Lucky Pt. 03

Lucky's bicep burned as he slowly curled his arm, straining a little as he drew the thick iron weight level with his chin, feeling the sweat collect on his forehead and body, making his thin shirt cling to his back. Three of the older boys, Sharky, Birdy and Mutt were topless and in their usual spot in front of the large mirrored wall, where they could admire their well-honed bodies and loudly encourage each other to lift increasingly heavy dumbbells.

When he'd first started coming here he'd got a fair amount of stick regarding his lack of muscle. He'd been pretty lean when he'd first arrived, as skinny as a stray dog, a result of living hand-to-mouth on the streets for several years where he and Eamon had had to fight for every meal. But thanks to Cookie's calorie-heavy meals and long afternoons of exertion he'd bulked up a little now and they usually left him alone.

He'd lost his thickly tangled mass of hair too. Madam liked her boys to have short, neat hair, and it had been shaved down to little more than stubble by a local barber a few days after he'd started. The barber, a swarthy middle-aged man who ironically had no hair of his own, visited regularly and it wasn't just the hair on their heads that was kept well-trimmed. Madam also prioritised hygiene and cleanliness, so they also had to keep their bodily and pubic hair short too. A doctor came and examined them weekly for any signs of venereal disease; it wouldn't look good if one of their members caught something.

It wasn't just the weight-lifting that was improving his physique, there was a seemingly never-ending list of chores as well. As the new boy he generally got the ones that no-one else wanted. Hauling coal and wood up from the market for the boiler, cleaning the toilets, scrubbing the front steps, making the beds. He didn't mind though, however hard he worked in the day there was always a warm, safe bed to fall into at night. He reckoned it was still better than the constant struggle of life on the streets.

He'd quickly fallen into a routine at the Madam's house. After breakfast, he'd spent the morning doing whatever chores he was assigned on the rota; today it was sweeping the floors downstairs and carrying several large bags of potatoes up to the pantry. After he was done, he grabbed an apple from the kitchen and headed outside.

It was a cool spring day, the sky overcast and gloomy, a fresh breeze sweeping in off a steely sea making him shiver and draw his jacket tighter as he skipped down the broad stone steps. He liked to get out into the fresh air at least once a day, and Tuesdays were generally quieter allowing him to take a longer walk. He headed off down the broad tree-lined streets towards the docks, past carpenters' row with its sounds of sawing and hammering, and its rich fragrance of sawdust.

Further down the hill, in the shadow of the guildhall, there was a small crowd gathered around a man standing on a soapbox. Lucky paused, listening to the man espousing the virtues of democracy, arguing for an elected leader, and insisting that everyone should be entitled to have a say in how the empire was run. Some gold cloaks loitered nearby, looking edgy and having a muttered conversation as if debating whether to get involved, or maybe wait for some assistance from someone more senior. As a rule, you were allowed to have your say as long as you stuck to general themes like politics and systems of government, and avoided directly criticising the royal family. Lucky had seen this particular man many times before and so reckoned he was probably smart enough to avoid a night in the dungeons.

He wasn't arguing for anything new and Lucky had heard it all before in the local inns. The drunks all seemed to think they could solve the world's ills after a few ales. It all sounded good in theory but what made someone like him think he was a better leader than the Queen, a woman who'd spent all her life being groomed to lead? Had watched how the King and his advisors had ruled and kept the peace first-hand. He was implicitly criticising her wealthy, privileged life and yet didn't that wealth put her above the kind of corruption that dogged local business and politics?

He shook his head and moved on, pushing through the crowd that had gathered, some listening quietly, some already heckling.

"Long live the Queen!" he heard an older woman shout angrily as he left the square and headed down towards Fishpit.

The further he descended into Fishpit, the more the streets grew darker and more crowded, the sky disappearing. The wooden framed houses looming over him on both sides of the narrow streets. Smellier too, the fresh air of the upper streets giving way to the stench of rotting vegetables and poor sanitation.

