Waking up was an ordeal. The dream remained vivid, clutching at me as if trying to drag me back into sleep, and it felt as if I remembered the eternity that passed. My mind felt slow, and my head felt like it was filled with wool.

I sat up on the bed, and clutched my head in my hands, elbows resting on my knees.

“What the hell is going on?” I said, keeping my voice low. “First nightmares for days, and now this? Three Gifts, Three Lives, One Fate… What does that mean? The part about Gifts, and the dream happening right after I learned about Officer Reaves, can’t be a coincidence.”

I stood on unsteady legs and started pacing. Speaking quietly to myself, as I pondered the dream.

“Three Gifts, Three Lives. That’s got to refer to me, Officer Reaves, and Commander Clare. We were the only ones with the Gift among the crew of the Excelsior. One Fate, though? What does that mean? Are we destined to meet the same fate, the same end? Officer Reaves disappeared, possibly thanks to the church, but I find that hard to believe.”

I kept pacing, stopping once in a while to listen and check if someone was nearby. I didn’t want to be overheard, but I felt the need to talk like it would help me work through this.

“Officer Reaves was far stronger than me and had years more experience. There’s no way he disappeared without anyone realizing. There would have been a fight, and it would have been devastating, it would be remembered. There’s just no way he’d take shit from anyone.”

I stopped by the window and opened the shutters. In the distance, I could just make out the bridge, and I imagined I could identify the specific statue.

“What the hell is going on?”

I stood, silently pondering for a few minutes before I shook my head, and turned to the door.

I stopped before reaching it, as I heard a noise from my wrist.

Bringing up the console from my bracer, I saw the analysis I’d started, had finally finished.

The result remained inconclusive, as there were too many unknowns. Unfamiliar particles were released from the Black Hole, which reacted with the crew, and the ship, in unforeseen ways, causing a reaction that made no sense to the system.

“Haah, well, that was useless, then,” I muttered as I concealed the bracer again. “Not that I expected much, to be honest.”

After I had ensured the bracer remained invisible, and muted any sounds that might come from it, I left the room and asked the innkeeper for some breakfast.

“Thankfully, the bracer hasn’t made a sound before now,” I thought as I shovelled the food into my mouth, working fast so I didn’t have to taste it. “Again, another point where I need to be more careful.”

I still had to wait for a day or so, according to Burgheard, so I decided to continue my exploration, this time resolved to explore further than the bridge.

“I might also see if I can have a chat with John,” I thought, as I walked out onto the bustling docks. I dodged dockworkers, and horse-drawn carts, as I made my way toward the bridge. “Though, I find it odd that I was invited now, considering I’d been turned away from the House of Learning before. I suppose I’ll find out.”

I walked across the bridge, weaving around the early birds. A surprising amount of people were wandering around, running errands, or perhaps, going to or from prayer at the church, temple, or whatever it was.

People chattered, and I caught mentions of grain deliveries, delayed shipments, the state of homes, and how children grew. All in all, it felt like a normal city, where people talked about their days and concerns, but it felt off, somehow. Most likely due to what I remembered from history lessons being in stark contrast to the reality of this city, and this made me think about causality and time travel.

“If I still remember the history lessons as different from this,” I thought, as I passed the statue of Officer Reaves. “Does that mean the changes aren’t reflected in my time? Does that mean that nothing I do will affect my personal past? Could this be an alternative timeline, or dimension altogether? How can I go about figuring that out? Scientists had just started to genuinely research that possibility in my time.”

I reached within myself as I reached the far side of the bridge, reaching for the Gift. I wished for some guidance, but it remained silent. I wondered at the Gift’s silence, even though I could make full use of it in other areas. Too many questions and too few avenues to learn the truth left me feeling frustrated.

The area I found myself in was clean and pristine, and I found the reason quickly enough. Children swept the streets, and washed the buildings and facades, under the supervision of an imperious-looking woman in a dark blue habit. It would seem the church wanted to provide a look of cleanliness and employ kids to do so.

I then noticed the similarities in the children’s clothing and a band around the woman’s arm, and I realized they were like orphans living in a church-run orphanage.

Further into the district, I found a series of smaller buildings that looked like shrines, which felt wrong to me. As far as I remember, the Christian church had always used a church, and the shrines were mainly used by the pagan faiths, but I might be mistaken, and there might be differences here.

I soon arrived at a large square, evoking images of the large square in the Vatican, with its pillars, arches, and decorated fountain. As I entered the square, I found my eyes naturally drawn toward the cathedral, with its sharp angles, and towering spires. Strong imagery of the faith filled the stained glass windows, and people streamed in and out of the large, open doors.

