Amelia handed him a rag to clean his thumb and jerked her finger toward the side. There was another young man like himself, waiting with a slightly baffled look. Rowan guessed his own expression wasn’t any better. Still, if they were on the same gang.

“Hello. Name’s Rowan.”

“I’m Harland.”

“Any idea why they pick us?” asked Rowan.

“No. That Sirius fellow said to his assistant that I had 19 ‘dex’, whatever that meant.”

“That tinkered thing must be doing some measurement of something.”

“What’s yours?”

“Said I was 18 ‘sta’ and something ‘for’. Although…”

Harland threw an interrogative look at him.

“I’m not even sure she’s the assistant and him the boss. She doesn’t seem to be the kind to stay assistant long.”

Harland laughed.

“Yes. I’ve known gangmasters less rude than her. Maybe she’s noble.”

“A noblewoman at the docks? You daft?”

“It’s the modern age. Maybe they do work sometimes. Bossing people be noble’s favourite work.”

The Sirius fellow kept checking the labourer queue. At one point, the whirr of the device slowed and died. He turned.

“Amelia!”

She picked something from a leather pouch at her desk and threw it. Rowan saw something shiny and blue, and Sirius snatched it in the air. He dislodged something from his contraption, placed whatever he’d snatched in place, and pocketed the piece he’d extracted. The examination of the candidates resumed immediately.

A third labourer was directed from the queue to Amelia’s desk. Rowan overheard the conversation, which went pretty much the way his own had. The man joined his two fellows to the side. He introduced himself as Silas. He usually worked for steady construction gangs, but the completion of the next phase of the New Docks had left many of those without work. Everyone said there would be a third New Dock sometime in the future, but nobody got paid until that.

Sirius had found him a 19 ‘foc’, whatever ‘foc’ was. It looked like the device did measure lots of things.

The fourth candidate got blown off by Amelia. Once she heard him say that he’d never got his letters, she shooed him off. The menacing look of one of the four guards was enough to cause the man to back off quickly without complaining too much.

The queue was nearly empty by now. Most of the unlucky labourers had started to drift off from the Docks entrance plaza, while work gangs were starting to come back and forth to their respective places.

Once Sirius and Amelia were satisfied that no more candidates were to be found, she stood off, opened a small crate and started to stuff the writing implements and the ledger in it. The burlap sack joined the materials and she closed the box. Then she reached to the desk sides, unlatched some brass bars, and… folded the desk.

Rowan and his companions goggled. The panels of the desk rose, slid, turned – covering the gear contraption bolted to the side – and the entire desk pretty much packed itself with just a few tugs here and there. Amelia turned toward them.

“Ok. Two of you, pick the desk. There are handles. The last, you carry the box.”

She then joined Sirius while the trio sorted themselves. Rowan and Silas ended up picking the desk, which was heavy, but not as heavy as some of the cargo they usually brought out of the ships. Harland hoisted the storage box.

Satisfied, Sirius beckoned and they started toward the Dockside, with Sirius and Amelia opening the procession and the three youngsters following with their loads. The toughs that were guarding the recruiters followed, closing the march.

There was a small open trolley near the Dock entrance. The trio placed their loads on the carriage, then climbed. Sirius and Amelia climbed on the front seat, Sirius picked a whip, and the horse chariot started and turned toward London’s main avenues.

Rowan relaxed a bit. Most of the day work was at the Docks or nearby. You very rarely got into a gang that worked outside the Isle of Dogs, so, at best, you walked. Getting carried was a luxury that he could appreciate.

His companions were also enjoying themselves. Even if they were familiar with that part of London, they usually ran or hurried between work and home. Here, they had nothing to do – yet – but enjoy the scenery.

“I wonder. They got all that new tinker gear. I’d have expected them to have one of those horseless things rather than this,” speculated Silas.

“I hear those things are expensive, even for nobles. Maybe they’re saving. Horses are cheaper.”

Rowan asked, “any of you know what this ‘Artefact Hunting Company’ is? What our employer wants us for?”

“Never heard of them.”

“They don’t do business at the Docks or I’d have heard of them,” said Silas.

The chariot turned and proceeded northward. Rowan looked at the neighbourhood, curious. He’d never been north. All his life had been spent either south of the Thames, or next to it. His mother had pushed him out of home after his father died as the King’s pension didn’t even cover her own living expenses. After that, he’d moved north of Thames to get closer and started going to the Docks for work.

He had to admit the neighbourhood looked pretty much like his old one. So much for getting exotic new sights.

