Around their feet were a series of bags, cases, and kits full of alchemical components, as well as two small wire cages. Rhett wrapped the glass containers in swaths of cloth to keep them from breaking in transit while Chance double-checked each order to ensure nothing was forgotten or misplaced. When all seemed correct, he buckled each tightly into their carrier.
“I think that’s everything,” Chance said as Rhett tied up the last bundle and dropped it into its case.
“I’ll carry it,” Rhett volunteered as Chance loaded himself up.
“You sure you got it?” He watched the boy rub sleep from his eyes. Rhett was still not accustomed to their early morning routine.
“I know how to carry a bag,” Rhett said indignantly.
They’d had the same conversation dozens of times. For some reason it gave Chance pleasure to tease Rhett. He knew Rhett could carry the bags. The boy had only ever dropped one before, and that hadn’t really been his fault—the strap had broken as he’d boarded one of the rails.
“Alright, you can carry these today,” Chance said, handing him two of the larger satchels. “Hold them tight. Those are going to pay for our components at the Exchange this afternoon.”
Rhett slung the satchels over his shoulder and tightened the straps. “What about the money jar?”
“I’m hoping we can get by without it.” Chance grabbed the two small cages and the rest of the bags. “Let’s go.”
Locking up the house, the two of them headed east toward the bay. It was a cramped part of the city, filled with confined corridors and back-alley holes. Makeshift hovels could be seen erected in whatever crevice could be found. As long as the inhabitants didn’t attract too much attention to themselves the constables overlooked their existence.
They walked for a quarter of an hour before they found a good spot to set up the first of their rat traps, nestling it into the crumbling brick of a general store. They were searching for a spot for the second when Rhett tugged on Chance’s sleeve.
“Look!” he said, craning his neck and pointing up between the buildings. Chance’s eyes followed the boy’s finger. Visible through a gap in the canopy was a dirigible, powered by two massive propellers, drifting toward the bay.
“A sky-ferry,” Chance guessed.
The well-to-dos who had business in the Basin District often used sky-ferries to avoid the streets. They hopped from dock to dock among the rooftops, descending below only when necessity demanded it—which was rare. Most of the serious business within the Basin took place in the uppermost parts of those buildings.
The result was a forgotten and decaying underbelly.
“Someday, I’m gonna fly like they do,” Rhett said.
“You want to captain a ship?” Chance smirked, kneeling down between two stairwells. He placed the other trap amidst some trash and baited it with a hunk of smelly cheese, partly molded. “You’d have to grow a head or two before you’d fit behind a helm. You’d hardly clear the bow.”
“I don’t want to fly one,” Rhett said quietly.
“There’s nothing wrong with having a dream. I’ve thought about flying my own ship a few times.”
“I don’t want to fly a ship.”
Chance rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. If that’s your dream, go on and dream it. Chase it if you really want to. Septigonee knows, it would be more glamorous than all of this.”
He kicked some loose trash away from the cage, and the two of them continued on.
Rhett kept quiet, his gaze toward the ground. Chance didn’t understand why he got like this sometimes. He’d clam up and retreat into himself on the most offhanded comment. It irked Chance to no end.
“You make no sense to me sometimes, Rhett,” Chance said, shaking his head as he turned up the steps to a residence. He knocked on the door and pulled a kit from his satchel. The door opened, and a shrunken woman peered out at them.
“Oh! It’s you,” she said, opening the door fully. “I hoped you’d be coming by soon. And little Rhett along too. How are you, dear?”
“Fine,” Rhett said, hiding behind Chance.
She beckoned them inside, and they followed her in through a narrow hallway. The space was cramped, and the wallpaper heavily yellowed by age. In many places it was coming loose from the wall and curling slowly on its way to the floor. Chance could smell the stale moisture which clung to those walls, and his stomach turned.
There were others in the hallway—laborers from the factories—who’d set up small beds in whatever floor space they could find. A few were asleep, but others sat quietly in an almost thoughtless gaze, staring at something indistinguishable on the floor or walls.
Chance and Rhett skirted around them, offering unregistered apologies.
Homes like this were inseparably linked with misfortune and illness in Chance’s mind. He was all too aware he wasn’t in a much better circumstance, but these people had given up any hope to improve themselves. It was one of the qualities Chance felt distinguished him from the sorry lot that surrounded him.
