Chapter Text
If someone had asked Langdon what he expected from his life by the time he turned 18, he would’ve answer to become a young scientist or be a student on a prestigious university, the apprentice of any great mind or travel the world while researching whatever he wanted to, and while yes, he had many tutors and had gone to multiple countries around the globe, being stuck on a trading company and sitting on top of rum barrels while eating old hard bread wasn’t what he had expected, at least he had something to eat while waiting for his father to do business with yet another whaler who thought he could met up the expectatives of the old man.
The docks were full of live, thought it was nothing but more annoying noise to his ears, on moments like that he missed the quietness of a ship at night, when the waves were his only friend and he didn’t have to deal with the constant yelling of fellow crewmates, but if he had to concentrate on something, it may as well be eavesdropping into the conversation.
His father began speaking with the same stern tone he’d grown used to "You better not be scamming me, Cavendish—"
“—Oh, no, no, no, no,” said the man “Mr. I assure you this is a fair price for such an amount of whale fat, one you won't get from other whalers. I have many clients here and in Europe that can confirm that.” responded the british man, judging by the accent he spoke with.
“Well, it does seem of high quality, but I will need more if that's the case.”
“More? I'll be willing to work with you the whole season if you are willing to pay the price, good sir, a deal you won't regret, I may add.”
“Very well, we have a deal, don't disappoint me, Cavendish.”
He rolled his eyes, it seemed as if the man referred to as Cavendish was either lucky or very convincing, or well, the most logical explanation, he simply was good at his job, still, he did not have the time to dwell on those thoughts, he has better things to do, catching up to the crew and get some business done, perhaps, or just go out for drinks until he passed out, though it seems fate has other plans as a hand is placed on his shoulders, he jumps back, expecting it to be his father, but something feels different, bonier, less strength, he quickly turned back to meet a man of black hair and brown eyes smiling at him.
“Hello, young lad. Are you Langdon? Langdon Caul?” he asked, with the same british accent, he removed his hand and placed it behind his back.
He nods, looking puzzled, why would that man ask for him? What did his father get him into? He isn’t even surprised, more back breaking work? possibly.
"Yes," he answered dryly.
The man beams, he swears he can already imagine a tiny little voice yelling eureka inside the british’s mind, "I'm Elihu Cavendish, I will be working for a season with your family to provide my services as a whaler."
“So I've heard,” all Langdon wanted was to get everything over as fast as he could, conversation was never his forte, too many ways to make it go wrong, too many things to screw up, hard to control, hard to predict, it seemed to be the opposite to the man talking to him.
“That's not all, your father has told me of your merit.”
“My father doesn't speak fondly of me, sir, please restrain yourself from lies.”
“Really? He said you were a competent sailor, perhaps just needing a little more practice, so I wonder, will you join my crew for our time doing business together? Coincidentally enough I was looking for an extra hand on my ship,” so it was a job offering, he blinked, eyes wide, tilting his head, he could take it, go away and cut ties with all of the family, but at what use? not while the man was working for them.
He tried shaking off the offer, a polite decline, he hoped, “Thanks for the kind offer but, I do believe I'm fine in my current position at my father's ship.”
“Oh well,” said Cavendish, “The offer still stands, maybe when you get older, I'll look forward to working with you, remember, you will always be welcome if you ever need a change of scenery.”
He sighs, I’ll consider it, he didn’t speak, he wanted to, but would anyone hear him? Instead he walks away, better not make deals which he isn’t sure he can’t manage. He spares the man a glance and then continues on his way.
Who would’ve guessed one exact year later he would find himself looking for him.
Cavendish was a simple man, despite his eccentricities, hard working and sometimes too cheery, yet he knew what he was doing and he was no fool but overall, Elihu Cavendish was a drunk, and he knew where to find drunks, so he spent the following days traveling from Virginia to New York, the place where the man lived, the same town he had spoke about before, asking the locals until they told him an specific bar to find him, Pirate’s Delight , they said, and he better be there, because money wasn’t going to last forever and he needed a job soon.
He had taken his belongings, left a letter explaining himself to the house employees, made a scandal with his parents, punches flew, he still got proof of that on his skin, but who cared? Nobody would know, nobody had to know, all that mattered was to make his way among the never ending crowd of merchants and customers, the yelling advertisement of products, people haggling, children screaming and running around with their toys as worried mothers chase them, drunken sailors stumbling all over the place, he must ignore that, stay focused even when his body and mind tell him to quit and crumble down, he sighs, trying to clear his mind, "Here I am," he says, going further into the mass of people, making his way into the same bar he was told he would find the mad whaler, with its old wooden walls and cracked windows, nautical trinkets as decoration and a big sign on top of the deshevel establishment.
