Jack Of All Trades ✓ | steampunk, dragons, trickery

Chapter 6.3: Kill for the Ship

"I will not-" Reginald paused and called Suzie. The waitress hurried over and then after hearing his words, went first to the middle-aged man in the corner to talk to him. Then the man stood, paid, and scurried out. Next, she turned towards Jack.

But I don't want him to leave yet, she thought. Why me?

I see. I see. Jack stood and said, "My, what a mighty airship! Is this the latest model? But it looks slightly different from a Gereau."

There was a piggish grunt. "Prali."

"Excuse me?" Jack turned to Potato Sir.

"Prali Nogwash designed," he said with a snort, "noit even made yet." Each and every word came carefully after the other as if to let them sink into Jack's head with meaningful purpose.

"Splendid!" Jack smiled. "I once piloted an airship, sir. A Timothy Thompson, sir. I couldn't help but notice the—oh," He stopped and shook his head, "pardon. I'm Jack Ogswold, sir. It's an honor to make your acquaintance at long last, I hope I'm not intruding," he said, walking over to the table and giving a bow.

Reginald's eyes lit up. "The Jack Ogswold?"

Jack laughed. "Fine day it is that the great Sir Reginald has heard of me!"

Reginald gave a belly laugh. "Sir Reginald is only within the royal grounds, if I am to act still as a noble duke, yet, I have since left the lavish life and find myself here, giving to the poor, do you see, lad? It's much a fulfilling, but less extravagant, still, a man does deserve a bit to flaunt for the ladies, does he not?" He laughed again.

"Truly, truly! I have yet to see you at the Kaleidoscope, sir. I hope maybe next time—"

"Dustbench!" Reginald snapped his fingers, nearly flipping over the table, "I always miss it. When is the next one, Sammie, dear, my love, tell me what is a man's schedule this week?"

Sammie dear my love? Jack hid his face of disgust behind a mask of a smile. He's married to this leek? Or just lovers?

Jack kept on smiling. "I have yet to decide the next, sir. Perhaps during Mayfield Week? But it's all still up in the air, you see, Ann Smithe has got a horrible illness and the rest—"

"You don't say?" Reginald plastered a look of obviously fake concern on his face.

"May not be able to host for a while, sir, as you know, there is no Kaleidoscope without Ann Smithe."

"Hmm," Reginald grunted.

"Good day, sir," Jack said. He had just made a move to turn back when suddenly Reginald stood, nearly knocking over the table again.

"Suzie!" he roared.

Now what, Suzie thought in a whine, coming into the dine.

"Tell your boss, when he next appears," Reginald began in a low, intimidating voice, "to call me. His rent is overdue five months." He spat the last two words. A pale clump of something flew from his mouth. Then he flipped the table. Jack side-stepped out of the way. Plates crashed, food went to waste, and Suzie visibly trembled.

Reginald walked around the mess and jabbed a finger in her face. She flinched. "And don't you go asking me to pay for that dung-tasting food." He made a strange slurping sound and spat at her face. Bits of food, saliva, and all-around disgusting goop smeared all over her. Her eyes glossed over. When she reached to wipe her face the leek, wherever she had gotten such strength, grabbed hold of the waitress' arm, and whispered something to her.