Ashworth often reminded him that it was these people’s very misfortune which employed his craft and sustained their livelihood. He’d reiterated the point every time he’d taken Chance on a delivery when he was an apprentice, and Chance could hear echoes of his voice as though he were a third in their little party.
Regardless, this was the sort of place Chance avoided setting his coat down in.
“How is he doing?” he asked, following the woman deeper.
“Not well, I think,” she explained. “He’s been off his feet for a while. He can’t even get his shoes on. A man can’t work that way. What do they expect us to do? He can’t work. Not like that.”
She led them into a single room at the end of the long hallway. It was only twelve feet across, with a small woodstove against the far wall and a washtub set up beside a makeshift bed. The bed was piled high with blankets. Chance would never have supposed it was occupied except for the pair of uncovered feet which poked out from under them.
The woman knelt beside it and touched the pile of blankets.
“Dear? The boys with the medicine are here.” She gently rustled the pile where Chance supposed a shoulder might be. “Dear?”
“I heard you,” came a muffled voice. The blankets moved and a face peeked out at them.
“He’s been in so much pain,” she explained.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand up,” the man said, rolling over.
“That’s alright,” Chance said. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”
He knelt and examined the man’s feet. It was clear they’d not improved since his last visit. Open blisters had formed across the bottom and the skin was flaking away, leaving behind raw, red scabs. Chance suspected the rot had spread even further under the blankets.
Rhett gagged and turned away.
“We’ve had to sleep in turns,” the woman explained. “He can’t bear to have them covered, and the rats bite his feet if I’m not up to chase them away.”
Chance’s heart sank, and he bit down on his tongue to keep from reacting visibly. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything with us to cure the rot.”
The woman’s face flushed. “But the infection,” she explained. “It’s getting worse! He can’t work! If he doesn’t work then we won’t have enough even to pay you to treat it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He could lose his leg! Don’t you realize what this is doing to—” The woman stopped herself when she saw Chance’s sinking expression. “He can’t work,” she repeated.
The man took her hand in his and squeezed it tightly.
Chance clenched his fists. He could see that familiar expression surfacing in the woman’s face, like the sores on the man’s feet—the slow surrender to fate. She was steeling herself for the inevitable course of events. It had only taken a few seconds.
“Rhett,” Chance said. “Give me your kit.”
Rhett did
so, and Chance selected an ointment. Dumping a liberal amount into his hands, he rubbed them together and applied it directly to the man’s sores. The man cringed at the touch but relaxed visibly as the ointment brought some relief.
“I’m gathering the components I need for a salve to combat the rot,” Chance explained as he pushed the blanket up and rubbed the man’s calves. “As soon as it’s mixed I’ll bring it by myself.”
He handed her another vial from Rhett’s kit.
“These should help ease the pain in the meantime. Do your best to keep the sores clean. If you’ve got rat problems, Rhett can come back with a few traps to catch them for you. I know it isn’t much, but it’s the most we can do right now.”
His eyes fixed on the man’s as he said it.
“Thank you,” the man said.
“Yes, thank you,” the woman said. “I’m sure it will help, like you said. How much do we owe you for this?”
“Nothing yet,” Chance assured her. “You just hold onto those until we have the salve ready. We don’t charge for half an order.”
Tears brimmed at the edge of her wrinkled eyes.
“Thank you,” she said again.
On the street, Chance didn’t waste any time as they set off toward their next delivery. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and that place as possible. His pace was quick, and Rhett struggled to keep up—encumbered as he was with his parcels.
“I want you to collect the traps we set today and bring them back here,” Chance instructed.
Rhett nodded.
“You didn’t take their money,” he said after a moment had passed.
“No, I didn’t.”
“And you used our own supplies to help them.”
“We’ll just have to replace what we used.” Chance kept up the pace. He didn’t want to think about it.
“But,” Rhett kept on. “How are we going to buy things at the Exchange?”
“Rhett!” Chance snapped. His toes caught a loose stone, and he felt a torrent of profanities welling up inside him, threatening to hurl themselves at the boy. But, he held back—long enough for the words to settle into his own heart. Their familiar poison numbed his frustration, if only to protect Rhett.
“Never do what I do,” he said with strain in his voice. “You got that? Anything you see me do, you do the opposite. Unless you want to end up like me, you do it right.”
“Okay,” Rhett said quietly, and fell in behind Chance.
