Chapter 21: The Blackened Anchor

Elara Trevalyn had been raised in the privileged classes of London society, sheltered from the harsh realities that lurked in the city's darker underbelly. But after a disastrous series of events left her alone and destitute on the streets, she found herself descending into the squalid warrens of the dockside district - a whole new world governed by its own unwritten rules and dialect.

She hadn't hesitated long after the strange young woman named Nell departed their initial encounter. Despite her deep-seated suspicion of strangers, desperation had quickly overridden Elara's natural caution. She set off purposefully through the labyrinthine alleys, alert for any potential threats amidst the chaos.

It didn't take long to spot Nell's lithe figure up ahead, pausing occasionally to distribute portions from her basket to the huddled forms dwelling in doorways and side streets. As Elara approached, Nell looked up, her face breaking into a warm smile that seemed almost jarring amidst their harsh surroundings.

"Well now, didn't reckon I'd be seein' you quite so snappy-like!" Nell's friendly lilt held only the faintest trace of a mocking edge. "You're a quick study, ain'tcha love? Most chelters new to the dockside bails take a fair spell 'fore they've a mind to go seekin' out ol' Nell's hospitalities."

Elara eyed the street urchin cautiously but resisted retreating into her former defensive posture. "I...have more questions. About what you offered." Her cultured tones felt brittle amid the cacophony surrounding them.

Nell's smile widened knowingly. "Do ye now? Well just's well, seein' as how tongues'll surely be utterin' about this savvy-looking bird keepin' company with the likkle Samaritan o' Sun'ner Gate." 

A slight crease furrowed Elara's brow as she struggled to parse Nell's heavily accented slang. Bird meaning...a young woman? And is Samaritan implying Nell was known for acts of charity in this brutish area called Sun'ner Gate?

Before she could contemplate further, Nell jerked her chin down the narrow alleyway. "Come along then, duck. Let's get a wiggle on 'fore the dampness start their rowdiedows and kicks up a cadgerban o'er your fit an' bloomers."

Falling into step beside the waifish yet strangely self-assured Nell, Elara was led through a disorienting series of winding passages and cramped courts barely wide enough for two. The surroundings grew increasingly hostile and derelict with every turn, dilapidated structures seeming to close in oppressively.

At one point, raucous laughter and the smash of bottles ahead prompted Nell to divert them down a foul-smelling side lane scattered with overturned chamber pots and piles of refuse. Throughout it all, Elara kept her senses keenly honed, catching flickering shapes that seemed to observe their progress from the shadows of alcoves and rookeries.

She glimpsed feral eyes glinting like starved animals and gripped the makeshift glass shard she'd armed herself with earlier, resisting the urge to flourish it in a warning. The memento of her former life as an aristocrat's daughter felt increasingly out of place in this underworld domain.

Just when the surroundings felt maximally oppressive, they emerged onto a slightly wider street where the structures lining both sides seemed marginally more intact, their weathered brickwork stained but still upright. A steady warm glow spilled from an open doorway ahead, resolving into the flickering radiance of a hearth fire within as they approached.

Nell turned and shot Elara a conspiratorial wink before pulling open the door, admitting them to a thick fragrance of wood smoke, pipe tobacco, roasting meat and freshly pulled ale. As Elara crossed the threshold, she found herself abruptly transported into a pocket universe of raucous vitality compressed within these thick oaken walls.

A diverse crowd occupied the high-backed benches and battered trestle tables that ringed a large central hearth. Some sported the rough, calloused features of dockworkers while others looked to be sailors or crew based on their distinctive garb. All were engaged in animated discussion, rowdy celebration or silent, focused imbibing of the hearty pub's offerings.

The walls were lined with a fascinating array of maritime artefacts and curios - spyglasses, belaying pins, antique diving helmets, rusted harpoons and spearguns from countless voyages, even framed etchings depicting legendary ships both celebrated and ill-fated. Each one seemed to hold its own cryptic tales of daring exploration and high seas discovery.

But what dominated the dimly lit taproom even more than the incessant thrum of boisterous chatter was the formidable presence of the statuesque, one-eyed woman standing stern vigil behind the thick plank bar. Despite her diminutive stature, Nell suddenly seemed to fade into the crowded backdrop next to this imposing figure.

The barkeep had a bearing akin to the figureheads that once adorned the bows of grand sailing ships - hewn of iron-grey timber and exuding an aura that commanded deference from even the rowdiest salts and rogues occupying her territory. As Elara's eyes adjusted, she couldn't help but shrink slightly from the woman's intense glower.

Nell, however, seemed utterly unperturbed. With a conspiratorial grin, she half-hoisted herself up onto a vacant stool at the bar and gestured for the wide-eyed Elara to follow.

"Mags! Got meself a new frosty 'ere lookin' to slitch up on yer resplendors," she addressed the barkeep with a saucy wink. "Sure you can spare a gabber or two for a once-over, eh?"

The woman's graven features pivoted towards them with glacial deliberation, her one-sighted eye even flintier than the lethal-looking glass shard Elara had pocketed earlier. She let her lingering assessment of the pale newcomer linger just long enough to make Elara's skin prickle with discomfort before replying.

"Nell brings another stray lamb into the fold, I see." Despite the gruffness of her tone, there was an undercurrent of surprising warmth. "Very well then...I'll have Juke see to her berthing while I finish settlin' matters out here."

One iron-grey brow arched slightly as her single eye bored into Elara. "Just be sure she's fittin' company for the likes of us, mind."

