The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity as Jon was introduced to the shift supervisor, grilled by the foreman, and dragged to one boarding house after another in search of a place with a spare bunk. It didn’t escape his notice that Rian was paid a few coins as a bonus for finding the plant another hand, which made Jon wonder just how brutal the work would be, though he doubted it was anything like the powder mill. He didn’t have a chance to bring it up, though, because the whole time he was dragged around to all those people and places, they had to navigate the crowded, narrow streets of Pearl Islet.

The tiny town that clung to the cannery and wharf was called the pearl by everyone, even though it occupied a dingy and Gods-forsaken spit of land between that noisy monstrosity and the muddy surf beyond. That wasn’t because it was beautiful or rare, though; it was because the whole area was built up a few feet above the high tide like an island of shucked shells that had built up over the years. The city was an ugly place filled with people, and the only privacy seemed to be in the dankest alleys. Everywhere he went, it stank of dead fish and decaying plant matter, but there was nothing he could do to escape that scent, and in time it faded into the background.

The whole place seemed to be built up in layers. The oldest part of the place was a town called Edgewater, though it had long ago lost its purpose when its lake had been stolen by the dwarves, and the clear waters that had been its lifeblood became nothing but stagnant saltwater swamps. It had probably been a nice place, but sometime after all that, the dwarves had decided that it would make a good location for their cannery, and everything that was built after that was haphazard and elegant. Soon the whole place had the look of a pier covered in barnacles.

The first thing Rian did once he had a bunk was put a good word in for him at the bathhouse, so he could get cleaned up, but before Jon could do that, he had to find someplace to hide his meager possessions. Though the dwarves weren’t likely to treat him kindly in any event, they would treat him a lot worse once they knew he had a brand, and keeping it wrapped in a sack was barely a disguise. Sooner or later, someone would notice it. So, he buried it behind the building next door to his boarding house in an area off the beaten path and then quickly ran off to get scrubbed and shaved.

The hard lye cake soap was one more reminder of the dwarves he could do without, but it did the job, and soon Jon was cleaner than he’d been in perhaps half a year, though his clothes weren’t much better than before. Even after he’d washed them and hung them up to dry. “You’ll need to see to replacing those too if you can earn enough,” Rian told him.

“What is it I’m going to be doing here exactly?” Jon asked.

“Well, that’s a lot easier to show you than tell you,” he laughed. “You’ll pick it up in no time, I’m sure. All we do is push in carts full of things worth eating and push out carts with the leftovers. A little steam, a few knives, and the work is done.”

Jon was skeptical that it would be that easy, of course, but for now, he was just grateful to be clean and to have an actual bed to sleep in. No matter how bad this place was, it wouldn’t hold a candle to a dwarvish prison. So he could relax here for a few weeks, find some clothes, fix his boots, and then be on his way before he knew it. Of course, he would have to eat as much as he could, too. He’d had no idea that he’d lost so much weight in the mountains, or maybe even before, but when he’d gotten undressed, he’d noticed for the first time that he was positively gaunt. So, when the chow hall opened, he ate as much as they would let him.

The bowls of over-salted fish stew were served with hunks of freshly baked bread, and as lousy as it was, he would have sworn it was some of the best food he’d ever eaten. Jon went to bed full for the first time in a long time, and as he lay on his lumpy bed in a room of snoring men, all he had to do was look out the window to see the stars and remind himself that he wasn’t back underground. He was free - mostly.

Morning came early, and everyone was up at the first whistle. Overalls were common amongst the workers here, and though Jon’s clothes were tattered, he fit right in except for that small detail. After that, they lined up outside the canteen, where everyone was given a tin platter of biscuits and gravy before they got to work. Dinner had been a leisurely affair, but breakfast was just the opposite. Most of the experienced hands wolfed their food down in less than a minute before walking to the gate.

The workers clung to each other in knots of people that seemed to work together often, and though most of the people here were men, there were more than a few women mixed in amongst the crews. Jon took it all in, feeling more than a little lost, and it was only when Rian found him and dragged Jon amongst his crew that things started to make sense.

“So you’re Rian’s new bounty, huh?” a woman asked.

“Don’t feel bad,” a shorter man said, “He didn’t split it with me either.”

“I told you, Garrett, those finds are for setting you up,” Rian answered with a laugh. “Knives and all the rest - those aren’t free, you know.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“I dunno,” a third-man closer to Jon’s age chimed in. “I’ve been here long enough to see you give a couple people your knife, and you didn’t charge a thing!”

