Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 22 Naked Exploitation

Henry took a bunch of keys from the drawer, picked out two of the oldest-looking brass keys with some rust, placed them on the table, and pushed them toward Green.

"It's piled up... well, mainly copies of various maritime records from before the mid-19th century, old bills, abandoned registers, and quite a few worthless correspondences. It's a mountain of stuff, and much of it is damp and damaged, making it very difficult to sort through."

He picked up a folder from the table, opened it, and pointed to a line with his finger.

"Your main task is to sort these items according to this simple classification list... mainly by year and general type. Pick out the completely damaged and unidentifiable items, register them, and process them centrally. Clean and organize the items that are still readable and may have some reference value, then pack them into boxes, label them, and move them to the designated temporary storage area. Whether they will be further archived later is a matter for later."

This job didn't sound like what Uncle Victor had described at all; it was just manual labor.

Henry seemed to sense Green's thoughts during his silence and added:

"Don't underestimate this job, young man. It takes organization and effort to put together that pile of 'files.' Mr. Hayes said you're a hardworking and reliable young man. I heard you used to be an investigator, and I trust his judgment."

This sounds like a compliment, but it's more like an emphasis on how well-suited the job is and why it's not an option to refuse.

"You'll also be working with old Bob. He spent his whole life in warehouse management at the port authority, and after retiring, he was rehired to look after these old things. He's a bit eccentric, but he knows those old things very well. You can ask him if you don't understand anything, but don't expect him to do the heavy work for you; he's getting old."

Henry rubbed his temples again, this time looking genuinely troubled. "Also, occasionally... I mean occasionally, if the girls in the clerical office are too busy, or need help moving something, they might ask you to lend a hand. After all, there are no male staff in the clerical office."

Green's face instantly darkened. Was this Supervisor Henry even human? This almost implied that Green might also have to take on the menial tasks in the clerk's office.

"May I ask about the salary?"

"Of course, salary is crucial, and it's normal for young people to care about that."

He softened his tone, with a hint of difficulty, "But you have to understand, the fiscal expenditures allocated from above are very tight right now, and money is needed everywhere. The port authority is such a large entity, with personnel, equipment, daily maintenance... after deducting these costs, the budget that can be used for temporary positions is really limited."

Henry paused, observing Green's expression. Seeing no reaction, he held up four fingers, hesitated for a moment, and then withdrew one:

"How about this, weekly wage... 3 sous and 5 pence. That's already pretty good pay for a temporary worker."

Green's face remained expressionless, but his heart sank. The amount was much lower than he had expected, barely enough to cover basic living expenses, and even leaving him somewhat strapped for cash.

Henry's heart sank when he saw that Green remained unmoved. This kid didn't seem like someone who could be easily fooled.

He coughed awkwardly and tapped his fingers on the table.

"Of course, since you were introduced by Mr. Hayes, it can't be this amount. I'll add a little more... 4 sulphurs! How about that? This is already an exception."

Green remained silent. 4. Suller, still not enough. And he sensed the exaggeration in Henry's words.

Henry's forehead was beaded with sweat. He had originally planned to hire someone for the dirtiest and hardest work at the lowest possible wage, but he hadn't expected this young man to be so patient...

"Cough cough..."

Henry coughed twice, picked up the glass on the table, and took a sip of water. "This...this is just the basic salary. We at the port authority also...and allowances! Yes, allowances!"

He seemed to have found a good excuse, "You know, allowances are a benefit that only regular employees can enjoy, but I can find a way to apply for some for you... well, like transportation allowances, meal subsidies, etc., which together... can amount to about 9 pence per week. So, you can actually get about 5 9 pence per week."

Henry paused, then emphasized, "This salary is hard to find elsewhere. Many formal junior clerks only earn around 6 to 7 sulphurs a week, but they bear much greater responsibility and work pressure. Here, the working environment is a bit worse, but the advantages are... well, it's stable, and there aren't as many complicated interpersonal relationships."

Green quickly calculated in his mind.