As I looked at the cathedral, I felt a deep sense of foreboding, almost like a warning, and my eyes widened in surprise. It felt similar to the nudges, and warnings I’d received from the Gift in the past, but distinctly different. I looked within, and the Gift remained silent, so what was giving me this feeling? Was there really a God, here, in this world? Was I being warned about something, or was it my instincts that told me to be careful?

I realized how lost I felt without the guidance of the Gift, how I’d forgotten what it felt to follow my instincts, having relied on outside input for most of my life. The agency I experienced at that moment filled me with dread and excitement in equal measure.

Rather than enter the cathedral, I chose to keep exploring the area and soon found the orphanage.

Children moved around the outside area of the building. The youngest among them playing around, a few crying, or looking lost, while the older ones were being guided by their caretakers to some task, or errand, or in some cases being taught.

I saw around a dozen children of varying ages sitting in a half-circle around an elderly man. He seemed to be explaining something to the children, but I saw several had dozed off, and a few sat restlessly as if they’d rather run around with the other kids.

It reminded me of my own time in school before I’d been taken to the Academy, and I took part in the normal education of the young.

Boring old people talking in their monotone voices. Moving and speaking slowly, lulling us to sleep with their dull exposition.

I turned away from the orphanage with a slight smile from the recollections and continued on my meandering path through the area. Children pulled on their parents’ sleeves, as they walked wherever they were going. The chatter of conversation echoed through the narrow alleys, and a bell rang from the cathedral.

I found residences, and small artisans’ workshops, likely catering to the church and the religious. A small marketplace had sprung up, selling carved wood, shaped like crosses, or important figures.

Across the river to the slums, I found an area I could only describe as a red-light district, as it contained houses of pleasure, and I found it strange for such an area to be so close to the religious centre of the city, but I paid it little mind, as I had no interest in either.

Across from the noble district, accessed by a dedicated bridge, was an entertainment district, where I found theatres, distinguished-looking clubs, amphitheatres, and an arena, modelled after the Colosseum in Rome.

The area was quiet at this time of the day, but I had no doubt it would be filled with the well-off, and wealthy by sunset. Young dilettantes, and masters of the arts, gladiators might fight in the arena to the cheers of the crowd, while some would lounge in the clubs, listening to music, and poetry.

I shook the images from my mind and turned back. I had seen enough for now and thought to return toward the mercantile area. I thought I might have a look at the goods on offer, perhaps investigate the group of people who had acted against Burgheard.

I spent the rest of the day, wandering through the market square, and the surrounding area, talking to merchants, and inspecting various wares. I asked some discreet questions, though I didn’t learn much.

I mostly heard what I’d already learned; that a group of individuals had started a guild, and wanted a monopoly on the smiths in the city. They’d pushed most who didn’t comply with them out of the city, though never through overtly illegal means. Rumours abounded about foul play, but there wasn’t any evidence, and nobody wanted to speak up against them.

I did hear an interesting tidbit of information; the couple I’d saved had made it back to the city, explaining how they were assaulted by bandits, and a group of people heading away from the city had saved them.

I felt a wave of relief wash over me since I had worried about what they would say, and I was glad they’d made it safely.

The talk of bandits didn’t come as a surprise to the merchants, as they seemed to have been concerned for a while.

I started to wonder if the bandits I fought were a part of the plot to oust the uncooperative craftsmen of the city. So far I’d only heard about smiths, and their orders being targeted, but perhaps the scheme went further than that.

By making other merchants reluctant to travel, or trade, some enterprising people could create a monopoly on both crafting and trade.

My questions to the merchants, about the bandits were met with suspicion and derision, so I decided to seek information elsewhere.

“They don’t trust me,” I thought, as I walked toward the slums. “It makes sense, I suppose. I’m new to this city, and merchants would be cautious about strangers asking questions if there are bandits in the area.”

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

I had thought about where I could find some more information, and the slums came to mind. Where would ousted, and bankrupted craftsmen or merchants end up? I found it unlikely they’d have the means to move and start over if this was a plot by some influential people. They wouldn’t risk anyone talking, or anyone taking their victims seriously.

The poor and defamed would, most likely only find a place in the slums. Shunned by society, and forgotten in the city’s dirty corner. It was either that, or a life of crime, and banditry, though those who have suffered from such, might be unwilling to cause the same pain to others.

I could also be completely wrong, but I had nothing more to go on, at this time.

As I walked, I had a realization and chastised myself.

If there’s a plot afoot, targeting craftsmen, and traders, then asking the merchants so overtly was a mistake. I needed to be careful, if the masterminds behind this scheme, if it existed, learned of me asking questions, it would lead to trouble down the road.

I had full confidence in my ability to survive, and make it out, but it would definitely affect Burgheard, and possibly Sæwine, and the brothers on the docks, Eadgar, and Eadric. If I wanted to build my influence, prestige and respect, I had to consider not only myself but those near to me, those I consider allies and friends.

