5
Guilbet was a lawless port town, overcrowded and under policed. Tom triple-checked that Singer-Harry’shood was pulled over his face to hide his scales and glowing eyes. No doubt the mer would overheat soon in the relentless sun but it was an easier price to pay. If one of the merchants caught sight of him and suspected what he was…Well, the trip would end very differently than he had planned.
“Crouch!” Tom called as they strode through the narrow streets and Barty was at his side in a second. “Go ask around for any maps that might relate to our destination,”
“Ayeaye Cap,” Barty halfheartedly saluted before slipping away.
“What is this?” Harry asked and Tom turned to find him running his fingers over a windchime. He laughed delightedly at its chime and Tom almost regretted pulling him away.
“A windchime. We’ve got to get supplies now,”
But Harry was much like a child in a candy shop, flitting between the crowds on his subpar land legs to look and touch anything that caught his interest.
“Tom, why is he on the floor?” Harry pointed towards a bedraggled man sitting on the curb, a sign in his wrinkled hands asking for money.
“He’s either homeless or running a scheme, whichever it is, it's none of our business.”
“He needs money?” Harry looked up at him, wide-eyed and Tom was reminded of the mers naivete when it came to men. Before he could respond Harry had moved forward to drop a handful of gems into the man's lap.
“Wha- Harry!” Tom hissed, patting at his satchel bag. How had he snitched them without his notice?
“Oh my!” The old man gasped out, crinkled eyes going round. “Thank you!” He reached out to clasp Harry's hands on his own. “Gods bless you,” his eyes were frighteningly wet as Tom pulled a beaming Harry away. He cast one last forlorn glance at his lost treasure before tugging Harry along.
“We’re going to sell the rest of this before you get any bright ideas,” He grumbled. Tom had worried Singer would be offended by Tom selling his gifts, but as he explained that money could be used to buy things (“yes like the wind chime, Harry,”) Harry seemed more intrigued.
“You're not selling everything, right?” He asked hesitantly and Tom shook his head.
“Not everything. Some of it’s just for me,” Tom patted the string of scales tucked safely behind his shirt collar and Singer smiled shyly at the gesture. Any reminder of the necklace always seemed to delight Singer, the mer would flush a light pink and grin like a loon. Tom didn't understand it but it was a charming sight either way.
They passed a brothel, its occupants rowdy and shameless as Tom quickened his step. He grabbed Harry's wrist to urge him along when the mer dawdled.
“Tom, what are they doing?” He asked curiously and Tom grimaced at the pair coupling right outside the brothel doors. The man had the woman lifted against the brick wall, her skirts bunched to her waist, their lips locked in a heated kiss. Tom walked faster.
“Don’t look, Harry. That kind of behavior is meant for behind locked doors,”
“But what is it? Why were they– eating each other?”
Tom huffed a laugh; he glanced over to see Singer watching him curiously.
“Not eating each other, kissing. It’s usually done between lovers,”
“Lovers,” Harry tested the word, and Tom praised whatever god was listening that he didn't ask any more questions on the matter.
“Tom fucking Riddle,”
“Borgin,” Tom greeted. The shop had not changed a bit since the last time he’d been there, dark and dank, cluttered and dusty.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here,” Borgin was a haggard man, teeth uncared for, skin leathery, hair lank and gray.
“Now, nowdon't be that way. I have a business proposition,”
The man's shifty eyes landed on Harry who was peering around the shop. He looked more human here without the light to reflect off his eyes and scales but Borgin was too sharp for his own good. Tom stepped between them, blocking the man's wandering eyes.
“I’m willing to repay you for your… missing items–”
“You mean the shit you stole,”
“--As well as sell some of my spoils,”
This seemed to interest him, he tapped a considering finger on his dirty countertop.
“Is he one of your spoils?” He gestured to Harry with a lurid grin. Tom's face twisted in a snarl.
“Don't push your luck, Borgin, there are other shops I could be in right now. Do you want to deal ordon't you?”
The man frowned, gaze calculating before he waved a hand.
“Show me what you’ve got,”
Harry zoned out of the conversation as they moved on to money. He still didn't fully understand the currency on land, but the humans certainly used it to make cool stuff. He reached out to feel a long black mask–
“Don't touch anything,” Tom said without turning around and Harry huffed. This shop was stifling, he looked through the small glass pane in the door. The brothel was too far to make out, but Harry couldn't stop his mind from returning to it. Kissing, lovers. Tom had seemed uncomfortable with the conversation, so Harry hadn't pushed but his curiosity was piqued.
He’d have to check Tom's books later, or maybe the crew would know what it means, they were mostly friendly.