"Why don't you give me a sour and we'll call it even. We can skip the egg white though." I paused. Was now really the time to expand someone's horizons or their palate? No, clearly not. He was on edge because of the threat of piracy. He was also trying to limit his intake to keep his crew safe. Now was absolutely not the time to convince him to try a sour the way it was meant to be enjoyed—with raw, foamy egg white.

"Are you sure you don't want the egg white?" Too late. I said it. The bartender in me knew that it was the right thing to do. He could thank me later. Several seconds passed.

"Do you think I should?"

"Definitely. If you don't like it, I'll make you one without. No charge."

"Sounds weird."

"Protein." There was no getting away from how awkward that response was. Whenever I started talking to people in this world, it was like they handed me a shovel and I just started digging myself a hole. Every reflexive sentence that spilled from my dumb Earth-minded lips only made it deeper. No assurance of texture or flavor. No mention of improved looks. Just protein. The only thing I could do was immediately dart back behind the bar and begin making his sour.

I hadn't made a sour for anyone yet but myself, but the fundamentals were sure to hold up. Four parts booze, two parts lemon, one part simple, plus an extra splash. Protein. Bitters in and on top. My bitters concoction was proven through Old Fashioneds and ready to go. We'd tested it already—responsibly, I think. It wasn't classic, old-fashioned bitters, but it was remarkably close. Any bartender would trust it to add dimension to an otherwise simple cocktail.

For a moment I gazed silently at the bottle of dark brown sludge. The heft and aroma reminded me of when Zach and I made experimental bitters back on Earth. We'd used a series of jarringly bad bottom-shelf whiskeys and a handful of bitter components I had on hand. The results had been… unpleasant, but the memory still sent a flutter of nostalgic warmth through me. I added a small amount to a canning jar and began building the rest of the cocktail in there as well.

First went the alcohol, then the citrus, then the sugar, and finally the protein. I slapped a lid on the jar and shook it without ice until it was frothy. Then, I added ice, shook it a bit more, and poured it into a tumbler already loaded with more fresh ice. Before I handed it to him, I splattered a few drops of bitters over the top. Lastly, I expressed the oils from an orange peel over the top of the frothy egg white head. The foam crackled audibly as a few bubbles popped before settling. It looked gorgeous.

Definitely Instagram-ready.

"Here's your sour. With egg white, the way the gods intended." He tried his first sip as two more of his crew came out into the main room. The captain didn't look at them. He didn't even acknowledge them. Instead, his eyes grew as big as the setting sun over the sea, and he stared at me with a terrifying intensity. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. I'd never been punched in the face before, but suddenly I realized that was always an option.

"This is incredible. Are you a wizard?" I laughed in relief. I'd been accused of being a cocktail wizard before.

"Not exactly."

"An illusionist? Did you cast a charm spell on the ingredients? On me?"

"... No?"

"What kind of arcane glamour is this? This is sorcery! I've never had anything like this." His crewmates came over to see what the excited cries of delight and disbelief were all about. He took another sip, giving himself a foamy egg white mustache.

"Where did you learn to make this?" At this point, I knew better than to say that I was from the Far Shores. But knowing better and doing better are two different things.

"The Far Shores." Dammit.

"Farther ones, though. Different lands."

Some of the crew were already ordering their second round by the time Wynnie finished dinner. She brought out a steaming cast-iron pot that filled the room with warmth. She set it on a hot pad on the bar, then disappeared back into the kitchen to get the sliced loaves with butter. By the time all the places were set, the rich smell of beef stew with potatoes, carrots, and celery filled the room. Despite the tense atmosphere shared by the sailors, the first round of egg white sours had eased their spirits slightly.

With a fire burning slowly in the hearth, casting a comfortable orange glow, and the room filled with bodies, the Breakwater Inn suddenly felt like a home. After Wynnie served every sailor their hot meal, she stood behind the bar with me, watching. The two of us quietly ladled soup into our mouths, occasionally dipping in some crusty bread to soak the broth.

"I can hardly believe this."

"What, that you didn't burn the stew?" She snorted, then whacked me playfully on the chest.

"Okay, that too. But look! We have a full house! I've never had a full house before."

"Congratulations, Wynnie. I knew you had it in you." She looked at me warmly.

"I could never have done this on my own. I owe this all to you." I shook my head.

"I just gave you the push you needed. And maybe a bit of direction. But you need to give yourself way more credit." She looked down, smiling into her stew. A thought occurred to me just then.

"You know, we could make a bit more coin if we let out my room for the night." She stopped sipping her spoonful mid-slurp. A beat passed.

"I already did. The captain added two silver for the inconvenience."

"You did? Wait, where'd you put my stuff? In storage?"

"It's in my room." A light flush rose to her cheeks.

"I figured you could just crash in there when we do the changing of the guard."

"So, sharing a room? How bold," I teased, causing her to hide even further in her half-finished bowl.

"How very… friendly of you." The captain approached us then, wearing an inscrutable expression. His jaw worked slightly, as though he were practicing a question. I stood at attention.

"How can I help you?"

"I was just thinking... one more sour now might help me sleep better. The rest of the crew will be out in a minute, but I got an early start on my first drink so..." I'd heard this before. Usually, when someone starts bargaining for another drink, it means they know they're not supposed to have one. And usually, so long as they're not too visibly intoxicated for me to legally serve them, I let them succeed in their quest. After all, their consequences are their own. They know what they're getting themselves into.

