5. The Southern Docks, Part 3

Rosalyn started with Henry - he seemed much more pleasant. The two paced around the edge of the docks, watching the operations unfold. As much as Rosalyn was watching Henry, Henry was watching the docks. “I work in R&D for Goldpearl Co., helping to come up with ways to make life in Fogport a little easier on people.” he explained as Rosalyn speedily jotted down every word. “I’ve designed these lamps, that lighthouse, even a couple of weapons… but that stuff’s not my sort of thing. I’m just a tinkerer, really.”

“How’d you get involved with Goldpearl out here in Fogport?” Rosalyn asked.

Henry laughed. “What, do I really stick out like a sore thumb that much?”

Rosalyn blushed a little. “That’s not what I meant, but your outfit is definitely… interesting.”

“It’s to keep me cool. I know Fogport seems chilly to most people, but I’m from Boraldra. Waaaayyy in the North of Blackwater.” Henry explained. Rosalyn’s ears perked up. It was rare to see someone from Boraldra out in the rest of Blackwater. A frozen sheet of shadowy ice, where the Abyssal Ocean froze into a gelid glacial expanse, home mostly to the ruins of more ancient societies now preserved in the ice like bugs in amber. What few people lived up there mostly stayed there, too adapted to the cold to find normal temperatures comfortable.

“I was born in a village up there. I would have died up there too, without having made something of myself, if Goldpearl hadn’t set up a shipping corridor through the ice.” Henry continued. “They broke through the glaciers with this giant icebreaker ship… I had seen magick and monsters all over, but seeing something made by man’s hands like that just inspired me, I guess.”

Now Henry looked a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, you probably don’t care about any of that… it’s rude for me to go on about myself, without asking you where you’re from.”

Rosalyn stopped in her tracks. “Well, I’m interviewing you after all, not the other way around.” she chuckled, but Henry’s warm smile made her reconsider. “I guess since you asked, I’m… I’m not really ‘from’ anywhere. I was born on a tiny island, not even big enough to show on a map, separate from any of the regions or kingdoms of Blackwater. But the world beyond my shores always fascinated me, and somehow I was able to go to school at Darkwell University, where I became a full-fledged Ink Wizard.” Rosalyn explained. “And now, I help people track down the truth.”

Lots of that was bullshit, but some of it was true. Just enough to build rapport, but not enough to give Henry anything useful. He seemed nice enough, but Rosalyn had met lots of people who just seemed nice enough. “Right! You’re helping Officer Ahab with a case. I haven’t heard anything through the grapevine, is something wrong?”

“It’s not an official ‘case’ yet, since we’re trying to keep things calm. But Chief Ahab’s brother, Elliott, has been missing for the past few days. He was last seen working a night shift here on this dock, but nobody’s seen him since. Did you see him here, two nights ago? Have you seen him much before that?”

Henry’s face turned to sympathy. “Oh God, poor Catherine… no, no I haven’t seen him that night. I’m barely even here most of the time, but now that you say that I’m thinking I should be.” the inventor continued. “He seems to be well-liked here on the ports. What little I’ve heard makes me doubt someone would try to HURT him, especially considering the hellfire his sister would reign down… but I also know he can be a bit reckless for his own good. He nearly caught himself on fire trying to figure out how one of my lamps worked.” Henry chuckled, before returning to solemnity.

“Did you ever speak with him? Do you remember the last time you did?”

“Last I really spoke to him was a few months ago, I think. He told me he wanted to learn more about the ships themselves, engineering and whatnot. He mentioned he was hoping to move on from dock work, see the world a bit. I felt the same thing when I was his age, so I guess I empathize. I hope you find him.” Henry tried to muster a smile.

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Elliott was trying to leave Fogport? Maybe he’s not in the city at all. Rosalyn thought. “Is it possible he left on one of the ships?”