I resolved the be more careful and took a few detours toward the slums, where I altered my disguise. The Gift allowed me to alter my appearance, and I made full use of that.

In dark alleys, away from prying eyes, I channelled my Gift and felt my skin shift and warp.

The man who entered the slums looked distinctly different from how I looked while asking around the merchant’s district.

I had changed my hair and eye colour, my complexion, and given me a few visible scars. It should suffice to throw anyone watching off my tail or assume there are several, perhaps fearing them to work for a rival.

I hoped it would throw them off my tail for a while, at least.

The slums looked the same as last time, though I didn’t fully enter it then. Now, I noticed the border between the slums, and the craftsmen’s district, not only by the lack of care for the streets or buildings, nor was it the poor state of the people there, their torn, dirty clothes, and their drawn, thin faces; it was the smell.

I’d grown used to the smell of manure, and the lack of scented soaps I’d grown used to in my time, but the smell of human desperation in those streets was almost overwhelming. The wall of stench that struck me felt like a blow to my brain, as the stench of faeces, and rot entered my nose.

My eyes teared up, and I was forced to cover my nose with my sleeve, it took me long minutes to muster my will enough to keep walking.

People looked at me with derision, as if my reaction was a sign of weakness. I wondered if they considered me a noble, or someone fed with a silver spoon out on the town. Who else would have such a reaction?

Most people refused to look me in the eye, and those who did looked distinctly un-friendly. People turned their backs and closed their doors, or curtains as I passed, and I could do nothing but keep walking into the cesspool of filth, and degeneracy, searching for someone, anyone who could answer my questions.

Groans of pain and hunger reverberated around me, along with moans and groans from alleys, and buildings, as people plied the oldest occupation.

After what felt like hours, I found a small group of men and women, who sat in silence outside a rundown shack near the back wall of the district.

Rather than the desperation, or anger I’d seen in others, these looked downtrodden, beaten, and without hope.

I saw the calloused skin of physical labour, of working with their hands, and their clothes looked to have been of decent quality once. Now they were dirty, and torn, but they retained some of their past appearance.

I walked up to them, eager to leave this place behind.

“Are you, perhaps, former artisans?” I asked, my voice choking on the odours of the slums.

“Who’s askin’?” responded one of the men, a grizzly man with white hair.

“Someone interested in the strange happenings in this city, and might be in a position to do something about it.”

My words caused a mix of reactions; from widened eyes, and quickened breathing, to narrowed eyes, and sceptical grunts, but they didn’t dismiss me out of hand.

“And what do you think you could do?” asked the same man while the rest looked on with varying expressions.

“That’s for me to know. The less you know the better, for now, I’d guess,” I tried to sound confident, and assured, but with my struggle to even open my mouth, in fear of tasting the air, I don’t think I sounded very convincing. “Wouldn’t want whoever ousted you to think to further punish you, right?

“Bah!” spat a younger, though still adult, man. “What more can they do? They’ve robbed us of our craft, our livelihoods, and our dignity. If they take our lives, it’ll be a mercy.”

“What about your freedom?” I retort, to a contemplative silence, before one of the women speaks up.

“If we’re enslaved, they’re required to feed us, at the very least,” she said with a quiet voice and downcast eyes. “Better than what we have now.”

My heart filled with sympathy, as I couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for them to consider death, and enslavement and improvement to their lives.

“In any case, I’m looking for information, and if you tell me what you know, I might be a step closer to putting an end to their activities,” I proposed. “There might even be a chance for you to reclaim your losses, though that’ll be up to you.”

The group sat silently for a while, only whispering amongst each other before the older man spoke up once more.

“Fine,” he said. “But we don’t know much. We never dealt with the people in charge, only their underlings.”

“That’s fine,” I assured him. “It’s something to start with.”

“Well, there’s not much to say, since the underlings were hired from the common folk to do a job. They showed up with a proposition, and we refused. They returned with warnings, then threats, and suddenly we found ourselves without customers or clients. Our orders were misplaced, or stolen by bandits. Our workshops were robbed and vandalised, and our competitors, those who agreed to the terms, received a sudden surge of materials, tools, and such. We couldn’t compete, but we refused to surrender to their ilk. We had pride in our work, and we refused to compromise on it.”

The others nodded along, grunting, and proclaiming their agreements, but I could see their bluster was forced. They were past their breaking point and were only putting up a facade.

“Soon enough, we couldn’t pay our taxes and fees,” the man continued. “And we were forced out. We had the choice of dying on the road, or the slums of another city, or remaining here, as the lowest of the low.”

“I see,” I said, fidgeting with my sleeve, and unsure where to look. “I am sorry for what has happened to you. Truly, I am. Do you have any thoughts as to where I can find these underlings? Any clues?”

“You might want to look around the arena. I think most of them are recruited from there, but I don’t know anything else.”

“Well, it’s a start. What did they look like?”

