"Up!" came a shout from outside his door. Skári jerked at the order and sat up.
"Y-yes ma'am!" he sputtered. He could hear the landlady scoff at her new worker's squeaking and soon after, her heavy feet stomped away. Skári let out a breath of relief and got out of bed. The innkeeper a woman named Gunnhildr was not the most pleasant person he'd ever come across. She was short, even for a dwarf, with corse black hair which she kept in a bun and tired, snappish eyes that constantly burned holes into the poor lad whenever they cross paths. The only reason Skári would even consider working for such a woman were two very prominent factors:
This was her favorite spot. There were no customers yelling at her, no smoke in her eyes, and no thoughts but her own. But the real reason she went here was to see the great merchant ships, the ones from the New World. They lay before her on the river now, five or six abreast, scattering the sparkling water with their bulk. In between, she could make out the smaller craft, the nimble boats and lighters, that scurried between the wooden giants to navigate the river, handle cargo, deliver supplies or admit customs officers. The Pool, beneath the bridge, was as far as they could go upriver, so they moored at the docks, checked their cargo at the Customs House, and let their sailors have fun while they restocked and made repairs.