Filthy and covered in scrapes and bruises, Micah and Charlotte explored the unfamiliar passage. A single crystal shard hung by a cheap twist of wire from the top of the pipe, giving just enough light to thoroughly enhance how dark it was beyond its pathetic reach. Micah produced a superior Life Stone, and its powerful glow gave them relief. The pipe plunged further into the bowels of the earth at a slight decline.

“Micah, where are we?”

“I would say we missed the main pipeline by about a quarter mile.” Micah spotted a silver object and went to pick it up. “Tinn lied to me. He and I are going to have words.”

Charlotte’s gaze fell on the thing he picked up. “The handle of your sword,” she said. “Oh no! Did it break?”

Micah held it up. “This is Glad. It breaks often, but for good reason.”

A slicing ring preceded a sudden burst from the handle. A thick blade erupted from the crossguard, red hot and hissing. Rising four feet into the air, it stopped and cooled quickly with crackling snaps. The result: an edge of pure glass, razor sharp with a jagged, saw-like tip.

Charlotte oohed. “How pretty.”

He sniffed in contempt. “This is a deadly weapon.”

Her eyebrow arched. “It’s glass.”

“Yes, but as you can see, it broke through thick wood without problem. The same would have happened to most obstacles in my way. Don’t underestimate the glass arts.”

“What happens if you have to fight someone with a real sword, though?”

He sheathed the blade, then folded his arms. “Glad is a real sword. But its specialty is clean strikes. Light and sharp for cutting, suitable for assassination or duels I want to end quickly. In battle, I would use my other swords.”

“You have more? I only see one on your belt.”

“Then you lack vision. Which is saying a lot.” He cast the beam of his crystal to his right. “Now, if we stay along this pipe, eventually we’ll find the main line. It shouldn’t be too far, even if it’s a ways from our original destination.”

“How do you know which direction is the right way?” she asked, clutching to his shirt as they moved forward.

“See the lines along the pipe there?” He pointed out thin white streaks near the top. “The feathery patterns mark the flow of the water when these pipes used to carry it out from the city. If we go in the opposite direction, we’ll eventually find the main line.”

Deeper they plunged with Micah leading the way. His eyes scanned every inch of the long-abandoned line as they proceeded, but his real concern was what waited for them. If time were of no consequence, he would have taken any longer route necessary to avoid this particular direction.

Soon, they found the way out. The pipe converged into a much larger one, twenty feet in diameter and mustier than any of the other tunnels they had traversed. A rickety wood platform lined the bottom for even footing, long bereft of protesting squeaks and resigned to accept the many plodding footsteps.

Charlotte gasped when she saw how many people occupied the mainline. As they entered and stepped up a ramp to the walkway, dozens of men could be seen under the ample but still dim light of the lamps above. Micah could tell she expected just a few encounters, if any at all. The Steamtown pipeline wasn’t just a tunnel, however. It was a city itself. Openings for shops, inns, and even personal domiciles were carved into the pipe walls or situated into pipe break-offs. For miles, the immense structure stretched under the desert, providing safety in hiding for all manner of thieves, fugitives, or seedy traders – for even the king had no desire to purge such a sequestered and inaccessible place.

Charlotte clung to him, but her interest couldn’t be contained. In every shop or tavern, men loitered, all with the same hard, unapproachable expressions, but their dealings were many. Trade and sale was conducted in low voices, but with so many people, the sounds churned together in a pervasive murmur, like the hushed whisperings of a crowd before a public execution. Charlotte’s eyes caught many interesting shops and wares that might have convinced her to risk a stop to look, but Micah didn’t delay, moving straight ahead and keeping his eyes on the path.

“Everyone is looking at us…” Charlotte said, grabbing tighter to his shirt.

“There aren’t many women down here,” he whispered. “And certainly none dressed like you.” He glanced aside at her frilly red dress. “I warned you.”

“They’re mostly looking at you, though. They seem afraid… or pensive at best.”

“I don’t wear these clothes because I think they look snappy.”

Despite their surroundings, a smile curled onto her face. “Was that sarcasm? I’m highly impressed, Micah. Or amused. Those two things tend to run together when it comes to you.”

