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On deck, the shouts of orders and replies faded in her mind as she saw the city taking life in front of her. The people on the docks appraised the ship as if it were of no more significance than a mug of ale being put before them.
Waves sloshed, and somewhere in the distance, tar burned—from the odour, enough to coat Melos. The city stank.
Gidley waited, watching everything. His legs were braced for the ship’s nudge against the dock. The quartermaster steered and Stubby coiled rope. One adjustment to a sail always meant another loosening or tightening would be needed somewhere else.
Gidley had already placed the huge rolls of rope on the outside of the ship, which kept the sides from knocking constantly against the dock while in port. He stood, brow furrowed and showing no pleasant emotion about the chance to leave Ascalon.
Preparing herself to be jolted, Melina was surprised when the ship eased in with little more than a brush.
Melina wished she could slip into this new world as easily as the ship had. She’d have to find her father. She put her hopes in a man who’d left her to starve the past few years. But surely he wouldn’t feel the same if she stood in front of him.
Until she found her father, she was at the mercy of a man who cursed his wife’s name and when he looked at her after he said the words, he glared.
* * *
Warrington had sent Stubby for a hackney as soon as the ship docked and ushered her inside the carriage before she had a chance to look around.
Melina used a fingertip to edge back the carriage window shade so she could peer outside. Warrington insisted she not make a spectacle of herself and keep concealed. Never mind she’d just shared a vessel with over thirty able-bodied seamen—now he told her she would have to go about with a chaperon. An odd world.
She would have hated waiting to begin her search, but the sights in London amazed her. Melina had never imagined such wealth and such vibrancy. She could hardly believe what she saw. No city could be more alive. With so much activity, she wondered if the city ever slowed, even at night.
Melina didn’t know how the size of the city compared to Melos, but she imagined the whole of her island wouldn’t hold London. And she felt smaller and smaller.
* * *
The front of Warrington’s town house wasn’t grand compared to many others she’d peeked at during the carriage ride, but a sturdy shape, and beyond any dreams she might have imagined while on Melos. Curtains billowed outside, through the open windows, and she saw a young boy, pail in hand, trotting from the back of the house on some errand.
She could imagine telling her sisters about the city and not being able to convince them of the size. No one could create such a picture with words. More horses and carriages than she knew existed in the whole of the world. And people shouting out, and sometimes the drifting smell of baked goods pleasantly covering the more usual odours caused by so many people so tightly packed together.
When the carriage stopped, Warrington helped her to the paving stones.
‘If you think of this as Ben’s home,’ he said, standing at the door, ‘it will make more sense. Dane and I have lived in it at one time or another—and we all move in and out of it. But Ben stores his collections here.’ He looked to the house. ‘Dane and I refer to it as Seascrape.’
The house was set among other similar dwellings, close to the street, and three levels of windows, with a front that looked as fresh as if it had been completed the day before.
When the door opened, a man stood there, looking down. This giant of a man well outstripped any person she’d ever seen and he would have been frightening if not for the humour in his face. His upturned lips looked to stay in place at all moments of the day and if he were ever moved to tears, he’d still be smiling.
‘Ah, my lord,’ he said, giving a proper bow. He wore breeches, one leg of the clothing hanging a hand width too low as it appeared to have lost the securing button just below the knee. His yellow vest had a shine to it and his cravat was of the same colour. His brown woollen coat kept his clothes from overpowering the sun, but not by much.
‘Step inside. Step inside.’ He moved back. ‘We’ve made the house up pretty for when you and Captain Ben arrived.’
‘He’ll be staying on Ascalon a little longer than expected, Broomer.’ Warrington stepped inside the door and gave his hat to the man. ‘The ship needs repairs—and so does he. He’s limping around, grumbling and groaning because a wave tossed him into a spar.’
Broomer frowned.
War nodded. ‘It was close, but he’s tough. And he looks to be mending good as ever.’
