Harvest Season

1. Sailors and Plagues

"UM...SIR, I'M AFRAID that mask isn't allowed on The W.A.S MERCURY."

Blakely narrowed his eyes at the pale sailor. The boy's cheeks already had a yellow flush from the putrid stench of rotting fish, and his uniform was dirty from the grime of the boiler room. Finally above deck, the poor child was seeing the sun for the first time in weeks, up until an eagle-like beak had eclipsed the sun's rays. It cast a sharp, aquiline shadow on his cheek, and when he had glanced up, there Blakely was, donned in his trench coat and scowl.

"Why not?" Blakely asked indignantly. 

He did so with the stubborn whine of a child who had just been told no, except that child was six-feet tall and wearing a plague doctor mask in broad daylight. Maybe he never got the memo? Was it strange to wear plague doctor masks in the 19th century? 

"Masks are harmless," Blakely said in response, then knocked his mask for effect. At the clank of metal, he winced, rubbed his bruised knuckles, cursed it very, very loudly, muttered a few more expletives even the sailor boy had never heard, and smiled his shark-grin. "See?"

The boy was dubious. 

"Yes...sir...?" he grimaced, but it was more of a question. "But, it's erm. . . a bit sharp." Dear Lord please don't put me through this, the boy silently prayed. The last thing he needed was a difficult, argumentative passenger.

Blakely stared at the boy for a few seconds in silence. Then he huffed, puffed, removed his mask and shoved it at the sailor. There was a stifled gag before the boy, after dancing around its sharp tip, placed the mask in the barrel left of him.

"Scratch it and I'll scratch your face o—"

"—Woah there," Abis interrupted. 

He smiled that polite lawyer smile—you know the smile an attorney would do for an insufferable client they had, but were getting paid to clean up after? Abis's smile was exactly that, and you could have mistaken it for the sun with the way it blindsided everyone within a three-metre radius.

In fact, Blakely's grumbling faded to white noise as Abis's bright smile, a light source in and of itself, momentarily stunned the sailor boy. "Excuse him. Born that way, he was," Abis said, chancing a pitiful side-look at Blakely who was still grumbling.

The sailor boy smiled, and Abis handed him his only luggage—a brown burlap bag and 10 metres of hemp rope.

Usually, Blakely would carry out his missions alone, but the current one seemed to dwarf any of his previous assignments in importance. For that, HQ required him to complete it with the aid of Abis, a Mercury. Yet, besides their swift running, time-travelling, and tendency to disappear and reappear whenever it suited them, Blakely rendered a mercury's help completely useless. 

Especially this one's. He was a useless, incompetent dimwit who smelled like cheap cologne—and it was starting to make Blakely break out into a rash. 

Beside him, Abis came to a halt and pat his shoulder. His hand seemed to linger awkwardly for a while, but just when Blakely was getting annoyed, Abis directed his attention elsewhere. 

"Don't you feel the tiniest bit stupid walking around looking like that, Sir Blasius?" Abis asked as he surveyed the deck.

Blakely scrunched up his nose at Abis's remark and nearly snapped Abis's hand in two. "You know, you emphasising my code name doesn't help either, Mr Bingley."

Abis was such a freak for Jane Austen. When Blakely had heard about his partner's code name, he was surprised Abis could even read. He must have been deaf instead, because all Abis did was smile sweetly as if he hadn't at all heard anything.