He passed a couple of street urchins, and they looked up at him, their grubby hands outstretched, hoping for a few coins. It always surprised him; inside he felt like he was still one of them, still struggling to get by. But he supposed that all they saw was a clean shaven, healthy young man dressed in a smart green waistcoat and jacket. It always surprised him how people's perceptions were so shaped by appearance. Would he recognise the Queen if he saw her in rags? He wondered if he'd ever feel as confident and secure as he looked, and if he'd ever have enough coins to help them out.

He was heading towards the docks, as he'd done every Tuesday since he'd started at Madam Pomfreys. He nearly always took the same route, starting in the east with the shipyard and the docks then moving west along the harbour, although each time he came down here he was a little less confident of finding Eamon. His friend just seemed to have disappeared.

He was luckier today. He encountered an old fisherman near the docks, looking grimly at where his line disappeared into the shifting grey waters. Although he looked cold and miserable, he seemed to like having company and told Lucky that he'd seen a boy matching Eamon's description talking to a sailor outside the Barnacle tavern the evening before. Lucky asked around near the tavern but there was no further sign.

Still, it was progress and that was good, because he'd been starting to lose hope of ever seeing his friend again. There had been no sign of him for months and in darker moments, he'd thought about giving up, so now he felt a little more optimistic as he headed back up the hill for the other thing he always did on Tuesdays, studying with Rachel. He'd become very fond of Rachel, she was very kind and patient with him, lending him books from her extensive collection and helping him with his reading so he could fully appreciate them.

So he always looked forward to studying with her. Of course, it helped that she was attractive too. Slim and in her early thirties (he guessed), with prominent cheekbones, sympathetic brown eyes and her fair hair usually tied back in a sleek ponytail.

She had a well-appointed room on the first floor, its walls lined with well-stocked bookcases and brightened by watercolour paintings of the city. It had been clear that he needed to do some catching up before he could study with the other boys, and so she'd been spending time helping him whenever she wasn't busy. They'd been studying history for the last few weeks and their time started out as it usually did with her going through his homework, which this week had been studying the key achievements of the predecessors of the current Queen.

"So, let's see, King John the Third, what do you think he's best known for?" she prompted, perching on the edge of the bureau where he sat, his notes scattered across its smooth mahogany surface.

"Well, he was known as Justice John, and he's best known for standardising the law and justice system throughout the empire. He introduced the right to a fair trial for all, and set up the Royal Court for settling tricky legal matters," Lucky said, flicking through his notes and trying not to be distracted by her legs. It was warmer today, and Rachel was wearing a thinner sundress, with bright yellow flowers contrasting with a navy blue background.As she jiggled her foot, the hem swished around her shapely calves.

"Good, and he also introduced the right to appeal. And what of his predecessor, King James the Second?"

"He was known as James Longfellow, on account of his height. It's said he was over seven foot tall. He was famous for exploring and colonising new lands, and he's best known for conquering the barbarians to the north and adding the Spice Islands to the empire."

He talked for several minutes about the King's formative years, his time in the army, the woman he went on to marry as Rachel smiled at him, obviously impressed.

"That really is very good, Lucas," she said, reaching out to touch his arm. "You have been studying hard."

"Thanks," he said, feeling the warmth of her fingers through the thin linen of his shirt as they lingered. "It's a good book, quite interesting to read, although Tully had to help me with some of the bigger words."

"Well, you definitely have the mind to impress our ladies, and I can tell you've been working hard at the gym as well," she replied, her slender fingers curling around his arm and briefly squeezing his bicep.

"Thanks, um, yes," he said, feeling his cheeks flush a little and staring at his shoes.

"And who reigned before James the second?"

He hadn't studied this period as closely so he had to guess, although he was sure it was a queen.

"Um, Queen Olivia? Or Queen Mira?" he said, rubbing his forehead as if that would conjure the correct answer.

"Close, it was Queen Stella," she corrected him.

"Gosh, it's so difficult to remember all these names. Why do I have to know this anyway?"

"Come on Lucas, I've explained before, you can't just be a pretty face to work here. You need to be educated too; be able to converse with our ladies, to have a point of view. It's important, it's why we're considered the best in the city. Our ladies are well-educated and they have to like your mind as well as your body."

