Evening
Admiral Biscuit
There would be more cargo to load in the morning—there always was. The livery ponies would arrive while they ate dinner, taking away some of the deliveries and bringing more goods to be shipped. For now, though, all the outgoing cargo was loaded on the boat, and everything was battened down for the evening.
Flash grabbed a stack of paperwork off her desk—there was a good chance she’d see some of the consignees at the inn, and it was always faster to deliver them direct. Sometimes, Mersey and Swanky also got to run invoices, especially at the end of every moon. Some ponies didn’t like paying for delivery unless they were reminded, muzzle to muzzle, and then they’d grudgingly hoof over the bits.
There were a couple of customers who were intimidated by Mersey, something Flash used to her advantage. They’d make their excuses and Mersey would just tap the invoice again and before too long they’d sputter and stammer and eventually get out their bits.
Maybe they didn’t like big mares.
•••
Some days they went straight to the inn for dinner, other days they went to the bathhouse first. Mersey was clean enough—in fact, she hadn’t completely dried off from her swim in the canal. Swanky had salt in his fur, white stripes where his harness sat. Common enough among the working class, he wouldn’t look slovenly among the group.
She was about to point him to the bathhouse, then she heard his stomach rumble.
It could be overlooked; a quick pass with the curry brush to sort of tidy him up and that would be good enough.
“It’s fine,” he protested.
Mersey shook her head, then tilted her muzzle first towards the brush and then the canal. Either or.
Swanky sighed and stood in place as she brushed him, just a quick pass to make him look presentable, and then the three of them headed out the door together, Flash in the lead with her two towponies following: another familiar path, another familiar journey.
•••
The inn was always a boisterous place. Too loud for Mersey’s liking, although everypony was friendly and she heard lots of good gossip.
Not all the ponies who frequented the inn were bargees, but most were, and the bulk of them sat at the big central table. It was a familiar place, and even if she didn’t like all the noise, their oats were delicious.
Even after she’d gotten a bowl, she followed her brother through the food line, watching what he put on his plate.
The three of them sat down together, Swanky and Maresy on one side of the table, while Flash sat on the other. She looked around for new faces before sticking her muzzle into her bowl of oats. Nopony at first, and then a cluster of Mount Carbon towponies swaggered in, acting like they owned the place. She snorted and was about to turn her attention back to her oats when she felt Swanky shift around on the seat next to her. He had his eyes on a stallion in the middle of the group, tan with streaks of coal and sweat in his coat and a short-cropped tail.
She could see some scars on his flanks and concluded that he hadn’t always been a canal pony, maybe he still wasn’t. Farmponies and wagonponies cut their tails short; bargeponies didn’t. There was no advantage to it, there was nothing on the harness back there to snag.
She hadn’t seen him on the towpath before. That wasn’t unusual with Mount Carbon, either they had lots of ponies rotating through different jobs, or they just couldn’t keep canal ponies. One of the mares at Treskow said that Mount Carbon’s supervisors just gave them a number because it wasn’t worth learning a name.
Mersey didn’t think that was true, but it might be. Still, she did recognize a mare in the crew, also a former farmpony who was almost as big as her. She had a brilliant orange coat and straw-colored hair which she liked dying different colors.
Swanky was still distracted by the stallion, so Mersey took the opportunity to steal some of his spinach.
The group sat down next to them; now Mersey was rubbing shoulders with a green-coated mare with a plate piled high with food. Her hooves were chipped and her shoes worn. She looked too lightweight to tow a barge—Mount Carbon didn’t pay enough to attract the best ponies, so they often settled with having several lightweights in front of their barges.
A lot of the rookies started out moving barges in the loading docks or ferrying empty strings of barges up the canal.
Towponies like that either got strong, quit, or they spent their careers towing small packet boats and lighters.
The crew was gossiping among themselves about hoofball and stallions and none of that was of any interest to her. She did perk her ears when one of the mares announced that somepony had crashed a coal barge into the downstream gates at Lock Lake—that was worth remembering, in case they were damaged.
Swanky kept eating and occasionally glancing over at the Mount Carbon stallion, while Flash had started chatting with River Dreams, who ran the Bridgewater Inland Shipping Company. She’d started out with just a tub boat and now had a fleet of three barges and a half dozen lighters.
