The Hidden City by Lady MSM

Ghost Town

Winter, 1923

Port Vine, Maryland

Port Vine was one of those towns that had definitely seen better days. While the stately Victorian homes on the waterfront had probably once housed equally stately Victorian families, most of them had now been foreclosed or divided up into tenements. The overall effect was something like a ghost town.

But there were still people there who needed fish, and those fish needed to be caught, and as long as that was the case Tuor figured he could still make a buck.

There was only one fishing boat in the harbor…an old, worn-out skiff whose blue-gray color made it almost blend in with the surrounding water. Getting closer, Tuor could see the boat was occupied by a tall, thin old man with a beard that nearly reached his waist.

“Morning, grandpa! Could you use a hand for the day?”

The old man eyed him appraisingly. “Not as much as you could, I’m guessing. Climb aboard. What’s your name, kid?”

“Tuor van Hador. You?”

“Doesn’t matter. Grandpa will do fine. And what’s a young man like you doing in Port Vine?”

Tuor hesitated for a moment, uncertain exactly how much he should say. “Well, truth be told, I’ve been going from town to town recently, trying to make some money. I’m saving up to get to Chicago.”

“Hmm,” remarked the old man reflectively. “Seems to me a steady job in just one town would be a better way to it.”

“You’re probably right about that, but I…I can’t risk it.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “In a bit of trouble, were you?”

“I’m…not sure I should get into it.”

He shrugged. “Tell me or don’t tell me, it’s up to you. Though I should think it’s obvious I’m not a cop, and I’m not likely to tell them anyone else’s business.”

“Well,” said Tuor hesitantly. “See, a few years ago I was in Charleston and got caught in the middle of trying to break up a fight, and accidentally shot some guy. Probably would’ve been considered self-defense and I would’ve gotten off, but it turned out the kid I shot was the sheriff’s son, so I got charged with murder and sentenced to twenty years in prison.”

“Hmm. And how’d you get out of that one?”

“Ran off. Me and a couple fellas on the chain gang. Eventually got the chains cut off and I’ve been on the move ever since.”

“You’re a lucky kid, seems like. So why Chicago?”

“I’m looking for Turgon Gates.  He and my father were friends…my father saved his life, actually. I can’t think of anyone else who can give me a job without me having to worry about the law.”

The old man whistled slowly. “You’re ambitious, I’ll give you that.  But I wouldn’t be surprised if you got there eventually. What surprises me is that you’re the second person this week to mention Turgon Gates to me.”

“Really?”

“Really. Kid by the name of Voronwe Andersen. Used to work for Gates, apparently. Seems he’s trying to get to Chicago too.”

Tuor turned around so quickly the boat shook. “Where can I find him?”

“Easy there, son. You’ll find him down at Riley’s Bar, I shouldn’t wonder. I’ve seen him there a time or two. Anyway, we’re nearly done here, so you can get on with your quest in a bit.”

They returned to the shore by late afternoon, with a reasonable load of fish for the time of year. The old man patted Tuor on the back and handed him five dollars. “Thanks, kid. Good luck, and tell Turgon Gates I said hello.”

“Thanks, will do. And say…” Tuor turned to the old man, but he was already walking away, fading into the mist.