Henry paused for a moment. “Maybe, but I doubt it. The shipworkers keep pretty bulletproof logs of everything: cargo, crew, passengers… I doubt he’d be authorized to be on any of these ships, and he’d be probably be caught if he tried to stow away, but you’d need to ask Vimes about that. He runs the logistics, and while he and I have our disagreements, he runs a pretty tight ship.”

Rosalyn shut her journal. “Well, I appreciate all that Mr. Wintour. Is there anything else you think could be of help?”

Henry shook his head after a long, pensive silence. “No, but if you need me, Chief Ahab knows where my lab is. Feel free to drop by any time.” he smiled.

Then, after taking a few steps back towards the middle of the docks, she heard Henry call out again. “Actually Detective, there is one thing! Maybe Catherine already told you about this, but I can think of some people who might want to hurt Elliott.” the inventor shouted, and Rosalyn turned, journal unfurled again. “Things have been heating up in Fogport between Goldpearl and these fanatics, the Mysticet. We’ve had problems with Ghost Whales out in the Misty Sea, bullying our ships and the like, but any intervention we’ve tried to take to protect our crews has been hit hard by these guys.”

Henry started to sound genuinely angry, even more so than with Vimes. It was a direct, steady anger, still controlled by an intelligent mind but obviously churning with energy, like a bullet rather than an explosion. “Yeah, Chief Ahab mentioned that. What else have you heard?”

“I mean we’ve all heard the same things, it isn’t like they try to hide it. They’ve sabotaged our building projects, harassed our workers… I won’t go on but they aren’t big fans of the Police here, and so if I had to think of someone who wanted to get at Catherine it’d be them.” Henry explained. “Damn pagans…” he spat. “Sorry, I try not to talk bad about people’s faith, but I just… well I won’t bore you. Best of luck with finding Elliott, Detective Darc.”

And with that, Henry’s smile returned, and the two parted ways.

* * *

Vimes was up next, although it was hardly an interview. Rosalyn could barely get a word in edgewise over the guttural barking of Vimes’ orders.

“Is there any chance Elliott would want to leave Fogport? Would he be able to, without anyone knowing?” Rosalyn asked.

“If you want to know if we have stowaways, the answer is no. Frankly, I’m a bit insulted you’d even ask. And no way in hell could Elliott pay for a ticket without dipping into his sister’s savings.” Vimes barked. “RINGO! PICK UP THE PACE! THIS ISN’T YOU TRYING TO PUT YOUR SWEATY MOVES ON SOME BROAD, SO STOP SLOW DANCIN’ WITH THE CARGO!”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well the kid misses a shift every other week, sometimes more. Ducks out early at the end of the week. He’s lazy. But I don’t need his firecracker of a sister lighting a flame under my ass, so he’s worth keeping around as insurance.” Vimes explained. “By the way, this is all confidential, right? You’re not technically a cop, so you’d be a narc if you told this to Cat.”

Rosalyn mimed locking her lips and tossing the key into the harbour. “Is Elliott close with anyone here at work? Chief Ahab told me he has a friend here, a dockworker named ‘Deerin Azary’?” she asked, flipping through her journal.

“Azary? Kid’s worse than Elliott. Plays hooky all the damn time, pulls the most bullshit excuses… fever, stomach ache, religious holiday. I don’t know why the hell you’re bothering me about this stuff, those two slackers are probably passed out drunk in a gutter somewhere.” Vimes winged. “Fuckin’ pagans. That whole religion is just built on holidays to get off workin’.”

Rosalyn’s eyes widened. “Religion? What religion is he?”

“I can’t pronounce it, I just call them ‘Whalefuckers’.” Vimes giggled.

“He’s Mysticet? W-When does he work here?”

“Azary? He’s here right now.”

Vimes pointed a nonchalant thumb behind him into a crowd of dockworkers carrying cargo across the harbour. Hurriedly, the Detective spun around, her cloak flitting behind her as she looked to see a young man - skinny, acne’d, and with greasy gray hair - standing nervously in the middle of the harbour. When their eyes locked, a guilty look crossed Deerin’s face, and the pale boy turned and ran.