Five sous and nine pence was still not high, but it was better than the original three sous and five pence.

Most importantly, he didn't have many options at the moment. He couldn't go back to the firm anytime soon, and he needed to find a job. If he directly refused, it would be like slapping his uncle Victor in the face, making things difficult for his uncle at the port authority, and it would also damage the image of "being willing to be down-to-earth" that he had just built up in the family.

He looked up at Henry, who was looking at him expectantly, his fingers unconsciously stroking the cigar box.

"I understand, supervisor," Green finally spoke. "Thank you for the arrangement. I will work hard."

Henry visibly relaxed, his serious expression returning to his face.

"Very good! Young man! I have high hopes for you! It's settled then. Let's start calculating the work today. Now, take the keys and the list, and go to the warehouse to find Old Bob. Remember, order and punctuality!"

"Yes, supervisor."

Green stood up, picked up the two old keys and the simple categorization list, nodded slightly, and turned to leave the office.

After the door closed, Henry Burns leaned back in his chair, let out a long sigh, picked up a cigar, lit it, and took a deep drag.

Amidst the swirling smoke, he muttered to himself, "Five sols and nine pence... Hmph, at least they know what's good for them. They can still leave some each week. If it weren't for the higher-ups... having a silly kid to clean up that pile of junk would be better than letting my girls get covered in dust. Victor... I'm giving you face this time."

......

Holding the key, Green walked along the cobblestone path in the port authority compound to the back, and soon found the two-story building that Henry Burns had mentioned.

The smaller building was much older than the main building, with dark green vines climbing all over the red brick walls, and the windows were small and covered with a thick layer of dust.

The door on the first floor was ajar, and next to it hung a crooked wooden sign with the words "Old Items Management" written in blurry handwriting.

Green pushed open the door, revealing a small, dimly lit foyer.

Directly opposite the door was a small room resembling a duty room, with the door open.

An old man with gray hair, wearing a faded blue overall, was sitting with his back to the door in an old, creaking rattan chair, holding a crumpled newspaper in his hand, engrossed in reading it.

Green knocked on the open door.

The old man didn't react, still engrossed in the world of the newspaper, seemingly muttering something to himself.

Green raised his voice: "Excuse me."

The old man seemed startled, and the newspaper in his hand rustled loudly.

He slowly turned his head, revealing a wrinkled face with a pair of reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Who are you looking for?" The old man's voice was hoarse, with a heavy local accent.

"Hello, are you Mr. Bob?"

Green stepped forward, showing the keys and list in his hand. "I'm a new temporary worker, Green Morris. Supervisor Henry assigned me to work in the old files storage area, saying you were here."

"Mr. Bob? Oh...yes, that's me." The old man blinked, seemingly taking a few seconds to connect himself with "Mr. Bob."

He put down his newspaper. "Just call me 'Old Bob,' that's what they all call me. Henry...did he hire someone to clean up that junk again? And just a temporary worker..."

He walked to the door, looked Green up and down, and said, "Come with me."

After saying that, he turned around, took a larger keychain from the wall, and walked deeper into the foyer.

"That place...it's not a good place to stay," Bob said without turning his head as he struggled to turn the large lock. "It's damp and cold. A few young men came here before, but they ran away after a couple of days. The girls left as soon as they arrived."

The heavy wooden door was opened, and a strong smell of mildew and dust rushed out, almost suffocating. Behind the door was a narrow, downward-sloping concrete staircase, dimly lit, with only a few specks of light filtering in from a few dusty windows on the wall.

"The storage area is in the basement, which used to be a small spare warehouse."

Old Bob was the first to walk down the steps. "Be careful, the steps are a bit slippery."

Green followed him down the steps. The further down they went, the colder and damper the air became, and the stronger the pungent smell grew. At the end of the steps, there was another door.

Bob gestured for Green to open it with the key in his hand.

The moment the key was inserted and the door opened, even though Green was somewhat prepared, he was stunned by the sight before him.

"Mom, Mom... you've asked for too little..."