Nell's saucy grin widened, not intimidated in the slightest by the imposing Mags. "Sure as shinplasters, Mags - an' I'll be wantin' a snifterpot o' yer banger while I'm scuttling the new frosty's dodges."

With a slight twitch of Mags' jaw that might have been begrudging assent, Nell slipped from the stool and began making her way across the crowded taproom floor, expertly dodging the stumbling revellers. She led Elara through an arched doorway at the rear, shutting out the cacophony and leading them into a surprisingly cosy sitting room.

Well-worn armchairs were arranged around a low-burning fire, and an elderly man with a deeply lined face looked up as they entered with a soft grunt of effort.

"Ah, if it ain't our Nell with another lost bird needful of a berth." Despite his aged appearance, the man's eyes twinkled with good humour as he took in Elara's fine if somewhat tattered clothing and noble features. "And don't she look a rara avis at that."

"Juke, love, be a dear an' see to fixin' up one o' the open bunks for our new frosty 'ere," Nell said warmly, using the baffling slang terms again. "I'll get 'er sorted whilst you put the kettle on, yeah?"

The old man gave Elara another appraising look but didn't pry further. With a slight nod, he shuffled off through a door opposite the one they'd entered, disappearing into what Elara presumed was the pub's living quarters.

As soon as they were alone, Nell made herself comfortable in one of the armchairs, kicking off her scuffed boots to wiggle her stockinged toes towards the fire's warmth. Despite her ruddy cheeks and youthful exuberance, Elara couldn't help but notice the faint outlines of older bruises peeking out from beneath the girl's shabby clothing.

"Right then, lovey - time for a proper yarn whilst the ol' ketlebar sets to brewin'," Nell said, her bright hazel eyes studying Elara openly.

Elara hesitated, her lingering distrust at war with the undeniable flicker of intrigue she felt towards this bizarre yet strangely welcoming place Nell had brought her. Slowly, as if wary of potential trickery, she settled into the armchair opposite the street urchin. 

"You said this was...a sanctuary?" she began cautiously. "From the 'dockside demons' as you put it?"

Nell's expression turned more serious, though her eyes still danced with youthful mischief. "Aye, that I did at that. Ol' Nell's had herself a fair spell down 'ere amidst the banjax an' the brickbats. Learned a thing or two about the skruck an' the slums that few topside brizhers ever twig."

She leaned forward earnestly, seeming to relish her role as a world-weary informant despite her young age. "These peckish warrens may seem nothin' but cold-cold an' grannybush misery to peepers uninitched in the dockside hanleys. But there's still fitten pockets where the promised corporate shines, if'n ye keep your dolly pals about ye."

Elara felt her brow furrowing once more as she attempted to decode Nell's torrent of bizarre slang terms. Banjax...meaning chaos or violence perhaps? And cold-cold suggested bitter hardship, while granny bush sounded like the basest poverty. She felt like a foreigner struggling with a completely alien tongue.

Nell's expression grew distant, her hazel eyes taking on a thousand-yard stare that seemed ill-fitting on one so young. "Ben' there myself more'n once - chokin' on the shuddick an' dreamin' solely o' the Blackest Nedge, if'n you'll bark me. Dark nights where even Nell's constant callipers couldn't keep the nighood from creepin'."

A pang of unexpected compassion lanced through Elara's heart at the fleeting glimpse of hardship shadowing Nell's face. Some of those obscure slang terms took on a more chilling connotation at that moment. 

Then Nell's sunny demeanour reasserted itself, a sly smile playing across her lips. "But I ben't alone for long 'fore I got squared away an' fitted fer more savvy escorts like Maggie an' the lads. They showed me the true dockside fettes of where the badblades keep their mags an' how to stag the prickrugs when needed."

She leaned back, seeming to savour Elara's evident confusion at her indecipherable patois. "More importantly though, they turned me ог о slick a few dowries on how to play my holes with the pricklers an' treaders - how to skid by unslitched yet still keep clammed when their jannocks start pikin' folks."

Elara could only blink slowly, her head spinning from the onslaught of alien vocabulary. She recognized some words that seemed rooted in the Cockney rhyming slang of London's working classes. But Nell's dialect incorporated so many bizarre twists and additions that it may as well have been a distinct language all its own.

Sensing her new acquaintance's mounting bewilderment, Nell gave a tinkling laugh. "Easy there, doxy - let's just hog a spell whilst I fill ye in proper-like on the duties an' ins-an'-outs down here." Her expression turned slyly conspiratorial once more. "An' mebbe by then, you'll be more willing for sheddin' that fancy banger an' hearin' me and the lads at The Anchor sing-song our full upwrights on you..."

Before Elara could formulate a reply to that curious statement, the elderly man named Juke returned through the doorway. He carried a tray laden with a steaming ceramic pot and mismatched cups, the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the room.

"Ah good, now we can chin-wag over a nice builders' scaldkin whilst it's still brikkin'," Juke said, placing the tray on a low table between their chairs.

Nell immediately launched into pouring out the tea, all while keeping up a nonstop litany of even more indecipherable lingo and slang that Elara could only partially grasp. The younger woman settled back, sipping slowly from her cup while trying to acclimatize her ears and mind to this new, incomprehensible yet strangely alluring patois.

Her first long night at The Blackened Anchor was proving just as mysterious, disorienting, and yet undeniably intriguing as her initial hapless plunge into the unforgiving underbelly of the London docks. But deep within, Elara felt an unanticipated flicker of optimism amid the risks - a sense that this strange new world represented a chance to be remade anew, reforged into something far stronger and more resilient than the pampered daughter of privilege she once was.

Even if it meant leaving behind the tattered remnants of her former life for good.