Free Dragon Choir by Benjamin Descovich

nearby.
    “ Sorry.” Elrin held his hands up in apology. “Do you know
where I can find the head dockman?”
    “ The what?” shouted the skinny docker.
    Elrin waved
him off in apology, his voice would only be drowned out by the
racket. Dockers hollered and whistled at each other positioning
heavy lifts on the gantries while draft horses clattered about
pulling cargo. Gulls squabbled around the fishing boats and the
ships groaned and jostled in their moorings. It was impossible to
have a clear conversation. Dockers used hand signals or whistled to
organise loads. Elrin often had made deliveries to the docks on the
Lake of Tears and recalled yelling there hadn’t been very effective
either.
    Rather than
ask around, Elrin decided to look around. The head docker usually
stood out as the most frustrated; some burly, barrel-chested,
pot-bellied hulk, pointing and yelling abuse. He jumped up on a
stack of unloaded crates to get a better view. Sharing the docks
with a few trade galleys and fishing skiffs was an intimidating
Jandan frigate, its three masts towering higher than any other. It
was at least twice the length of the biggest merchant ship in the
harbour.
    The immensity
of the frigate and the number of crew that worked its decks
impressed upon Elrin the muscle Jando flexed to control Rum Hill.
With the Navy holding the port, they secured trade and tax revenues
for Jando without having to fortify an outpost on land. It was a
simple minded strategy, with merit for expanding Jandan control
along the coast, but did nothing to improve life for the locals.
One of the books he had snuck from the merchant guild’s library
articulated a treatise on the failings of these ham-fisted
approaches to rent seeking. Elrin thought it was obvious enough
without the lengthy explanation; if the people suffer your revenue
base suffers.
    A shrill
whistle from the centre of the shipyard caught Elrin’s attention. A
man sat on a chair so tall there was a ladder to reach the top. He
was like a brusque canary on its perch, whistling commands through
a loudhorn. Piercing notes rose and fell, alternating between
broken pulses and long calls. His shirt was bright yellow and he
had a matching hat with a piece of cloth hanging over his neck and
ears. The peak at the front shaded his eyes. He wore loose trousers
that extended to his knees, exposing his leather brown legs
below.
    Elrin jumped
down from the stack of crates and walked to the high chair. From
below he couldn’t see the man, just a pair of hairy brown calloused
feet dangling over the chair.
    “ Hello.”
    The little man
kept on whistling, ignoring Elrin below.
    He yelled
louder. “Excuse me!”
    The lead
docker leaned forward, staring down between his feet with a dark
look.
    “ What? This is no safe place for a shiner. Go
home.”
    “ No, I think you misunderstand, I wa—”
    “ There’s no throne down here, lad. Head back to town or muck
in the bushes, then bugger off!”
    “ No. That’s not what I mean—”
    A loud
explosion sounded from the central pier where the Jandan frigate
was moored. Smoke drifted above a stack of crates and barrels,
flames licking at the timber.
    The little
yellow man put the cone to his mouth and shouted down at Elrin.
“Get out of here boy. Now!”
    In a moment of
brilliance, Elrin knew exactly how to earn his way to Jando. He ran
to the smoking crates while the canary went berserk atop his perch.
Men raced about in all directions. Elrin got to the fire and
realised that he had no pail of water and an empty bladder.
    More crates
were lighting up and workers nearby leapt into the water, swimming
to safety. Elrin stood alone on the pier, unaided by the marines on
the frigate who only stared at the barrels in terror. The officers
were shouting orders to raise anchor while sailors jumped
overboard.
    The barrels
bore the stamp of a cannon and a flame. Elrin’s stomach dropped;
black powder. He was going to be pierced with splinters and fried
for the