Attention: In no way does John Gardner reflect my personal opinions on the subject of minorities. I consider him to be rude, narrow-minded, and a right bastard. He is nonetheless fairly accurate for the setting, and I stand by my characterization of him. This does not, however, mean that I agree with him.

A Little Surprise Called Robert

Chapter 7: Rhui

Dhui is here.

The words rang in Whistler's mind as he said them, and continued to tumble around as he attempted to be sociable with Jeremy, who quickly lost patience.

"I'm busy, and you have a newborn halfling to look after," he said rather pointedly. "Plus, I'm sure the thing's mother will want some explanations, and you might want to fortify yourself before-hand. She's not a Jack, is she?"

"Thank everything she's not. If she was, I'd probably hang myself right now to save trouble. Oh my god." Whistler tugged at his bangs in agitation. "Dhui though. What's he want?"

"That's for him to know, and us to find out. I'll contact you if anything else turns up." Jeremy crouched and went back to his dirt scratchings. Fairly sure that the interview was over, Whistler ran a nervous hand through his hair and high-tailed it to a rather seedy pub near the Schayers' flat.

The owner of the pub was an aging veteran of the war against slavery forty years earlier. Grizzled and bitter, with a bushy grey beard and a wooden leg to replace the one he'd lost during the war, John Gardner harboured an intense dislike for blacks, mulattos, foreigners, and anyone with so much as a hint of Southern mannerism. Whistler disliked him for a variety of reasons, but the fact remained that Gardner's hole-in-the-wall establishment was one of the only places he could get alcohol without having to go to the bother of stealing it.

"Y'damn kid, y'll get me shut down," the man grumbled as Whistler came in, but he grabbed a pint tankard off the rack nonetheless. "What'll it be?"

"You can put the pint away. I need something a bit stronger than beer. What's cheapest?"

Gardner cackled knowingly as he set the tankard down and pulled out a tumbler. "Girl naggin' you to tie the knot, now she's given you a kid? Damn woman, prolly ain't even yours if it makes you feel better." He produced a bottle with a handscribbled label reading "Munshine" and poured a decent amount, then slid the tumbler over to Whistler.

"Oh, it's mine alright," Whistler muttered. "There's no question a' that. S'not all what's worrying me though." He sniffed at the contents of the tumbler, wrinkled his nose, then took a sip and shuddered. "Gardner, have you come across a fellow four, five inches taller than me, kinda darkish, with black hair? Looks about my age, maybe a bit older."

"Dark like nigger-dark? I don't serve no niggers, if that's what you mean."

Whistler resisted the urge to inform Gardner that not only were blacks human, but that the government had acknowledged them as such. The knowledge that he'd have to find a different pub kept his tongue in check.

"Nah, he's not black. More like Greek or something."

"He's a Greek?"

"No, he's not, but he looks like one."

Gardner looked thoughtful for a moment, an expression which didn't suit him in the slightest. "There was a fella come by a couple weeks back. Kinda darkish, like you said. Hard to tell his age though, he had this weird burn on his face, looked like someone had taken a poker to it. It was old though, y'know? Not recent. Broken nose, too. I gave him a job sweeping and helping out."

"Did he give a name?"

"Dunny, Duffy, Dewey, somethin' like that. He answers to Dog though, so that's what I call him."

Whistler nearly dropped the tumbler. He fought to keep his hand steady as he gulped some more of the paint-peeling contents.

"Does he talk much?"

"Not really. Though now that I think about it, he did ask about some fella named Rukey when he first showed up. Said he was short with red hair, and a cheating traitorous bastard."

"Rukey?"

"Sounded like Rukey at any rate. Rooney, maybe? It's been a while."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Told him there's a kid named Connolly comes around sometimes who's got red hair, but that I didn't know anybody named Rukey."

"Where is he now?"

"He's off runnin' some errands, said he'd be back soon. He better be, the bum. I got some kegs to bring up from the cellar and I don't do stairs too well what with the leg."

Whistler nodded, knocked back the remains of his drink, and set the tumbler down carefully. "Thanks. How much do I owe you?"

Gardner fixed the boy with a grim glare. "You owe me half an hour to bring up the kegs from the cellar, and you owe me an explanation."

"Oh come on, Gardner. I gotta get home, Betsy'll be worried. How's five cents sound?"

"There's five kegs. You bring up two and tell me how you know Dog, and we'll call it even."

"How big are they?"

"About thirty pounds each, give or take."

"Fine."