Cape Grace Page 4

  Jimmy took one of the visitor’s chairs and leaned back in it. “So? What’s this about?”

  Drover took her seat and leaned her forearms on the desk. “Shelly Chambers wants to be recognized as a shaman.”

  “There has to be more to it than that,” Jimmy said.

  Drover shrugged. “If there is, I don’t know what it might be.”

  “She a troublemaker?”

  Footsteps in the hallway signaled the arrival of an older man carrying a tray with cups and a carafe. “Coffee,” he said by way of introduction.

  “Thank you, Alistair. You can leave it here on the desk,” Drover said.

  “You bet,” he said, sliding the tray onto the surface with a smile in Jimmy’s direction. “You take yours black, I believe, Mr. Pirano?”

  Jimmy nodded, feeling a jolt of surprise. “Yes, thanks.”

  Alistair nodded and looked at Drover. “Anything else I can do, Harry?”

  Drover shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

  He nodded again. “I’ll have that report on last month’s landings ready by end of day.”

  “Thank you, Alistair.”

  He nodded, offered another smile to Jimmy, and left. The door clicked closed behind him.

  “He seems very efficient,” Jimmy said.

  “Alistair Edward Thomas. Was the brains behind my predecessor and has been my right hand since I took over the office. You can’t have him.” That last came with a full mug and a wide smile.

  “You’ve been at it, what? Twenty stanyers?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yeah. Something like that. Alistair started young.”

  Jimmy accepted the coffee and chuckled. “Fair enough.” He took a sip and settled back again. “So, Chambers? Troublemaker?”

  Drover shook her head. “Solid member of the community. One of her kids will be out with the fleet next season. Husband is the harbormaster. Runs it like a symphony conductor.”

  “What’s he say about her trying to become a shaman?”

  Drover cradled her mug between her palms and stared into it for a long moment. “He wants her to be happy,” she said, looking up. “He thinks being recognized as a shaman will make her happy.”

  “What do you think?” Jimmy asked.

  Drover took a long time over a sip of her coffee, weighing him with her gaze the whole time. She placed the mug down on the surface with a quiet click before speaking. “I think she’s a shaman.” She raised her eyebrows, as if in challenge.

  Jimmy nodded and sighed.

  “That’s it?” Drover asked.

  “You were expecting me to object?” Jimmy asked.

  “You’re the Pirano on planet,” Drover said, as if it explained everything.

  “Yeah. True,” Jimmy said. “I’m the one who has to say no. Comes with the job.”

  Drover seemed to settle around her coffee cup a bit, the tension draining from her shoulders as she stared at him. “I don’t understand,” she said after a few moments.

  “Simple. I’m the guy who has to make sure we follow the rules. Our rules say ‘son of the shaman is a shaman.’ Shamans have some privileges that other people don’t. Mostly they don’t have to leave the planet when they age out and haven’t got a company job or spouse.”

  “So, you’re saying Shelly can’t be a shaman because she doesn’t have a dick?” Drover scowled across the desktop at him.

  Jimmy sighed again. “Not at all. I’m saying the company can’t recognize her as a shaman because she’s not the son of a shaman. For all I know she’s the shamanest shaman we’ve ever had on St. Cloud. Doesn’t change the rules.” He took another sip of the coffee, the excellent brew tasting bitter on his tongue.

  Drover blinked. “So you admit she can be a shaman?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I’d be rather foolish to claim I have some insider knowledge on the subject of shamans given that I’m not one.”

  “But you’re the Pirano man.”

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I know about shamans. I’ve lived here my whole life. I know they exist. I know there’s some kind of gift they’re supposed to have. I’ve met a few who’ve made me wonder about things.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and cup cradled in his hands. “The only thing I know about shamans without any doubt or question is that Pirano Fisheries will only recognize the son of a shaman as a shaman.”

  Drover sat up straight and stared at him. “Even when you sit there and admit that women can have the gift.”