They've already decided that they can live with the ramifications of their action. They're just looking for outside validation or enablement to make it happen. Usually, I'm more than happy to oblige. That's the core of hospitality. Plus, this was an important guest. I wanted to make him happy. Yet somehow, this situation seemed different from the others I'd been in. Maybe it was Wynnie's suggestion of pirates and the subdued mood of the crew.

Or perhaps I was still trying to do better, in whatever vague way I could.

"Captain, if you really want one, I'll give you a third. However, I have to recommend against it."

"Because you don't think it would be fair to the crew?" I glanced at the mostly untouched punch that we'd made in anticipation of their arrival. The sours had proven exceptionally popular. The problem was, they were all pretty strong.

"It's not about fairness. Each sour has about the same amount of alcohol as one and a half flagons of ale. Essentially, two drinks are actually the equivalent of three drinks." He nodded thoughtfully.

"So you won't serve me four and a half?"

"I will, but I think you'd be mad at me in the morning. More importantly, you might be mad at yourself." He mulled this over for a few seconds. His calloused, cracked fingers scratched deeply into his graying blonde beard. After a minute, he nodded.

"You just talked yourself out of some coin, you know?"

"I know. But if there are pirates nearby," I glanced at his reaction to see if our guess was right. He nodded gravely, but almost imperceptibly, "Then I want to make sure you're in full command of your faculties and your crew." He let out a heavy, burdened sigh. His hand slapped the wood surface of the bar top with a loud whack.

"In that case, I don't suppose you could give us another round of stew and bread? I've got a hungry crew who haven't enjoyed good cooking in several days." I grinned at that. Wynnie had served generous portions, but there was still more than enough left for everyone to get a smaller second helping if they wanted it. She nodded at me encouragingly. Then, as if that didn't get the message across, she whispered her prices for extra board into my ear.

"One copper per second portion of stew, plus another for the loaf. And don't worry, Drew. If there's not enough left for us, we can fill up on scones!" I couldn't tell if she was more excited by the extra cash or the potential for scones.

"Sounds as though you have coin burning a hole through your pouch. If you want to spend it on a meal for you and your mates, we'd be happy to oblige. Two silver for seconds all around!" Wynnie gawped at my last-minute price hike.

"That's a bargain," the captain said. Minutes later, we were two silver richer, and a round of appreciative thanks rose from the tables of sailors. It was uncanny watching how well synced up they were. Every sailor was dressed in the same outfit. Smart blue tunics were tucked into flowing black pants. All their uniforms were tied together with golden yellow sashes. Everything else they wore was personal expression. A hat, an earring, a bauble in a beard.

I was getting the impression that the captain ran a tight ship. Since I first woke up in this world, all I'd seen was a sleepy fishing port. Apparently, there was a lot more going on outside of Seaport. At some point, I was going to want to explore. When it was just me and Wynnie again behind the bar, she nudged up against me. With a sharp nod of her head, she indicated the untouched punch bowl within reach.

"Fancy a quick drink?" It was only one drink. One drink never hurt. It was always the second that started the trouble. Yet the first drink made the second so much easier. Tonight, the stakes seemed too high.

"I think we should hold off. It'll still be there tomorrow." Wynnie pouted.

"Fine. You're no fun." I shrugged.

"I've never dealt with pirates before. I guess I'm a little on edge. And no, I don't want a drink to take the edge off," I added, knowing immediately what she'd opened her mouth to say. She crossed her arms and harrumphed. Wynnie finished her meal and began cleaning up after everybody. I stayed behind the bar, serving the the last rum ration to those who hadn't already gotten it. It resulted in a few additional copper, since almost everyone had gotten egg white sours as their first drink.

The night's total was one gold, four silver, and three copper. Judging by what I understood The Good Inn's prices to run, this crew had probably saved at least a gold total. Maybe two. Yet despite the small volume of coins, my pouch felt weighty. I felt rich, the way I did when a late party comes in on a Saturday night before closing and they shower you with tips for serving them a few minutes after last call. Finally, sailors began retiring to their rooms.

Wynnie stopped in to say goodnight before she did the same.

"You'll wake me at first light?"

"Yep. Want me to give you an extra fifteen minutes to sleep in?" She smiled.

"You're sweet, but you deserve sleep too." She rubbed my arm, letting her hand linger for a few seconds. An unspoken energy crackled between us like static electricity. She dropped her hand and waved good night. The captain approached shortly after.

"You and your wife run a fine establishment here."

"Oh, she's not my wife."

"But you'd like her to be. Maybe not tomorrow, but someday." It wasn't a question. I wasn't sure what to say to that, so I simply let the statement hang. He leaned in closer.

"You know, we're a day behind schedule now that we've stopped. I'm going to have to drive my crew hard to make up for lost ground. I bet I could keep their spirits up if I could take some of your sours to go with me."

"I wouldn't do that with the egg white," I said, thinking about the logistics.

"But if you bring me a cask, I can send you on your way with the punch we made."

"Will the crew like it?"

"No. They'll love it." He smiled conspiratorially.

"You've got yourself a deal. Do you just want the gold, or are you interested in a trade?" Well, now he had my attention. Gold could get us pretty far, but I had the sneaking suspicion that what he had to trade could be worth far more to us. After all, he had mentioned doing something about our lack of rum earlier in the day. I leaned in as well until we were mere inches apart.

"Gold is always welcome, but what did you have in mind?"