It was a whirlwind of conversation, and though Jon participated where he could, he mostly just tried to take it all in. As soon as people started to spill onto the floor, they began to crowd around large wooden carts on rails that didn’t look so different from mining cars that had been pushed up the rails from the pier. It was obvious to him immediately that the whole operation prioritized efficiency over safety as tons of oysters, clams, and other seafood were brought up from the pier and processed. The seafood came in on rails; they were blasted with steam before one of the many groups descended on it with small knives.

Well, most people had small knives to pry open and shuck the shellfish, but Rian seemed to favor a long, thin stiletto entirely unsuited for the task. When he caught Jon looking at him, he said, “There’s an art to it, you know? You get used to a blade, and you use it for everything.”

Jon didn’t ask, but he wondered just how many knife fights the man had been in, especially as the day wore on, and Rian rolled up his sleeves to reveal more than a few scars. Still, even if Jon wasn’t very good with his knife, the work was easy enough. The seafood was shelled, and the meat was put into little metal cups, and they were paid by the weight at the end of the day.

He’d done far worse than play the pearl lottery, as everyone called it. Each shell you opened was a chance to find another pearl. It sometimes happened, but it was rare. Only one was found that day by a man named Bryce, but it was a dull-mottled thing and not worth more than a few drinks. Still, he seemed ecstatic to have found his little treasure.

When the shift ended almost 12 hours later, Jon received only two coins instead of three from the bursar. Rian quickly explained, “Two is pretty good for your first day. You’ll get better in time. For now, that’s enough to pay for a place to sleep and food to eat, which is better than you had yesterday, right?”

Jon laughed at that. “Just enough so you can never afford to leave, huh?”

There were more jokes in that vein about what the third coin could buy you, but Jon wasn’t interested in how many drinks you could buy a night or how many days you had to save for a little quality time with one of the working girls that stayed in the house lit by red lanterns at the end of the street. He just wanted to save up for a few weeks and get his boots repaired, so he could be on his way and wasn’t tempted by the creature comforts that kept these people going. Apparently, it would take a few days more than he thought to

For the first few days, Jon was nervous that dwarven troops or investigators might show up looking for him, but that never happened. After that, the excitement and confusion lasted a few more days, but once he got in the rhythm and started earning three copper eights consistently, the whole thing slowly became routine. After that, as much as he enjoyed the company of some of his newfound friends, and as much as he would miss sleeping in a real bed, he was counting down the days until he was back on the road.

Then the steam pipe erupted.

The day started off like any other, but halfway through their second cart, while Rian was bragging about how much he’d won at dice last night, there was a sudden hiss of steam erupting and then a series of screams. Jon looked over and had time to see what happened an instant before everything on that side of the room was lost in a cloud of super-heated water that was rushing toward them.

Of their group, Rian was closest, and he only had the chance to look behind him before the outer, cooler parts of the cloud enveloped him. He didn’t say a word, he just ran for his life with everyone else, but the exits were much too small for everyone to leave at once, and a mob quickly formed up by the doors as they pushed and shoved to save themselves.

As they stood there jostling for place and trying not to get trampled to death, Jon had been quietly doing his best to save as many people as he could. The steam that was reaching them was quite cold, though no one but him seemed to notice. Since the initial scream, he’d been dumping as much heat as he could into the floors and the metal cart rails in an effort to keep people from being boiled alive.

He’d noticed how badly many of the pipes in this building were rusted, but he’d failed to consider what would happen if one of them finally gave out: they’d be cooked just like the seafood they were paid to process.

Eventually, almost everyone made it out safely, Jon let the crowd separate him from Rian, and he went back in to try to help some of the injured people escape, but the only person he found that was still alive looked like they weren’t long for this world. It was only when he got them into the light outside that he recognized the dying man in his arms as today’s lucky lottery winner. That made Jon even sadder, somehow. Bryce wasn’t so lucky now. He was barely even recognizable.

Still, when Jon emerged from the sauna, he was practically spent. He hadn’t channeled this much fire in a long time, and as he handed off the body of the dying man to other people, he almost fainted on the spot.

“You went back in that for a stranger,” Rian shouted, “Are you Mad!”

Jon slumped against the wall and smiled grimly while he nodded. “More than you know, man. More than you know.”

“The better question isn’t how crazy you are, Jon,” Rian whispered conspiratorially as he sat down next to the exhausted fire blood. “It’s why you don’t have a mark on you.”

“Just lucky and quick,” Jon said, brushing off the insightful observation. Not only did he not want the dwarves to know he was a fire blooded. He wanted to keep it a secret from everyone else too. They were rare enough to be distinctive, of course, but more than that, they were considered bad luck, and he could easily find himself blamed for the accident that had just happened.

“Uhuh,” Rian said, making his skepticism very clear. “Well, I’ll be standing next to you from now on, Mr. Lucky.”