Manual break-bulk cargo handling was an affront to modern shape.
Lord Giles Croft stood on the lower rail transfer apron. He watched four dozen sweat-drenched stevedores unload barrels of salted herring from a wooden boxcar.
A cooper’s hoop snapped on a barrel of salt water.
Ten gallons of fish-water cascaded across the ballast stones, soaking three crates of southern linen and filling the morning air with a foul, rotting stench.
Two dockhands slipped on the greasy cobblestones. He dropped a basket of baked-clay tea bowls that shattered into three hundred sharp pieces.
Giles clicked his clockwork pencil with a dry, irritated snap.
“Twelve minutes to unload thirty barrels,” Giles muttered, checking his stopwatch.
“Two broken containers, twelve percent cargo spoilage, and three worker injury hazards in a single bay.