“I’ll take it as half a compliment then.”

The sinister section of the pipeline ended after about a mile, fading into a much more well-lit tunnel. Store owners and their customers talked and traded more openly, with speaking voices and unassuming glances. And while no one could accuse any of them of being reputable, they certainly added credence to this section of the pipeline being called the “good side of town.” When Micah pointed out a particular pipe break-off from which they should have exited after taking the cart, Charlotte gave a rather exhausted sigh.

He led her around a bend in the tunnel to a split. The main line curved to the right with a steep drop and a well-used set of stairs. The left led to a bright path much more inviting than any part of the pipe they had come across. Lanterns hung from iron chains to light the way, decorated with laurels as if it were a holiday. Doorways were finely cut all along the pipe for several hundred yards, with cavities dug out to create inns, shops and taverns.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Fullins Lane,” Micah said.

“Well this doesn’t look so bad.” Charlotte let go of him for the first time. “And it’s not musty like everything else down here.”

“Indeed. There is even a theatre and an arena, small by comparison to others in Carnel, but always crowded.”

He led her to a wide landing. An inviting red door was set between two glass windows, at which Charlotte marveled because they had not yet come across any such thing. Above the door, a sign read “The Salt” and featured an image of an animated pig dressed in fine clothes and standing on hind legs, making some kind of deal with a distrustful goose holding a ledger. Charlotte chuckled at the odd carved sign as they went inside.

The comparative extravagance of the Salt led her to gasp. Solid wood boards stained to a mahogany finish made perfect walls to cover what would otherwise have been a dirt chamber miles underground. Men, and a few women, lounged around a long bar in the corner, keeping a pleasant-looking bartender busy. A grand piano on the other end was being played by a man wearing a red top hat and canvas pants but strangely, nothing else. His complex tune carried through the room with a lovely sound.

Micah headed straight for the front desk, which wasn’t actually a desk, but simply the end of the lengthy bar. A tall man in a green apron stood behind it. Micah resisted the urge to close Charlotte’s agape jaw. The innkeeper’s face was split in three sections. The lower portion featured fair skin and a black goatee. The upper-left portion was black and smooth with a dark, piercing eye. The final third of his face was covered. A thick material like leather had been sewn into the skin with fat stitchings, reaching along his jawline, over his ear and eye, and running just above his mouth up the middle of his nose, down his head like a hair part.

“Hello, Salt,” Micah said.

Salt nodded. “Yep, yep. Been a time, Mic. Two times by the measure.” His lower lip jutted out as he spoke in a deep, gritty voice. Beefy hands cleaned the inside of a pitcher, moving with deft, powerful strokes. He nodded to Charlotte as well, who only continued to gawk.

Micah nudged her. “Isn’t it considered rude by normal standards to stare?”

She shook herself from her stupor and blushed. “I’m sorry. I’ve never… I mean, you know. I don’t have… uh…”

Salt held up a hand. “Tis alright, miss. A sun ne’er been set when I ain’t be getting that look. A second time might earn you the rebuke, though. Right, then?”

It took her a moment to register his sentence, but when it did, she smiled and nodded. “Deal.”

“You two are a right fine mess. A room and bath be agettin’ then?”

“Two rooms, please,” Micah replied.

Charlotte’s breath held, and she looked at him in surprise. Her face turned disappointed, then soured in one swift moment.

He noticed it. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said.

An edge lilted her voice. Her eyes caught the corner of the room, where several dozen people sat at the bar or around tables, talking and laughing, or singing along with the music.

Salt handed them each a key with a number on it. Pointing down a hall behind him, he said. “Up the stairs, to the right.”

“So then, what’s next?” Charlotte asked Micah, business-like.

“I have to run an errand,” Micah answered. “You should be safe here. Salt can cook you dinner. Then you can get your rest.”

She pursed her lips, nodded, then left his side and made for the bar. It wasn’t hesitant or exploratory – she made a beeline for a stool and sat with a graceful turn. And like horses to the trough, a dozen young men gathered to where she sat. Enthusiastic greetings, offers to buy her drinks, and puffed up chests accompanied them. Despite her dirty clothes and smudged face, the men swarmed around Charlotte, their eyes full of a type of eagerness Micah had seen before, but never understood.