The chariot pulled up to a small building, with a covered entrance. A fairly large wood sign proclaimed the existence of the Artefact Hunting Company, with the sword-and-staff pictogram Rowan had seen at the Docks to the side. The door opened once the chariot came closer and they went inside.

An attendant came to hold the horses as Sirius and Amelia both jumped down from the chariot. Another man wearing a leather jacket full of straps and laces appeared on a wooden platform and climbed down the stairs to the courtyard.

“So. Good hunting?”

He peered behind the two at the trio in the chariot.

“Three. See Amelia. Told you that you didn’t need to roam the country to find some good prospects. We have all we need in London.”

Sirius replied, “We even had a fourth, but Amelia chased him away because he didn’t have his letters.”

“Well, for once she’s right. We don’t have time to waste to get those boys up and running. There’s plenty of them all over. You just have to go and pick them.”

“Thank you, Lucian. Believe me, I don’t want to waste any time of the company.”

“You’re sure the rest do have their letters, though?”

“They spent time reading their contracts, anyway. If they faked it, it won’t be hard to find.”

Rowan found himself bristling at the suggestion he might have faked learning to read. His Majesty had decreed that every British subject had to be able to read ‘reasonably well enough’ over a decade ago, and fines awaited the parishes that didn’t implement schooling for their children. Even the girls were taught to read, as King George III’s command specifically included them.

“Get down you lot. Dick. DIIICK.”

A youngster, 16 by his looks, came out of a door.

“Get those three squared in the quarters. I’m awaiting the expedition this evening, and we’ll get started tomorrow.”

The three looked at the newcomer. Dick smiled and waved them from the door. Rowan and his two comrades went to meet their guide.

“’lo. I’m Dick. Dick Ketton. Been there for three days.”

“Oh? You’re not from that company?”

“There’s a paper that says I am. Just like yours, I presume. Come.”

They filed into a corridor and came to a large room. Rowan’s expert dockworker eye decided it was probably a former storage room. Right now, it was furnished with half a dozen double bunks with straw and some linen. Each bunk had two small chests next to it.

Two of the bunks had a young man lying on them. Three of them were seated at a large table to the rear of the room.

Rowan looked appreciatively. It seemed clean and even had more room than his normal lodging. He suddenly realized that he might not be going back there if what Amelia said about not working in London was true. There was some stuff left back there, including his Sunday clean shirt for the mass.

“Dick? Got my clothes and stuff back at home? Can we get them?”

“You’ll have to ask one of them company men. Or Amelia.”

Rowan winced.

“Yea. I’d rather not ask Amelia either. She thinks anyone not from the company is some uncouth barbarian, and even some from there.”

“Thought it was the Irish who were barbarians?” joked Silas.

“Anyway, if it’s only some clothes and nothing much, you probably shouldn’t bother. They say they’re going to take our measure and cloth us for work and more.”

“More?”

“No idea what it means.”

Harland asked, “so, we pick a bunk?”

“You put a board on it. If it hasn’t a board when you’re not sleeping, it’s free,” said Dick, pointing to the side of the door where a set of wood boards were hanging.

Rowan looked. All of the bottom bunks were taken, apparently. Pity, he wanted one. He picked a board and climbed a few until he found an empty bunk and flopped his board on it.

Dick had gone to the table to join the other lads, so Rowan came there.

“Everyone’s been looked at with that gear thing?”

All acquiesced. Apparently, Sirius and Amelia had already made rounds all over the usual London workplaces, picking some candidates among the day labour gangs.

Dick gestured to the side.

“Girls’ dorm that way.”

“GIRLS? There are girls?”

“Yea. I don’t think there’s a lot, but I’ve seen two of them. Tried to chat one, but she didn’t want it.”

One of the other boys guwaffed.

“She probably thinks you stink of that stable work you were doing.”

“Hey, I washed. They told us to wash every day. Said there was enough stink already with the horses.”

“So what do we do?”

“Nothing. Been the easiest two days of work I’ve ever done so far.”

“They must have hired us for something.”

“They’re not telling. Although you’re supposed to be the last recruits. Maybe they’ll finally give us work?”

Rowan opined.

“That guy said he was waiting for an expedition or something, and they would start tomorrow.”

“So nothing. Until tomorrow. Fine for me.”

Rowan flopped on his bunk. A guy had brought food for the evening, some broth with a handful of meat lumps, with bread loaves. You’d have expected more food if they were to be paid 3 pounds a month. The fare provided didn’t match what he’d hoped from the contract. Although… for doing nothing an entire day, it was ok.

If all else failed, he’d slip out and head back home, and contract be damned.