"It's so hard though," he groaned. "They really didn't teach us much at the orphanage, it was more about practical things. For the boys, it was all about getting us prepared to be a carpenter or a blacksmith or a fisherman."

"I know and you're doing so well. Madam and I are very pleased with your progress. You've not had the best start in life but I've been asking around and everyone says that you're a hard worker and a quick learner," she continued, sliding a hand beneath his chin and lifting his head so that he couldn't avoid her large brown eyes.

"Thanks," he repeated.

"So I think you've earned a little break from studying," she said, sliding smoothly off the desk and onto her feet before moving over to the bookcase. He watched as she lifted the lid on a large wooden music box, its rich dark surface inlaid with abstract figures of men and women dancing, then started winding a small brass handle. He took the opportunity to examine the way her dress clung to her curve of her slim hips, before the music started playing. They'd had a music box at the orphanage but it had sounded tinny compared to Rachel's, and he marvelled as the room was filled with the bright delicate sound of a waltz.

"Now Lucas, have you ever danced a waltz before?" she said, smiling as she held out a slim hand.

"To be honest, I've never danced any kind of dance before," Lucky said, grasping her fingers and allowing her to draw him to his feet.

"Lucas, you're definitely starting to look the part, and you're learning more every week but if you're going to escort one of our ladies to a ball one day, this really is something you'll have to learn too," she said, taking both her hands in his hands and encouraging him to sway in time to the music.

"Well, I s'pose," he said, as he shuffled his feet,trying to mirror her movements.

"You mean 'suppose'," she corrected.

"Sorry, I suppose," he replied. She'd been helping him with his speech, trying to make him sound more polished and less like a street urchin.

"And it's not just dancing, eventually you need to please our ladies, delight them, seduce them, sweep them off their feet!" she said, nodding encouragingly as he kept the rhythm. She took his hands, placing them on her slim waist and held his shoulders moving him around the room, hesitantly at first, then slightly quicker as he gained confidence and adjusted to the rhythm. "But dancing is a good place to start."

"I see," he said, as she moved his hands so they were in a classic waltz position, hands clasped on one side, his free hand resting at the base of her back, her free hand on his shoulder. He pulled her a little closer, noticing a lightly curled wisp of hair that had escaped her black silk hair tie and the subtle floral fragrance of her skin.

"That's good, quick, quick, slow, now let's move around the floor a little."

He moved with her, hesitantly at first, his head down, staring at his feet, determined not to step on her stylish ankle boots. But after a while, he began to get the hang of it, and they moved in slow circles around the wooden floor.

As they moved, he let his hand slide down over her lower back then along the tight curve of her bottom, gently squeezing her there, exploring the rounded firmness.

"Left hand a little higher please," she admonished, as she reached behind and adjusted his hand.

As he got into a rhythm, he was surprised at how enjoyable he found it, and he pulled her a little closer, feeling the warmth of her body, their breathing quickening in the warm humidity of her room.

"That's good, but try not to look at your feet, get your head up. I'll lead you until you get the hang of it, but once you get a little practice you'll be able to lead," she said, sounding delighted at his progress and moving a little quicker, skipping lightly, their shoes making light pattering noises on the parquet floor.

Soon, the music began to wind down and they slowed too,and as they came to a stop she stepped back, performing a slight bow before pecking him on the cheek.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before, young Sir?" she giggled."You'll soon be sweeping women off their feet!"

Impulsively, Lucas drew her closer and kissed her full on the lips, a slow, lingering kiss that made her eyes open wide in surprise. They remained still for a long second, and he enjoyed the warm softness of her lips before he felt a hand on his chest as she eased back.

"Lucas!" she exclaimed.

"Sorry, Miss, but you did say I needed to practice my seduction skills," he said, with what he hoped was a mischievous grin.

"Well, yes," Rachel said, sounding a little flustered and flushing bright pink as she turned away and hurriedly closed the music box. "Anyway, that's enough for today. Let's, um, continue this next week."

