writing A lil exert

[TheJ.R.Douglas he/him]

Here’s a lil exert from a chapter of my first draft. Opinions, tips, recommendations, questions, all appreciated and welcome!

Spoiler

Barthalomew Nills sat drumming his fingers on the wooden desk in front of him. With his other hand he flipped through the log book containing the docks’ mooring records. Once he got to the end he would flip the book closed with a heavy slap! Then he would pull the cover open again, and stare at the first page with a blank expression on his pale, narrow face. Most of it was covered in his own scratchy handwriting. Near the top of the page, fifth row from the top of the recording area, listed in the hand of the Night Dockmaster:

 

Moons’ Graces, Arrival: 25th of Chill’s End, 8T 347, about 9pm.

Cargo: 56 Units. Departure: 26th of Chill’s End, 8T 347, about 7am.

 

Something was nagging at him. Something about what that Tree-Man was saying… He’d asked where the fifty-seven cargo items had gone. Fifty-seven. He had been firm about that number, even after Nills showed him the mooring records. He began flipping through the pages again, headed for the back binding.Why had he been so firm about there being an extra unit of cargo onboard? How did he even know the cargo count to begin with? There was something fishy going on here, and it wasn’t the stench on the wharf outside neither. He got to the back of the log book, and slammed it closed to the front cover again. Glancing out the dingy window showed a dark sky, but the streets outside were still bustling under the lamplight. With a sigh he stood up from the desk and stretched, giving a cry as several bones in his back cracked from the motion. These extra shifts were really starting to take their toll. When he released his pose his long, greasy, black hair fell to his hunched shoulders. To compensate the hunch he lifted his head up, creating an awkward curve in his neck that only detracted further from his appearance. Taking the mooring records in hand, he shuffled over to the shelf on his right and tucked it into an empty slot. His relief would be arriving soon, hopefully, then he could go home and get some much needed sleep. As if in response to his thoughts a knock came from the door, followed by the creak of hinges, and the clink of the latch closing again.

“Late again Arthaire, what would Idgrids say? You know I could tell him, but I’d hate to have to… who in the hellish tides are you?!” Nills began as he slowly turned around. Behind him, in front of the door, was not Arthaire Greensea the nephew of the wharf owner Idgrids Greensea. Standing in the small office, blocking the door with his bulk, was a very tall and muscular figure. He was clad in a black cloak that, upon entering, he’d thrown back to reveal black plate armor of an expert make. Whoever had made this must have been an expert, because Nills had never seen a suit of such fine armor that made no sound. He hadn’t heard a single clang of plate on plate. On the stranger’s hip was a long, straight, black scabbard. The only skin the man showed was his face and head. He was bald and clean shaven, with hard features. Starting at the top of his right cheek was a long scar that ended below the jaw. His strong, square jaw was set and his mouth drawn tight as he stared down at the smaller man.

“Names not important.” The man had a deep, flat voice. “Need to see the mooring records.”

“Well you can’t.” Nills said with a scowl. He hoped the man would would take for an answer… “They aren’t public information. I can’t just go letting everyone who comes in here read sensitive shipping material, it’s just bad for business.”

“I wasn’t asking.” The man said with a flat tone, remaining motionless. He didn’t say anything else, but just stood there and started Nills down. It was a little unsettling. Well, more than a little, it was caused a large pit to form in his stomach. His mouth was going dry and his heart began to race as beds of sweat welled up on his forehead. He swallowed, perhaps a little too hard, in an effort to overcome his natural tendency to cowardice, but it only made him feel sick.

“R-R-Right here, s-sir.” He final sputtered from trembling lips as he turned back to the shelf, pulled free the brown leather volume, and brought it within the man’s grasp. He took it, slowly, maintaining eye contact as he did. Only when he had opened the book to its first page did he look away, but that was brief. After looking over page one, he flipped through the book, and upon reaching the final page, closed it with a loud SMACK! Then, expression unchanged, he held the book out towards Nills. Nills was hesitant… but, carefully, he did reach for the book. The man released it without issue.

“Where are the shipping logs?” He asked.

“I- I- Sir, I mean- I- Well, I mean, I’m sorry, but I don’t have those.” Nills stammered. He was a little shocked. This was strangely similar to how his encounter with that Tree-Man, and it was not helping his nerves one bit to remember that.

“Who does?” The reply came.

“Th- The S-Sw-Swift-F-Foot Couriers.” Nills glanced out the window. Across the street, standing under a lamppost for the reading light, stood the Courier Supervisor on duty. He raised his hand, and with a knot in his heart he pointed out the window. “Him.” He swallowed. “He would know.”

Without another word the man turned and, wrapping his cloak around him once more, he opened the door and strode into the night. Despite the stranger’s exit, Nills didn’t look away from the window. He remained standing end there as if frozen, though he did drop his arm back down to his side. Outside people passed this way and that up the avenue. The man in orange and brown under the lamppost still stood there, reading to himself from a large book. He hadn’t stood there long, perhaps five minutes, when the sound of a knock rang on the door again. At this Nills yelped, jumping into motion with surprising energy, and dove behind the desk. From his refuge under the desk he heard the door open then close, followed by the sound of steps as someone entered the room. Silence filled the room, but only for a moment.

“Nills? Nills aren’t you here?” A young man’s voice called out to him. A wave of relief washed over Nills as he raised his head over the edge of the desk and he saw Arthaire Greensea standing in the middle of the room with his arms crossed. The young man was perhaps twenty,  and wore a green navy man’s coat with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a white dress shirt underneath, a pair of fine white trousers, with polished white shoes to match. He really should have rethought the white scheme. As Nills looked him up and down, he could see various flecks of dirt, mud, and who knows what else that had already stained the younger man’s clothes. His shoes, of course, were the worst of all.

“Nills?!” Arthaire jumped. “Ah! Depths, man! You scared the rust right out of me! What were you doing down there? Hiding?”

“What?! Nothing! Hiding? Me?! Ha! I just dropped the log book is all,  I was picking it up!” He scrambled for a reasonable excuse. He couldn’t have this kid thinking he’d been scared of something, even if that something was a man that changed the energy in a room so violently it made one’s stomach do somersaults…

“Right. I see…” Arthaire replied, arms still folded, one eyebrow raised. “So where is it?”

“Where is what?” Nils asked, confused.

“The log book, Nills, where is the log book?” Arthaire rolled his eyes.

“Oh.” Nills cursed himself a fool when he bent out of view behind the desk to retrieve the book he’d left on the floor. “It’s right here.” He dropped it on the desktop with a thump after he’d stood up again.

“Come on, Nills.” Arthaire dropped his arms to his sides and walked up to the desk. His normally reserved and arrogant demeanor seemed to lessen, and his eyes seemed to soften. The kid wasn’t ugly, far from it, the problem was he knew it. As a result, Nills often found the younger man’s attitude distasteful. It was pretty much the sole reason he hated the kid, then again, he pretty much found a reason to hate everyone. In that moment however, Nills truly felt that Arthaire cared about someone other than himself for once. That is until he’d thought about it. The kid probably just wanted him to drop his guard so he could find out what had him so rattled, that way he could use it against him. “Talk to me, Nills, what’s got you as pale as a sheet?”

“Nothing has, you annoying little… Bah!” Nills threw his hands up and walked around the desk, past Arthaire, and headed for the door. “I’m going home. Goodnight.” He grabbed his coat from the hook by the door, and stormed off into the night.

Maybe I’ll share more in the future. I’m 60k out of my 100k goal for the first draft currently. Ok… Welp I hope yuh like it!

Edited November 18, 2023 by JJDReffitt