Free Free-Wrench, no. 1 by Joseph R. Lallo Page A

literary formality. Thanks to the status of her parents, she
dealt with such people every day. The clumsy but colorful manner of
speech employed by people like Lil and Coop, whether purposefully
or not, had an undeniable life and poetry to it. To ears trained
from birth to seek out uniqueness and creativity in all of its
forms, it was a joy. It was like finding a whole new set of colors
to paint pictures with.
    Lil led the way onto the galley, where all
but the captain were already present and seated. At one table
lounged Gunner. At another perched Coop. The third was empty.
    “That there’s the captain’s table. You don’t
sit there unless you’re invited. Anywhere else is up for
grabs.”
    “Where is the captain?”
    “He’s getting the ship set to guide herself
for a while. Once he’s set a course, he can’t leave her for more
than a few minutes at a time before the wind sets us off in the
wrong direction again, but a good look at the wind gauge and some
careful figuring can usually get him time enough to come down and
have a meal. Of course, that’s assuming he hasn’t got that feeling
he gets when he decides he can’t leave the deck, which is as often
as not. He’s a mite skittish about not having at least a lookout up
there.”
    “Me bein’ a mite skittish is what’s kept this
bucket in the sky instead of in the drink, let’s not forget. And
it’s hazy out there. Low clouds. Let’s make this quick so I can put
someone out there on lookout,” Captain Mack said, marching in
through the doorway.
    Nita took a seat at Lil and Coop’s table. A
shallow notch cut into the table formed just the right size to fit
the bottom of a bowl, and another was sized for the bottom of a
mug. When the captain was seated, Butch emerged from the kitchen
with a pile of tin bowls, mugs, and spoons stacked precariously in
one arm. She fitted them into the table in front of each of the
crewmembers, never once so much as allowing the pile to teeter
despite the motion of the ship. She then fetched a heavy pot and
spooned out their dinner.
    After Lil had bragged about it, Nita had to
admit she was curious and a little excited to see what sort of
exotic food these strange people ate, but what she got was a far
cry from the irresistible feast the younger Cooper had described.
It was a stew, or, at the very least, that was the closest word in
her culinary lexicon that might describe it. What poured out of
Butch’s ladle was a wet mound of ingredients that had been boiled
far beyond the point of recognition. The mixture probably included
some vegetables, and possibly some meat, but each had given
up and dissolved into a mush with the texture of mud and the color
of paper pulp.
    “I’m sorry but, um… what do you call this
dish?”
    “That’s a bowl,” Coop said.
    “She means the food in the bowl,
dopey. That there’s slumgullion. Don’t let the looks fool you.
That’s about as close to heaven as your tongue is gonna get.”
    Nita gave the bowl another doubtful look as
her mug was filled with what smelled like ale. Never one to appear
ungrateful, and with little recourse for anything better, she
dipped her spoon into the runny mush and gave it a taste.
    “It’s… it’s actually quite good!”
    “You’d best get some of that shock and wonder
out of your voice before Butch’s feelings get hurt,” Coop said.
    “My apologies,” she said, bowing her head.
“It really is delicious.”
    “Like I said, one of the good bits of working
on this here ship,” Lil said.
    “Let’s just get down to business,” the
captain said. “As you all know, Ms. Graus here has a relative who
is in a bad way. Needs some medicine that Glinda says the fuggers
will have. She’s offering the biggest payment we’re ever likely to
see in exchange for getting her some, so we’re going to be spending
a few extra days in port at Keystone while we try to get some out
of those tightfisted beanpoles.”
    “Suits me. I got a pretty lady back