The Serialized Novels of Jason Brezinski

If on both sides trade with the enemy on payment of heavy duties was much better than no trade with the enemy, the prospect of trading at war prices without paying those duties was still more attractive, and the smuggler was everywhere at work. On both sides every variety of fraud was practiced to evade payment and to deal in prohibited wares.

The Scheldt Question To 1839

1. S. T. Bindoff

The bells in the steeple above Nick tolled and he roused himself from the doorway where he’d spent a most uncomfortable night. Time to push off. The tide will turn and start ebbing in a few hours. If he’s in port, Great-Thirst will be grunting his way out of a whore’s bed and gathering his crew.

Next to the gate leading out to the Houc Quay wharf on the River Scheldt was The Beggar. Old, probably there when the walls first went up, probably there when people first started shipping cargo along the river. And it was probably a dirty disreputable drinking hole then. At the door, underneath the weathered carved bar’s namesake, Nick stood aside to let two drunken longshoremen stagger out, then entered the low, dim room. He moved quickly to the bar, not wanting to be lit in the doorway any longer than necessary. The barman stared at him expressionlessly through a fringe of long greasy hair.

The place was a fetid pit. The floor had never been swept, and there were piles of unidentifiable garbage in the corners, colonized by mice and roaches. Bad smells, sour beer, piss, spew. Light only entered the boozer warily, as if afraid of being beaten and left for dead. It was all very familiar to Nick.

“Beer.”

Without saying a word or changing expression, the barkeep pulled a mug worth of beer and slid it across the bar to Nick. He took a sip of the brew, found it sour but palatable, then turned to look at the people. There, at a table by the far wall, was the man he sought, a skinny man with his long legs stretched out underneath the table. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument)CHAPTER 18: NICK: GREAT-THIRST” →

From 10 August 1540 onward, the Privy Council clerks acted as the Council’s principal aides, working not for one but for all, and as subject to the precariousness of politics and events as the Councillors themselves.

Secretaries, Statesmen, and Spies

Jacqueline D. Vaughan

It was mid-morning and Robert Poley was in high and determined spirits. Yesterday had been a wild ride of success and mischance but he was intent on making this day be entirely under the benevolent eye of Dame Fortune. His humors were high and his blood fairly spun in his veins. He knew where he had to go and the laborious upstream rowing of a wherryman was much too slow for his mood. His rapid pace took him westward along Conning Street to Watling and past St Paul’s and out the city walls at Ludgate. The streets were still muddy from the night’s rain and he had to step quickly on occasion to avoid being splashed by passing wagons and coaches.

He took basic precautions, doubled back a few times, stopped here and there to see if any of those among the crowds of people in the streets stopped along with him, if any of the faces were familiar. By the time he passed through Ludgate, he was reasonably sure that he was not being followed. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 17: POLEY: THE CLEAVER” →

But the city was strongly garrisoned with crack Castilian troops and Protestants who refused to reconvert to Catholicism were ordered to sell their homes and immovable possessions and depart. Around half of Antwerp’s population, some 38,000 people emigrated to the north over the next four years (1585-89).

The Dutch Republic

Jonathan Israel

The next day, the sun was going down as they approached Antwerp, floating down the Scheldt. The canal had exited into the river a few hours earlier and their pace had picked up in the faster running river. The city’s glory days were long past. For as long as Nick had been in the Netherlands, Antwerp had been a shadow of its former self, when it had been the busiest port in Northern Europe. Now, after two sacks by the Spanish, the Dutch closing the mouth of the Scheldt, and the Protestants all fleeing  north, there were rotting wharves, decaying cranes, empty houses, few signs of people living outside the walls.

Fuck. Gets me every time. The ‘dam and Emden might be getting all the ships these days but I remember when Antwerp was the center of the fucking world. When I first came here, sailing for John Crookback, ships were so crowded along the wharves and quays that it looked like you could walk all the way across the Scheldt going from deck to deck.

The Inquisition will fuck up your business faster than getting drippy dick from a wharf-side whore. First they kicked out the Jews and now they’ve done the same to Protestants. And they all went north to Amsterdam, taking their money and business and brains with them. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 16: NICK: QUAY SIDE KNIVES” →

… but it was van Meteren’s skillful management of the post that made him indispensable. When the artist Marcus Gheeraerts wanted to send smoked herring to Antwerp, or Ortelius wanted gifts to arrive at his sister’s house in London, they inevitably went through Emmanuel van Meteren and his formidable network of middlemen, merchants, sailors, and travelers to ensure that precious messages and gifts reached their destination.

The Jewel House

Deborah Harkness

Unfortunately, the business at the Customs House had proven fruitless. There had been no sign of any Captain Barnes. There had been one other captain in from Vlissingen and he knew nothing of Moody.

Poley’s mood was dark and frustrated and to cap it off, the weather had decided to match its mood to his. The afternoon had passed in a succession of conversations, boat rides from ship to ship at anchor in the Pool, and a memorable visit to a male whorehouse looking for a Portuguese captain. And all the while the clouds had moved in from the west, wispy at first, then piling up and blotting out the light.

And now it was pissing down rain.

Lime Street during a sunny day was a pleasant prospect. It was a narrow twisting street from St. Dionysus Backchurch on Fenchurch to Cornhill and St. Andrew Undershaft and its tower that loomed over the surrounding houses. The houses were all very nice and there were no tenements. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 15: POLEY: A STREET OF STRANGERS” →

To circumvent these problems a canal was dug to link Brussels via the River Rupel, thus establishing a direct link with the Scheldt and with Antwerp. The canal was finished in 1561 and shortly afterwards most of the docks were dug.

Living in Brussels

He’s right there. Right there on that barge, eating his bread and cheese, that fat bastard. Helmsley drew back from the shutters in the lockmaster’s office and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. I could take him right now and be back in Brussels back in Master Owen’s favor by sunset tomorrow.

“No.” Jean’s voice was as matter of fact as always, but with an undercurrent of discomfort. “Not enough men. Tough fucker. Remember the market.”

Helmsley spun to face him. “But he’s right there!” He heard the whine in his voice and got a grip on himself. It was wrong of him to show such lack of composure in front of Jean. He took a deep breath. “You’re right. What do you suggest? Where can we get more men?”

“Breda Piet’s in Antwerp.” A spasm of pain passed over Jean’s face. “Pardon.” He hurried through the back door of the office in the directions of the jakes. Bad meat at mid day had done for him. Continue reading “(Broken Instrument) CHAPTER 14: HELMSLEY: SET THE TRAP” →