“Now, now boys,” she said, laughing. “There’s plenty to go around, but first, a glass of the red. Nothing too expensive, mind you.”

A dozen requests to the bartender for red wine came in unison. And in no time, it was like she was one of them. She seamlessly blended into their laughs, their jokes, their song, as if they were old friends and she had been there all night. Micah was amazed.

“That be your girl, then?” Salt asked as they watched her.

“That’s an odd question. I don’t own slaves,” Micah replied. “I didn’t know anyone still did.”

“That ain’t my meaning.” He pointed his finger to her, then to him. “Together?”

“Oh, yes. We are together. We’ve been traveling in each other’s company for several days now, in fact.”

Salt’s lone eye rolled. “Already know you haven’t the idea what I’m saying. Why do I ask? You Black Sons. Talking to a wall earns me a better penny. All the same, prob’ly the best. That polished female is a flirt, rival to none by the looks of it.”

“What’s a flirt?”

He gave a low chuckle more like a grunt. “You know, if you wasn’t my friend, you’d get on my nerves, Mic.”

Micah put an arm on the desk and leaned in excitedly. “Do you know where that phrase comes from? ‘Getting on my nerves,’ that is.”

“No.”

Then it hit him. “Oh. Wait a minute. Actually, I don’t know where it comes from either.”

Salt looked at him strangely. “Your rocks all in order then? Maybe you’re needing a little shut-eye.”

Micah smiled. “No, sorry. I’m fine. I just realized I’m actually having fun, despite the situation.”

“A first if ever I heard it. Wasn’t aware ‘fun’ even breached the vernacular. You’ve changed, Mic. Challenge the man that denies it. Is it her that done it, I wonder? Where abouts you pick up the bumptious birdie?”

“Arcadia. And you’re right.” He looked down at his gloved hands. “She’s changed me. In no uncertain terms, I’m different, even though I feel the same.”

Salt nodded, scratching his chin. “Care is number one all times around the females. They can shake all your screws loose or fit them in place, depending on something small as the weather. Don’t suspect you see the pit you’re in for the mud it’s worth. Few men do, but there’s no escaping it now. She’s got the pearly eyes for you. Memorize to treat her right. That’s the advice I’ve got for you.”

Micah nodded. He understood the cryptic words behind Salt’s words, but struggled with the meaning.

“Before I draw the blank mind…” Salt produced a small package from behind the counter. “…these are for you.”

Micah unwrapped the linen, revealing its delicate contents: five thin glass plates stacked on top of each other. He lifted one square up. A bright glow swirled about inside the glass near its center. The others had different colors, but each was equally vibrant.

“Alinda Plates?”

Salt nodded. “They were Coral’s. He left ‘em for you. I took ‘em for you.”

Micah couldn’t believe it. His former master left him Plates? And powerful ones at that. He shook his head. “But why? He disavowed all connection with me three years ago.”

“A question for him, not the keep. I’ll be sticking to the broom and rag and leave it at that. Didn’t feel right, holding them witchy glasses.”

Micah put the plates away in a pocket of his jacket. “There’s a visit I need to make, Salt. But I can’t take Charlotte with me. Can you keep an eye on her until I get back?”

Salt glowered at him, and Micah held up his hand in defense. “That’s a common turn of phrase. Don’t blame me. ‘No pun intended,’ I was told to say.”

He sighed, looking back at Charlotte. “Yep, I’ll keep an eye on her. But don’t be holding me to the night watch. This place don’t run itself.”

Micah laid five gold coins on the table. “I won’t hide it from you, Salt. We’re on the run, and you’re the first person I thought of. Charlotte and I will soon have the whole district on our heels. I won’t tell you why, for your sake, but we need to get out of Carnel. I need supplies, and more importantly, information. Biblio is the only safe source for answers. It will take two hours at most.”

Salt nodded seriously. “No questions to ask. Be taking three, then.”