Free Le Colonial by Kien Nguyen

exchange his labor for food and lodging. Near the pier, a merchant stood on top of a raised platform. A thatched rooftop shielded him from the drizzle. Henri’s heart leaped at the sight of laborers lining up before the man, anticipating work. He rushed to join the queue.
    “I need twenty men to unload my cargo,” announced the merchant. His stout frame, barely five feet tall, was draped in finely tailored clothes and topped with a three-cornered hat. “The
Mighty Gale
has arrived from Boston.”
    He pointed his index finger at the workers, selected a few faces from the crowd, and shouted, “You! You! You!”
    The chosen ones moved away from the mass and walked toward the pier head, where they stood next to a train of mules and waited for the merchant.
    He glared at Henri. “Hey, boy! Are you new here?”
    “Yes, sir,” replied Henri, excited at the possibility of being chosen.
    “How long have you been in Marseille?”
    “I just arrived, sir.”
    With a shrug, the merchant dismissed him and moved on to another laborer in the crowd.
    Raising his voice above the noise, Henri called out in disappointment, “Why don’t you take me? I am strong. I can work hard.”
    The merchant’s face was a mask of indifference.
    “You aren’t qualified,” said a voice near Henri.
    The worker was a tall fellow of about twenty-five, with jet-black hair and dark eyes. He could have passed for being handsome if his face weren’t so lean. His stooped shoulders, sagging eyelids, and tight mouth gave him a sinister appearance that troubled Henri. A piece of brass filigree hanging from a miniature S-hook dangled from his left ear.
    Catching Henri’s questioning stare, the man bowed, folding one arm across his chest with exaggeration. “I am Jérôme Bianchi,” he announced, and chuckled. Even his laugh sounded unscrupulous.
    “Henri Monange,” the boy replied.
    The man grew serious. “You are inexperienced. To get the job, you have to be a citizen of Marseille.”
    “A citizen?” Henri asked, mostly in disbelief. “What must I do to be qualified?”
    “You must either be a resident for ten years, possess property, or be married to a local girl. You are too young and too fresh to have done any of those things. But that is the law.”
    “Then how can someone like myself earn a living? I need to eat.”
    “You can ask for a job on one of the large ships that will be sailing to the colonies. They’re always looking for sailors. I was fourteen when I was made a cook’s apprentice. With proper training you too can become a seaman. The ship I’m now on will depart in a month and two days, if the wind permits. I can speak to the first mate about you if you like.”
    “Yes, yes, please,” he replied without hesitation, but in the same breath, a pang of fear struck him. “Does it mean I have to leave France?”
    Again the tall stranger chuckled. “What do you have to keep you here, your wealth and castle? Or are you worried that Louis XV would miss you?”
    They both laughed. Then a thought flashed through Henri’s mind. “But what will I do until the ship sails?”
    The stranger scanned the harbor with a look of contempt. “Look at those rich merchants,” he murmured between his teeth, pointing at a group of well-dressed men. “Do you see their folds of fat? I wish I were a mosquito; I could feed off them and not have to worry about ever being caught. Do you know what I mean?”
    Henri nodded, although he wasn’t sure he did.
    “I am glad that you do,” his companion said. “Follow me. I know where we can get something to eat. But tell me, what brought you to Marseille?”
    In a dark and muddy alley later that day, Henri sat near the back entrance of a tavern to keep out of the rain, slurping beef stew from a wooden dish. A patch of clouds, cranberry-tinged by the setting sun, made the gloomy sky blush. After the last afternoon rays died away, the town began to light up. Shimmering embers glowed through the windows