Magical Soul Parade

Chapter 216: The Bearing Of A Great Figure

“I believe you owe me some money, boss,” he rubbed his palms and chuckled expectantly.

The carriers chose that exact moment to enter the shed, large men with empty carts ready to haul out the day’s production. And the workers around were eager to fill them in on what had just happened, words tumbling over each other in their rush to explain the bet, the impossible improvement, the results that shouldn’t have been possible.

Finn stood there with that grin, supremely pleased with himself.

But Old Dog Mendoza watched with surprising calm. The man even looked thoughtful, his scarred face contemplative rather than angry or embarrassed. He stared at the two sacks: the fully filled one and the other nearly half full. Then he looked at the sacks of other workers scattered throughout the shed. Then his eyes moved to the number of stacked oakum ropes still remaining to be done.

Finally, his gaze settled back on Finn.

He nodded slowly. “I’m a man of my word. I’ll pay you immediately.”

Right there in front of the stunned carriers who’d just heard the whole story, and right in front of his workers too, Old Dog Mendoza began distributing pay. He handled the other workers first, counting out bronze coins with practiced efficiency as each man reported their output.

Then he turned to Finn.

He counted out the quadrupled amount without hesitation, the coins clinking as they piled into Finn’s tar-stained hands. It was a substantial sum, enough to make several of the workers whistle low under their breath.

Finn collected it with a theatrical flourish, bowing like a street performer who’d just completed a particularly impressive trick. Then he turned to face the curious workers who still hadn’t left yet.

“Drinks are on me tonight!”

The whole shed erupted.

Cheers and shouts filled the cramped space. Workers who’d lost money betting against Finn found their irritation dissolving in the face of free alcohol. Someone started chanting “Arros! Arros!” and others quickly picked it up.

Before Finn could protest, several of the burlier workers grabbed him and hoisted him onto their shoulders. They carried him toward the door, chanting excitedly to the point where it felt like the roof might come down.

As they carried him out into the evening air, Finn caught sight of Old Dog Mendoza. The man stood near the back, shaking his head with what might have been a smile pulling at his scarred face. Then he turned and disappeared behind the stacks of rope, heading deeper into the shed.

The old man who’d worked next to Finn the entire day waited until the celebration had moved outside before standing slowly. He stretched, his joints popping audibly, then made his way toward the door at an unhurried pace. He stepped out last, breathing in the salt air that was infinitely preferable to the sulfuric stench of the shed.

One of the carriers, a young man maybe twenty years old, was still lingering near the shed entrance. He looked at the old man with obvious confusion.

“Gramps, why was Old Dog Mendoza so calm about it? He just lost a lot of money on that bet.”

The old man knocked the young man on the head with his knuckles, not hard, but firm enough to make a point.

“You need to up your observation game, boy.”

The young carrier — clearly the old man’s grandson based on their familiarity — pouted and rubbed his head. “But I did observe! I saw Old Dog Mendoza look at Arros, then at the sacks he filled, then at the oakum ropes still left in the shed.”

The old man nodded. “That’s good. But you still missed the point despite observing correctly.”

He started walking toward where the other carriers were organizing their carts. His grandson hurried to keep pace, clearly expecting an explanation.

The old man sighed. “Think about it. That Arros fellow specifically asked for quadruple the money for exactly five days. Not three days. Not a week. Five days specifically.”

The grandson frowned, working through the logic.

“At the pace he displayed today,” the old man continued, “he outputted exactly what four normal workers would produce. Hence the quadruple pay he requested. And five days…” he gestured back at the shed, “…that’s exactly how long it would take, with him working at that four-man pace and everyone else maintaining normal output, to finish all those stacks of oakum ropes left in the shed.”

The grandson’s eyes widened.

“In essence,” the old man concluded, “Old Dog Mendoza isn’t losing out on anything. The work gets done with the same level of pay that would’ve been required with four more men. Arros gets paid what he’s worth based on his output. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Shadows take me…” the grandson swore before catching himself. “There’s no way that Arros guy calculated all of this in advnace… And boss Medoza too? To decipher all that intention just from looking around the shed once?”

The old man snorted. “The question isn’t whether Arros could make that calculation. Clearly he did, and he did it before even stepping into the shed, which is the truly frightening part.” He paused to adjust the cart harness he was helping to secure. “The real question is how Old Dog Mendoza saw through it with just a glance at the results.”

He looked at his grandson with the expression of someone trying to impart old wisdom. “Observation comes with experience, boy. Years of managing workers, watching output, calculating costs and timelines. Old Dog Mendoza’s been running oakum operations longer than you’ve been alive. Of course he’d decipher all of that.”

The grandson was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he asked, almost hesitantly, “So… Arros will be here for exactly five days?”

“Five days in the oakum shed,” the old man confirmed. He began walking again, heading toward the distant sounds of celebration where Finn and the workers had presumably found somewhere to drink. “But talent like his is destined for something greater. He has the bearing of someone meant for bigger things.”

He added, almost to himself, his voice taking on a tone of certainty that surprised his grandson, “When the Tidebreaker is ready… when Boss Murdo has no choice but to watch Mistress Vara set sail with it… Arros will be on that ship.”

The grandson glanced at his grandfather’s profile, seeing something there he couldn’t quite name.

“And not just on the ship,” the old man continued quietly, but with absolute conviction. “He’ll be in the main crew. Mark my words.”