“Don’t bother. I could explain what they looked like, and you might find them, but any recruiting would have been done through another person. They’re likely sworn to secrecy as well. You’re better off loitering around, and hoping for the recruiter to approach you.”

“Hmph, alright. Is there anything I can do to aid you now?”

“No. Coin or food will be stolen. We’ll survive.”

I looked at the man for a while, then his companions, but they all shared the same resolute expression. They’d take nothing from me.

“Very well, then I’ll be on my way.”

They said nothing to me, but I heard them turn to each other, and whisper among themselves as I walked away.

I picked up my pace, feeling rushed to leave the slums and the stench.

I kept my pace, just shy of jogging, until I reached the docks, and stood outside the Gull. There I stopped and took a deep breath, and revelled in the lack of stench, no longer noticing the smell of manure and human labour.

Just as I was reaching for the door, I was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder.

“Mr. Jace?” asked a young man. He wore clothes normal for dockworkers, but they looked slightly too big for him as if they were inherited from someone.

“Yes,” I responded as I turned. “That is me.”

“The harbormaster wants to see you,” he said. “Urgently, he said.”

“Alright. Do you know why he needs to see me?”

“No, sir. I’m just a messenger. Have a good evening.”

“Yes, good evening.”

I wondered what Sæwine wanted, and my curiosity, as well as my debt to him, drew me to make haste.

At his usual station, the ageing sailor stood with his hands clasped behind his back, and a strained look on his face as he watched me approach. I felt my stomach sink, as I knew it couldn’t be good.

“Jace,” he said without warmth. “When I lent you the goods you wanted, I didn’t know you’d use it against the wishes of the Commerce.”

“The Commerce? What’s that?” I asked, genuinely confused, though things started to fall into place quickly.

“Don’t play dumb, boy!” Sæwine all but shouted. “The Commerce, the one’s who’s been buying up businesses all over the city. They all but control the flow of commerce through this harbour, and you’ve angered them.”

The rictus of rage on the man’s face was shocking, as I’d never seen him lose his temper. He’d always appeared calm, and collected.

“I am new to this city, as you well know,” I defend myself.

“Ignorance is no defence,” the harbourmaster shook his head, sighing deeply. “They’ve paid me a visit, letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that your actions are unacceptable.”

“So, aiding a struggling blacksmith is a crime in their eyes?”

“Is that what you did? Threw the goods away, wasting my goodwill on some layabout?”

“No, I invested in a person I found showed promise. Someone who’d been wronged, and made to suffer, only because he refused to bow, and scrape. They’ve been going around town, making demands to crafters and traders, and if they don’t comply, they get forced out.”

“Quiet, boy!” Saæwine hisses at me. “Don’t speak so loudly, or they’ll be after the both of us.”

“It seems as if they already are,” I retort, though I lower my voice to a whisper.

“Haah, why must you be so difficult?”

“Because I have a distaste for those who would strongarm, and abuse hardworking people. I’ve asked around, and I’ve learned some things, though I’ve heard no mention of this Commerce before now.”

The veteran sailor narrowed his eyes, though said nothing.

“Crafters, and traders, were ousted, and ostracized. Now living in the slums. Telling a tale of lost shipments, vandalism, and theft. The same thing happened to the blacksmith in question or is happening. Merchants speak of heavy bandit activity, but it looks to me that certain people are ‘fortunate’ enough to not be targeted.”

I looked into the harbormaster’s eyes as I spoke calmly.

“I find it all quite suspicious, and the fact that they visited you all but proves I’m on the right track. Are you going to stand idly by? I’m not. So, you’ve got a choice to make. Either, call for the Commerce, and have me taken, or whatever they plan, or help me.”

He said nothing for several long seconds before he spat on the ground.

“Get out of here. I’ll not call the guards on you, but that’s all I’ll do. I expect you to return what you owe in full, and then I’d be happy to never see you again.”

Sæwine turned his back, not saying another word. I understood the dismissal and left.

I may have lost a potential ally, most likely due to my lack of caution, but I’d gained some new information. A target, the Commerce.

I had to lay low for a bit, but I also had to check on Burgheard. If they visited Sæwine, they’d most likely done the same for Burgheard.

I found a place to alter my appearance before I headed towards the smithy.

It took me a while to get there, as I didn’t want to take a direct route.

The smithy still stood, and it looked no different, except for the glare of a fire from within, along with the smell of burning coal, and the tang of metal in the forge. Burgheard was working, it would seem.

When I entered the smithy, I was struck by the heat. It felt like my skin dried in seconds, and the air felt thick and warm as I breathed in.

Burgheard was standing before the forge, pumping at the bellows, while pocking the coals with a long tool. He didn’t appear to notice me, so I decided to leave him to his work. The fact that he was hale, and healthy enough to work eased my worry.