  “Yeah. Even now,” Jimmy said. “It’s not about what I believe. It’s about the rule I have to enforce.”

  “Do you think it’s fair?” Drover asked.

  Jimmy shook his head. “Not one bit.”

  “You could turn a blind eye.”

  Jimmy took another sip of coffee and placed his cup back on the tray. “Lemme ask you a question.”

  She nodded.

  “Would you rather the devil you know?”

  “Meaning?” Drover asked.

  “If I turn a blind eye. If I fail my job, which is enforcing the work rules ...” He shrugged. “You’ll have a new devil to deal with because I’ll be gone faster than a deckhand’s pay on Saturday night.”

  Drover leaned back in her chair and stared him in the eye for several long moments before nodding, almost to herself. “You want to meet her?”

  Jimmy nodded. “Wanna meet her, her spouse, and the local shaman if that’s possible.”

  “But it’s not going to change anything,” Drover said.

  “Probably not.”

  Drover stood. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Jimmy followed her out of the admin building and down a paved path toward the bay. The afternoon sun glittered off the water and the onshore breeze brought the unmistakable smell of a fishing fleet—part fuel, part exhaust, part fish, and an overlay of paint and cordage. For a moment, Jimmy let himself remember when he used to smell that aroma every day.

  Drover led him to a tidy shed just at where the pier met land. A sign beside the door proclaimed “Harbormaster.” She pulled the door open and held it for him. “After you.”

  Jimmy snorted and stepped into the small office, blinking in the dimness after the brilliant sun outside. A picture window on the other side of the room gave a panoramic view of the harbor but did little to shed light into the office proper.

  A man stood up from a console, his body silhouetted against the window. “Can I help you?”

  “Jimmy, this is Mick Chambers, our harbormaster. Mick, this is Jimmy Pirano. He’d like a word.” She pulled the door closed and leaned against the wall beside it.

  “Mr. Pirano?” Mick came out from behind the console and offered a hand. “How can I help Pirano Fisheries today?”

  Jimmy shook the man’s hand. “It’s about Shelly.”

  Mick’s face seemed to flicker for a moment, like a video stuttering. “Oh.”

  “So, I’ve just been talking to Harry here about it,” Jimmy said, walking toward the window to look out over the docks. “I wanted to know what you think.”

  “What I think?” Mick asked. “About what?”

  Jimmy turned to face the man again, the light behind him giving him a better view of the harbormaster’s face. “Oh. The meaning of life, maybe. Perhaps how Pirano can help here in Bleak Point?”

  “Or what I think about my spouse fighting the company?” Mick asked.

  “Or that,” Jimmy said with a nod. “You’re the cipher in this equation. I’ve got statements from all the interested parties except you.”

  Mick crossed his arms and shot a glance at Drover.

  The woman gave him a nod.

  Mick looked back at Jimmy, his jaw tightening. “No comment.”

  Drover stood up straight, her eyes widened.

  Jimmy caught her eye and shook his head. “It’s all right, Harry. I don’t blame him. I found out what I needed to know.”

  Mick frowned. “What d’ya mean?”

  Jimmy smiled. “You believe your wi
fe is a gifted shaman. You think the rule is stupid and sexist. You like your job and you’re afraid if you tell me what you really think, I’ll fire you, but you’re not going to stand there and belittle your wife or her gift.” He paused and looked Mick in the eye. “Did I miss anything?”

  Mick took a deep breath and let it out before speaking. “No comment.”

  “Fair enough,” Jimmy said. “It’s gotta be tough.” He patted the man on one shoulder. “Good man. Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.” He headed for the door.

  Mick stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “What’s going to happen to her?”

  “Shelly?”

  Mick nodded.

  “Nothing, as far as I’m concerned. She’s going to lose the arbitration, and she’ll continue doing whatever it was she did before she filed the grievance. No harm. No foul.”

  “You’re not going to put her off St. Cloud?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Why would I? You going to divorce her or something?”

