Frederick
Frederick stepped out into the morning and took a deep inhale of briny air. There was never time to stop and take in his surroundings, but he made sure to enjoy the breath. A man could get complacent, but not Frederick. The taste of the ocean in the air was always a delight. There was a bounce in his step as his heavy boots pounded across the old rough timbers of the Faucberg harbor. He had just gotten a rare win out of the harbor master: he would run a ship down to Triton’s Bay as a favor, and in exchange, the harbor master agreed to let Frederick bring in a shipment of Ebolian spices; highly desirable by Covidia’s wealthy elites. By law, the harbor master’s responsibilities were given to the general of the Faucberg navy. Traditionally, this set of responsibilities was delegated to a friend that was coasting into retirement. When Frederick was coming up, the old man who served as harbor master paid almost no attention to the port and enabled all manner of tomfoolery. But then leadership changed, and Grand General Igor McCalister decided to fix the port himself. He ran a no-nonsense operation, and soon every grain of rice coming into the city and every ounce of blubber leaving was accounted for. The boat masters had to get their shit together quickly, but after a few years, they fell into line. The real riffraff were stripped of their licenses and slips if they were caught smuggling. Frederick would never admit that he toed the line whenever possible, but carried a healthy respect for the consequences. His whole adult life was spent building his fleet and business.
Usually, McCalister liked to keep people in lanes. That meant that Frederick was the fish guy, and only the fish guy. But Frederick knew the general had a son at Triton’s School of Magic to the south. Frederick also knew, as everyone else in the city did, that King Triton himself had recently lost his marbles. Overnight, the school’s doors had closed when its headmaster, the King, fled to live a life of solitude in the woods. McCalister’s son was among a few hundred wizard and witch wannabes cast out onto the street. McCalister could never send a naval ship for a personal matter, it would be a misuse of government resources. To boot, the timing of commercial shipments to Triton’s Bay was exactly wrong- the general wouldn’t see his son for a month. Hell, it might even be faster to take a wagon! But of course that was a long and dangerous journey. Luckily Frederick’s fastest ship was in port and its next assignment could be rearranged. A quick trip to the city to grab some corn and the general’s son would go a long way. The chance to bring in Ebolian spices was just the opportunity that could change Frederick’s life forever.
Frederick walked the harbor towards his slips to get the crews ready. As he approached he saw Hob, his most senior fisherman, chatting with a man Frederick didn’t know. Hob had been “promoted” dockside; he was too old and fragile to be trusted on deck anymore. Frederick thought the man could be useful in organizing and assisting the crews, but so far he had proven to be a long-winded gossip that could talk the ears off a corn stalk.
“G’morning, Fred. This here’s Kevin.” Kevin reached out a hand and spoke.
“Nice to meet you, I’ve heard a lot of great things.” Frederick was annoyed to be roped into the conversation, but he was in a good mood and didn’t feel like being rude.
“Hi Kevin, is Hob here holding you back from something important?”
“Not at all! I was hoping to meet you, actually.”
“Oh?”
Hob spoke up now. “Kevin’s an organizer for the movement.” Frederick tried to keep a poker face. An eye-roll threatened mutiny, but he stopped it. Kevin must have seen Frederick’s demeanor change because he quickly put out his hands.
“A lot of misconceptions about the movement, I’ll admit. But that’s why I’m out in the town, trying to spread the message.”
“I appreciate what ya’ll are doing,” Frederick said. “But I don’t want any trouble.”
“No no, of course not. The peaceful protests, those are ours. The looters and robbers that were out last week were using the movement as a disguise- we had nothing to do with those troublemakers. Really, all we’re trying to do is get the governor and parliament’s attention. You play by a set of rules on this dock: there’s an ordinance for every nail that gets put in a ship, am I right?”
He was right. Frederick nodded; his whole job was mastering the multitude of laws put in place for trading between the various cities. Kevin continued.
“Right now, there isn’t a single law directed at magic users: they follow the same rules as the rest of us even though they won the lottery at birth. The movement seeks common-sense legislation to protect those of us that can’t cast from those that can. Did you know that the union in Ironforge was completely disbanded? That’s right; a group of wizards came in and took hundreds of dwarven jobs with a few flicks of the wrists. It might seem far away, but before you know it Faucberg will have to deal with the same thing.”
“Just imagine it, Fred,” Hob waved his hands in the air. “Some hotshot goes out one day in a ship by himself and comes back with more fish than you ever seen. We’d be fucked.”
Frederick nodded along. He really had to get going. Of course it was possible, but so far Frederick had never heard of a magician aiming their talents at the fishing economy, and he didn’t give two shits about dwarves out of work. Instead his mind saw opportunity; if more minerals were coming out of Ironforge, surely they’d need to run additional ships to keep up with increasing supply. A rising tide lifts all boats, and Frederick’s nose was always sniffing for the next big thing.
“I know your time is valuable,” Kevin continued. “Just wanted to introduce myself and make sure you had the facts.”
“Well I appreciate it.” Frederick moved to walk away, but Kevin put up a hand.
“Just curious, if you’ll indulge me. Hob here says the harbor master really… what’s the phrase you used?” Hob smiled wide.
“Puts our balls in a vise.”
“Yeah… that.” Kevin looked back at Frederick. “McCalister seems to piss off a lot of folks around these docks. Just curious if you might be in favor of a regime change, if ever an opportunity arose?” Frederick does not shit where he eats.
“The Grand General has done great work turning this port around. I’ll work under anyone running the port, it’s none of my business. And that’s all I have to say on that.” Frederick stalked away to get his crews in order .
Next Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/01/27/resistance-chapter-2/
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