Pirate's Delight.
He went through the door, hearing it creaking open, the inside was no different, dust everyone, he swore he found some cobwebs, the usual escene of men celebrating or drowning their grief on cheap whiskey, what else did he expect? All that was missing as a good brawl was a bar fight and it'll all be complete. Langdon spotted a waitress carrying a tray of drinks, calling out for the poor woman who looked as uninterested as him on some lessons from his tutors, "Emmm, Excuse me, ma'am…" he told her.
She turns back to look at him, dead fish eyes and a frown on her brow, “I'm looking for Elihu Cavendish, I was told he frequents this place and I need to talk to him—”
“Brittish, right? black hair, ridiculously over the top?”
“Y-Yes, that's him.”
“Seat near the window at the corner, the one with the view at the sea, good luck, he drank his own weight in rum.” She signaled at a table near the previously mentioned window and and went back to her job, Langdon instead just took a deep breath and tried thinking of anything good to tell the captain, making his way towards the man surrounded by empty mugs of rum who currently looked like he had fallen asleep on the table and reeked of alcohol.
“Mr. Cavendish, Elihu Cavendish?” He hears no answer other than moans and groans, “Mr. Cavendish—”
“—Langdon! me boy, is that you? how much you've grown! take a seat, you want a drink? I'll get you a drink! Come here, sit, sit down.” The dead looking man is suddenly jumping and shaking his hand, encouraging him to sit up next to him with the same energy as one of the yappy dogs his mother's friends once kept as pets. Part of him already regrets even coming to the place.
“I would much prefer that you don't refer to me with such… familiarity, for the sake of professionalism, if it's not too much to ask.” He sits down and clears his throat, afraid of sounding younger than he looks.
“Of course, of course,” the captain hiccups, “Caul, right? just like your father, old Jeremiah, raised you well. Oi, misses, whiskey for my friend over here!”
“I would say otherwise…” he mumbles.
“What was that?”
“Eh, nothing, but please refrain from comparing me with my father, I have cut ties with my family's trading company and I'm no longer associated with them,” details he prefers not to think much about.
The man laughs, a loud, friendly cackle, “Alright, I get it, I understand. So…” he takes a sip of his still not empty mug and continues, “Tell me, what did you decide?”
“My answer is yes, I do agree on joining your crew.”
Cavendish slams the table, stands up and starts shaking his hand once more, “Excellent, we shall sail tomorrow at first our! I have an expedition planned for tomorrow.” It may be too soon for others but Langdon was desperate to get away for a while, so he didn't mind.
“Perfect— Oh, emmm…” interrupted by the staff he mutters a thank you to the waitress bringing him whiskey, “What expedition, if I may ask?”
“To England, my homeland, nothing fancy, a journey I could make on my own to meet up with some friends, but, I wouldn't mind having company!”
“Wait, just the two of us? For a business meeting overseas?” At that moment his better judgement should've kicked in but it appeared as if it had decided to leave him to his own devices.
“Preciscely,” says Cavendish, “I think it'll be good practice for you.”
He sighs, taking a sip of his drink “I suppose I've already agreed… Alright, I'll be ready in the morning.”
“You've come prepared, I see.” He pointed at the bag with his belongings, just the basic, traveling light, or so was the plan, “I like that in a sailor.”
He takes yet another sip, not sure on what to say “Y-Yes, just for good measure,” goodness, if only he had kept that to himself.
“Where will you stay? Virginia is far away from here,” Cavendish asks.
“I was planning to get a room in one of the inns, sir.”
“An inn…” Cavendish sounds undignified, he stops to think for a little, stroking his chin before speaking, “I tell you something, I live near here, you can stay at my house, I have spare rooms, take it as a favor, for the son of an old friend.”
The offer is outlandish, “Oh, no, I wouldn't want to be a burden—”
“—Nonsense! There's enough space and it'll be one night, what do you say?” He looks him right in the eyes and Langdon is sure he's about to pass out because of the nerves, but is not time for that so he quickly tires making up his mind.
He sighs, “Well, one night won't hurt,” he tells him, completely sure common sense left him ages ago.