Her boats were a familiar sight on the canal: they’d set out from Manehattan with several lighters stringing along behind the barge, trailing out like ducklings following their mother. Those would be dropped off to serve smaller customers where a big barge couldn’t fit, or where there wasn’t enough cargo to justify it.
Mersey glanced over at the rookie seated next to her. Maybe that was a job for her; she looked like she’d be fast on her hooves.
•••
Swanky spared one last look at the Mount Carbon stallion as they were leaving the tavern; Mersey saw where he was looking and shoulder-checked him.
“What, he’s cute.”
She nipped him on the shoulder.
“See if you still think he’s cute when you’re fishing him out of the canal,” Flash said. “A Mount Carbon stallion? Doesn’t River Dreams have any good looking stallions on her crew?”
Mersey nodded, while Swanky shook his head.
“Well, maybe you’ll get another chance to look at him at the bathhouse.”
•••
Like many things on the canal, the bathouse had seen better days. A few consolidated barge companies offered their own company bathhouse either near the boarding house, or consolidated within. Treskow’s was actually nice; Mersey had used it once. If Mount Carbon ever decided to build one, it was likely to be a buoy border in the canal.
Flash hadn’t wanted to spend the bits to build her own for her small crew, but she’d been smart enough to negotiate free access in exchange for hauling their limited cargo—occasional barrels of minerals for the mineral bath, soaps and shampoos that could be purchased, brushes for the pony who forgot to pack her own. A few crates and barrels every now and then; the only time it had been an inconvenience was when they’d already had a completely full cargo and had to load a few barrels into the forward cabin. Mersey didn’t like that change in the routine, but understood why it was necessary.
Swanky complained about it for a week, since he had to climb over a barrel to get to his bed.
•••
Hot water and a full belly was the very height of luxury, bordering on decadence. It would be too easy to lose herself in the comfort, but she still had to watch out for Swanky, make sure that he got himself clean, so she’d point to spots he’d missed or get them herself if they were hard to reach.
There wasn’t as much gossip in the bathhouse, but there was some. Not always easily overheard with the white noise the showers made, but Mersey was a good listener.
When she was clean, she shut off the water and shook herself off then started towling Swanky off—he hated being wet, and sometimes complained that he’d decided to work a job around water all the time.
He had fallen in the canal once; he’d been too busy focusing on a stallion pulling on the other side and not as focused on what his towrope was doing. That was a mistake he’d never repeated . . . it got to be second nature; the pony and the barge were one.
Mersey was still offended that he’d swum to the opposite shore so he could be ‘rescued’ by the other stallion. He was such a disaster stallion, that was why she needed to look after him.
•••
By the time they got back to the warehouse, liveryponies had already hauled off some of their cargo. That was something that Mersey and Swanky used to have to do, until Flash hired a couple of stallions to work off-hours. They still occasionally had to haul cargo when they carried a big load or when it was a priority cargo, but for the most part the Aire & Calder wagon stayed inside the warehouse, gathering dust.
Every year, she and Swanky would shine it up and tow it through Stroudwater for the annual Summer Sun parade. That was always fun.
Not as fun as Canal Days, though; Oakton had a barge parade. Last year, Treskow had even cleaned up one of their coal barges and paraded it through the canal, along with a packet boat for tourists to ride.
They walked around the warehouse and to the dock; Mersey boarded last just in case Swanky decided to gallop back to the inn.
He did hesitate on the gangway, so she bumped him with her muzzle to get him moving again. That stallion was long gone; maybe he’d be worthy of a second look when they were back in two days, but she doubted it. Mount Carbon couldn't keep crews. Two days hence there might be a different stallion for him to ogle.
Flash slept in the aft cabin; she and Swanky got the forward cabin. While Swanky stretched out and settled into his bed, Mersey took the opportunity to straighten out his harness, untangling the straps and letting it hang properly.
He booped her nose and she stuck her tongue out at him.
Once Swanky had laid down in bed, she put a blanket over him, then she settled into her own bed, letting the gentle rocking of the barge put her to sleep.