--

Later that evening, Lucky stood behind the bar, polishing an empty wine glass and watching as Tully took a bottle of wine over to one of the tables. He'd gotten to know Tully quite well over the past few months as they usually were on the same shift on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. He was quite quiet about his past, but Lucas had slowly pieced it together.

Tully had a slightly different background to his; he'd grown up the son of a fisherman in a small town about two days' ride up the coast. He'd had a happy childhood until his mother died suddenly of a fever when he was just eleven. His father had remarried a couple of years later to a woman who brought her two children into their small house. From the start, he'd never really gotten on with his stepmother, or his new siblings, perhaps because he missed his mother so much and didn't want to see her replaced.

He ran away a number of times but was forced to come back. But when he turned sixteen, they couldn't prevent him from leaving for good, eventually ending up in White Harbour where inevitably he ended up begging on the streets just like Lucky. He could have still been there, barely scraping by on handfuls of change but one day, Madam Pomfrey had handed him a few coppers and after a brief chat had seen something in him and offered him a place here at the house, where he'd lived contentedly ever since.

It was quieter on Tuesdays, and so they were usually happy to provide table service. Tully had told him early on that that kind of service coupled with a smile and an interest in their customers would lead to better tips.

So Lucky watched and learned as Tully casually strolled around the bar area, chatting to the ladies. He seemed to know them all by name, and had somehow learned the names of their significant others too.

"Mrs Baratheon, how nice to see you, how's the jewellery trade?"

"Mrs North, how is young William? Enjoying his naval training?"

"Hello, Mrs Black, how's your son William doing with his carpentry? And how's business? Oh well, perhaps another glass of brandy would help, eh?"

Lucky watched as he approached a regular, Moira Silversmith. Tully had told him a little about her: her husband had been lost at sea many years ago, so she was a widow like so many other middle-aged women in the town. She'd inherited his two inns, and so she could often be found here, having a drink alone after work as she read a newspaper or perhaps just flirting with the other boys. This evening though, she was accompanied by a softly spoken younger woman, whose angular nose and dark almond-shaped eyes gave her a serious, thoughtful look. They'd been talking intensely all evening, and from what he'd overheard, the younger women worked for a supplier to Mrs Silversmith's inns and they were negotiating the price for fresh fruit deliveries.

Moira looked up and smiled as Tully approached, perhaps glad of a break. She was an attractive woman, perhaps in her forties, plump without being overweight, her dark hair swept back in loose waves and wearing a navy blue dress that was fashionable and stylish, yet fitting enough to show off her feminine curves and impressive cleavage.

"Liz," she said, addressing her friend. "This is Tully, he always takes such good care of me. Tully, this is Eliza Beck, one of my suppliers, and someone who drives the hardest of bargains."

Liz smiled and shook her head: "Nonsense, I think we're close to a deal that's mutually beneficial. Pleased to meet you, Tully," she said, flashing Tully a shy smile as she finished her glass of wine.

"I see," Tully said. "Well, perhaps another glass of wine would help?"

"Oh, another glass of wine always helps," Moira chuckled, watching as Tully took the bottle from the centre of the table and re-filled her glass.

As he picked up Eliza's glass, Lucky watched as Moira discretely slid a well-manicured hand along the back of Tully's thigh beneath the level of the table. They were facing towards the bar and away from the rest of the customers, so no one else could see as she slowly slid her hand higher over the dark grey cotton of his trousers, exploring the muscular curve of his right buttock. He was surprised as he watched her give his bottom a slow, deliberate almost possessive squeeze.

"Can I do anything else for you, ladies?" Tully asked, his face remaining neutral as he straightened back up.

"No, not right now, but all this negotiating with Eliza is making me feel a little tense, "

Moira said, sliding a hand around her neck and squeezing her shoulder. "Perhaps you could give my shoulders a little massage later?"

"Of course, my pleasure," Tully said politely. "Shall I see you down there in twenty minutes or so?"

Lucky found another glass to polish, working hard to pretend that he hadn't been eavesdropping on their conversation when Tully returned to the bar and asked him if he wouldn't mind working alone. It wasn't till closing and the patrons were already thinning out a little, so Lucky told him that was fine.