At Jepson’s Coffeehouse
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2024 by Walter Reimer

Prompt: bigamy


The storm the previous night had passed, leaving the port basking in bright sunlight. Amid the sounds of waves lapping at the wharves and the mewing of gulls, the chatter of stevedore’s voices and the occasional ring of a ship’s bell could be heard.

The building didn’t look like much from the wharf, just an addition to a warehouse modified with a few windows and dignified with a faded coat of red paint on its door. But like others of its ilk, Jepson’s Coffeehouse was essential to the port’s trade.

Here, contracts were arranged and deals were struck amid the odors of strong coffee, pungent tobacco smoke, fragrant tea, and bodies possessed of indifferent attempts at hygiene. The atmosphere was smoky, with the morning sunlight filtering through the windows with difficulty.

Seated beside the jobber, a thin weasel whose task it was to organize ships’ cargoes, the captain puffed placidly on a thin and delicate clay pipe. The pipe and tobacco were provided by Jepson on the theory that if he extended sufficient hospitality for men to strike deals and talk, he could undercut his competitors. It worked, and the rat did a thriving business.

The captain was a rabbit. He had doffed his three-cornered hat to free his ears so he could catch nuances of distant conversations. One never knew what one might overhear. His feet, clad in bell-topped sea boots, shuffled on the wooden floor. He offered the pipe to the jobber, who took a puff, and offered it to the owner of the company who was negotiating the cargo.

The chubby bear demurred and flipped open his snuffbox. He took a generous pinch, sneezed, and wiped his nose as he tucked the box away. “So,” he asked, “are we agreed then?”

The weasel smiled and nodded. “Bills of lading, fees, ship’s pay, it’s all here. Two hundred tons’ worth of supplies from here to Jamaica, and a like amount of sugar and coffee for the return trip.” In addition to pipes and tobacco, the coffeehouse also provided quill, ink and sand, and the merchant signed, followed by the jobber and the captain. While the weasel gently sanded and blew across the signatures, the bear signaled to one of the serving-maids. “A round of sherry, please,” he said with an expansive gesture at the rabbit and weasel. “To seal our bargain,” he added unnecessarily.

The captain nodded. “I appreciate your generosity, Sir. My thanks,” he said, his voice gravelly after years of shouting orders. The three small glasses were placed on the table, and the rabbit raised his. “To a successful journey, God willing.”

The other two heartily agreed with the sentiments and clinked glasses. The sherry wasn’t diluted or adulterated, and it was rumored that Jepson got it from certain people who knew certain people who smuggled the liquor in at coves in Devon and Cornwall.

The captain savored the small amount and set the glass back down before putting his hat on. “If you’ll forgive me, gentlemen,” he said, “I must go and get the ship ready so we may leave at the turn of tide tomorrow.” His ears twitched. “I must also go and do my duty to my wives.”

The bear sat back in his chair with a smile. “Gad, Sir! You say you have two wives? And in the same port?” He gave a snort of laughter. “’Struth, that may cause a set-to of a market-day.”

The rabbit laughed along with the bear. “All captains worthy of the name have two wives, Sir. Their ship, and the sea itself.” He gave a furtive glance around the room before leaning close to the merchant and added, “And both can be a pair of contumacious slatterns,” and he straightened as both he and the bear laughed. He touched two fingers to his hat in salute. “Good day, gentlemen.”

He walked a short distance along the wharf, still chuckling to himself even as he drew in deep lungfuls of the fresh sea air.


end