  Mick frowned. “Of course not.”

  “Well, as long as she’s a dependent or an employee, I have no grounds for kicking her off planet. Why?”

  “She wants to be a shaman.”

  Jimmy nodded. “As I understand it, she’s already a shaman in all but name.”

  “She wants the name,” Mick said.

  “She can call herself the Pirate Queen of the South Coast and the Bounding Main for all it matters to me,” Jimmy said.

  “But she won’t be recognized,” Mick said.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Son of a shaman. It’s the rule.”

  Mick scowled. “Where does that leave us?”

  “Right where you are now, as near as I can tell,” Jimmy said. “You’re married to a woman who has a multitude of gifts, mother to your children?”

  He nodded.

  “You’ve got a good job that you seem to enjoy?” Jimmy asked.

  Mick looked around the office for a moment before nodding again.

  “What’s going to change, then?”

  “Won’t there be ... repercussions?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Probably. We’ll convene a board. They’ll evaluate the case. We’ll pay the fees. Everyone goes back to work.”

  “You don’t think they’ll listen?”

  “Who? The arbitrators?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, they’ll listen. Then they’ll pick up the company contracts, work rules, and CPJCT regulations. They’ll examine the language and any prior decisions, and then they’ll probably say what they’ve said at least a dozen times before.”

  “Son of a shaman,” Mick said, his shoulders slumping, defeat printed on his face.

  “Son of a shaman,” Jimmy said.

  Mick stared at Jimmy for several long moments. “You could be wrong.”

  Jimmy nodded. “I am. Frequently.”

  “But you think this is a waste of time.”

  “No. I didn’t mean to imply that. Fighting for something that matters may be a losing fight but I’d never say fighting it was a waste of time.”

  Mick sighed and dropped his hand from Jimmy’s arm. “I see.”

  Jimmy patted Mick on the shoulder again. “Thanks for taking the time to talk with me.” He headed out the door, Drover on his heels.

  “You mean that?” she asked as the harbormaster’s door closed behind her.

  “What? Fighting isn’t a waste of time?”

  She nodded. “Not what I expected.”

  “Yeah. I meant it. I’d change the rule if I could, but I’m just the guy they stuck with enforcing the rule. If I don’t, I’m gone.”

  “But you’re the Ole Man’s son.”

  “Which only means I’m closest to the door,” Jimmy said. He bit down on everything else he might have said.

  “You want to meet Shelly?” Drover asked.

  “Yeah, and the local shaman, if he’s around.”

  Drover nodded and led the way along the shoreline. “Shelly and Mick’s house is just down here.”

  * * *

  The crushed shell walk could have led to any house on the South Coast. The tidy bungalow, rubber-stamped from some company database of “Houses: Harbormaster.” Jimmy had seen it often enough that it barely registered except for the row of wind chimes hanging along the edge of the porch roof. The collection tinkled and rang as the morning breeze worked its way between the various structures along the shoreline. In a blow, that would make quite a racket.

  Drover knocked on the door—three quick raps—and stepped back.

  A young-looking brunette in blue jeans and a stretched-out gray top opened the door and peered out, looking back and forth between them. “Morning, Harry,” she said with a small nod. “Mick should be in the office.” She turned her gaze to Jimmy but didn’t speak to him, just weighed him with her eyes.

  “Shelly,” Drover said. “This is Jimmy Pirano.”

  Shelly nodded. “Figured.” She frowned and pressed her lips together in a line that left a white ring around them. She shifted her weight and leaned a forearm on the door jamb above her head as if blocking the way with her body.

  “Did we come at a bad time?” Jimmy asked.

  Shelly looked at Drover for a heartbeat before looking back at him. “What is it you want, Mr. Pirano?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “Just talk.”

  “About my grievance,” she said.

  Jimmy nodded.

  “I’m filing it.”

  “You already have. The process is in the works. I can’t stop it at this point.”

