Good god the smell

Fyodor groaned as he woke up. It wasn’t the mass of sweaty bodies milling around him, it wasn’t the aggressive swaying motion of the ship, it was the stench that offended his senses. All that Fyodor could smell was human shit, it was such a strong odour that he could bloody well taste it.



Fyodor dropped out of his hammock and tried to stretch as the rest of the crew jostled around him. He managed a satisfactory spasm before someone shouted at him.

“Oi! Posh nose, stop fucking dancing. We’re here!”



Ah, posh nose. Fyodor would not miss the infantile nicknames. You see, someone had heard the phrase ‘look down your nose’ at some point and had assumed that because Fyodor was obviously not a common man, he should be called ‘posh nose’. Somehow the moronic moniker had stuck.



Up on deck the sun was sputtering through a foul combination of smog and cloud, somehow the smell was even worse. Fyodor stumbled up to the bridge, Bubba, the Captain, grinned cruelly at him.



“Ah, Fyodor. Looks like your trip is at an end, welcome to the orient.”

“The Orient? There is nothing exotic about the smell of shit and a lack of sunlight.”

“Oh yes, the locals use it to fertilise their rice. You could say they are a bunch of shit eaters.” Bubba chuckled, Fyodor smiled uncertainly.

“Well, what’s the place called, and where exactly in the orient is it?”

“Uh? Oh right, apparently it is called Hanjou and it is on a big peninsula, I think the Chinese control it. I can’t make head nor tails of their lingo though. Always have to hire a translator.”

“Right, well that sound just bloody marvellous.”

“Stop complaining, you Russians, all you do is complain! Anyway, I don't want to hear it any more, you can have your things back now. So go on, fuck off!”



Fyodor ran quickly to the stores and grabbed his jacket, brace of pistols and simple sabre. He didn’t even bother to buckle them on. As the ship glided into harbour he jumped onto the side rail, balanced for a second and then sprung off onto the bustling pier. He buckled his items up as he jogged quickly out of the port district and into the shit stinking, mud caked, smog smothered city that sprawled out before him. He was a long way from home, but every journey had to start somewhere.