A dockworker


“Yeah, sure they’s scrappy, they’s harderan a doxybox. An sure I was all whettin trousers to says my word and don a Palluda as a wee-wot, jus’ like every other piss-faced kid in the ditch. And why wouldn’t I? I was getting less trim n’a dead cat, and theys all hot twixt the legs for them blights like they had a chance. (feigns a falsetto voice) Oh, oi just knooooow he’d take me on off, make me his meton just like the stooooories, him with his head so shiny and his hands clean, I bet his arse smells of dandyloins! Baugh! Glad I came to me senses and took an honest man’s job afore it was too late. Sure It breaks my back and cracks my teeth, buts honest, see. I get my money, I spend it, I work more. No glory, no getting my name in a book, no fightin off the drippin’ virgees, and no muckin about when it’s down t’who I am or whether I’m trustworthy. (Lowers his voice to a whisper) Everyone knows that the stiggos* have all the credd and all the machinamagi in the world, ev’n more than them blighted merchants. But they never does nothing with it does they? (gives a significant glance) You’d think they was broke twren’t for theys always clean. Those morologes in the ‘tory ‘d throw ‘em positions and duties and honors like they was caught afire give em half a chance, if they’d thought there was potentia for em in it. We’d put a Palluda in the box quicker’n flick of my tail, but they never says aye, do they? They never lets ol’ Jorus barter for no machinmagi neither, does they? What is they hiding? Why not spread the wealth, a little tit for tat. That’s the question chummy, that’s the one.”

*(an offensive synecdochal term for members of the order, derived from their word “stigmii:” the peculiar marking-branding tattoos and hairless patches denoting true initiated members)


The Blue Rose Cycle laz36502