  Her frown deepened but she looked more curious than angry. “What do we have to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. Figured I’d come find out if there was something maybe we should talk about.”

  “Like what?” she asked.

  “Like why your father doesn’t want you to file the grievance,” Jimmy said.

  A bitter, snorted bark of laughter burst from her. “Well, maybe you should ask him.”

  “I intend to.”

  “You have to find him first.”

  “Yeah. I assumed he lives here in Bleak Point,” Jimmy said. “There’s a cottage here somewhere, isn’t there?”

  He looked at Drover who nodded.

  A kid’s voice from inside the house interrupted them. “Ma, I can’t find my other boot.”

  Shelly didn’t step back from the door frame, merely turned her head and shouted over her shoulder. “I told you to pick them up. Where did you leave it?”

  “Ma-ah!”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Honest to seaweed, that kid couldn’t find his face if he was looking in a mirror.” She dropped her arm and nodded them in. “May as well come in out of the sun. Neighbors’ll have enough to talk about as it is.” She turned and stalked off into the interior, leaving them to follow or not.

  Drover grinned at Jimmy. “Not what you expected?”

  Jimmy felt a chuckle bubble in his chest. “I didn’t have any expectations.”

  “Sure,” Drover said. “Come on. We’re letting the bugs in.” She led the way through the door and into a tidy kitchen.

  Jimmy took in the spotless counters and scuffed flooring. A dining set held pride of place in the center of the room under an overhead light. The floral scent of dish soap wafted in the air.

  Thumping and muffled voices came from farther inside the house. After a few moments, Shelly returned shaking her head. “He was wearing it.”

  Drover laughed. “He’s going to get along just fine.”

  “He’s mooning over some girl. Can’t keep his brain out of his pants long enough to do more than eat and pester his sister.”

  “Which girl?” Drover asked.

  “This week? Who knows?” She glanced at Jimmy. “Tea? May as well be civilized.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Shelly turned to the counter and started filling a kettle at the sink. “Have a seat.”

  Jimmy took a chair at the table an
d folded his hands in front of him. Drover took the chair next to him.

  Shelly glanced over her shoulder as she measured tea into the pot. “What do you want to know, Mr. Pirano?”

  “Why now?” Jimmy asked.

  Shelly settled the pot and turned to face them, arms across her chest and butt braced against the counter. “Why not?”

  “Well, you’re in no danger of deportation. You’ve built a family, have a house. Husband who’s devoted to you. Kids. Why take this on now?”

  She tilted her head and looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You’ll laugh.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Not at you, it that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “Because I can,” she said, almost a dare.

  Jimmy nodded. “All right. What makes you think you’re a shaman?”

  Drover pulled in a sharp breath.

  The woman blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re filing a grievance about not being recognized as a shaman. What evidence do you have that you’re a shaman?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Shelly asked.

  “You’re going to have to tell me sooner or later. Well, tell the arbitrator. I’ll be there. I’ll get a report. I just want to know your side of the story before they sanitize it for my consumption.”

  The kettle interrupted them with a harsh whistle and Shelly turned her back to Jimmy and Drover while she filled the teapot and hit the timer. When she turned around again, her face had formed into a kind of rigid mask. “If you’re going to poke fun, you can leave.”

  Jimmy sat back in his chair and cast a glance in Drover’s direction. “I’m sorry,” he said, pausing to weigh his words. “I’m not poking fun. I’m trying to understand.”

  She looked at Drover who gave her a small nod. “I’ve always been a shaman. My mother divorced my father when I was little. He couldn’t leave me home alone so I went out with him when he walked the beach.” She shrugged and bit her lower lip. “He’d pick up these awful pieces of driftwood and leave the good stuff behind. It drove me crazy.”

  The tea timer dinged and she set about pouring tea into heavy mugs, distributing them around the table. “Milk? Sugar?” she asked.

  Jimmy shook his head and leaned forward to cradle his mug between his palms. “So, you knew you were a shaman because you pick up driftwood?”