The two of them continued in silence along the street to the next house. It pained Chance to have to teach the boy such a hard lesson. He liked to believe he’d been able to hold onto some shred of decency, as Ashworth always had. Yet, there were times he came dangerously close to tipping over the edge. Septigonee knew that with all the ill luck they’d inherited, it was a trial every time he was moved by compassion.
“I just wanna ride in one,” Rhett said suddenly.
“What?”
“The dirigible,” Rhett explained. “I don’t wanna fly one. I just wanna ride in one. I think it would be neat to see the buildings from the top. That’s all.”
“Wait.” Chance looked at him, perplexed. “You’ve never even ridden in one before?”
“No.”
Chance smiled. Despite his mood, the gravity of the moment dispersed some. How did the boy manage to do it?
He rubbed Rhett’s head playfully. “Your dreams need some work, kid.”
Chapter Six
Old Acquaintances
It’s bound to work out... but wear the goggles anyway.
— Alchemical Proverb
T he rest of the morning Chance and Rhett tromped back and forth throughout the district delivering salves, tonics, and an abundance of mundane concoctions. By the time the sun was high they were feeling a little better about their growing collection of coins and banknotes.
“Do you think we have enough?” Rhett asked as they paused to consolidate their parcels.
“By the time we’ve unloaded all of this we might have a bit extra, actually,” Chance said. The surprise in his voice was genuine. He’d expected the worst given their start, and yet somehow fortune had been on their side. “Perhaps we’ll take a sky-ferry back to the house?” he suggested.
Rhett looked at Chance with cautious uncertainty. His eyes betrayed his excitement, but it was quickly held back as the idea settled on him.
“We don’t have to,” he said.
“Why not?” Chance asked, passing under an alcove and nearly bumping into a man smoking a pipe against the wall. Chance apologized and the man grunted in annoyance.
“Don’t you need the money?” Rhett asked.
Chance shook his head. “I can make do with what I have. In a week I’ll make twice this much once I mix a few more batches.”
“But what about Ashworth? Won’t he be mad you wasted the money?”
“If I know Ashworth, he isn’t against the occasional diversion. After all, how often do we get to fulfill a lifelong dream on a bit of spare change? I bet you he’ll enjoy hearing about it tonight over supper. We’ll call it an early birthday present. Or a late one. Doesn’t really matter which.”
“You mean it?” Rhett shook with excitement. “We’re going to ride in a dirigible?”
“We’ll be no worse off if we do,” Chance reasoned. “Perhaps a little better, even.”
Rhett walked with a bounce in his step as they continued down a side street. It was nice to watch the boy get excited about something. It was easier at his age, before he was grounded too much to the reality of their circumstance.
Chance smiled as he walked with him.
And then, like a broken spring rocketing from a machine, the joy went out of Chance’s entire body. He swallowed hard and his palms became clammy. He’d recognized that man from somewhere. He glanced behind them, hoping against all hope that he was mistaken.
There, not more than a dozen paces behind, the man with the pipe tailed them.
Chance tried to stay calm. Rhett kept jabbering, wondering whether they’d be able to collect some of the clouds in a jar. Chance let him drone on, trying to think of ways to avoid what was coming. They were in a bad spot, walking down a longer corridor with few connecting streets.
He’d strolled right into this one.
Just as he expected, two men stepped out from the shadows a short distance ahead of them, barring the road. He held a hand out to stop Rhett, who only then noticed the men. Turning about, Chance faced off with the man coming up from behind.
“Morning,” the man grinned as he dumped the contents of his pipe and pocketed it in his worn suit-vest. “I thought I recognized you. Chance, wasn’t it? You remember me? I told you we’d run into each other again someday.”
“Who is that?” Rhett asked.
“Quiet,” Chance snapped. Every hair on his neck stood on end. He was going to have to play it carefully if they were going to walk away from this one.
“You know why we’re here,” the man continued. “So, let’s make this easy, shall we? We’ve been down this road before.”
“Odd,” Chance said, his face expressionless. “You’d think I’d have remembered this part of town then.”
The man ignored Chance’s attempt at humor.
“According to my men, it’s been a good day for you two,” he said.
“Yeah?” Chance frowned. “Funny how fortune turns, isn’t it?”
“It is,” the man grinned. “And it’s important to remember that no matter how bad things turn out, they can always get worse. Now, how about you just hand over that purse and we’ll avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness.”
Chance bit his lip, glancing about him for any exit. There were none except on ahead and back the way they’d come.
“Don’t try it, boy,” the man warned. “You know we mean business.”
Chance let out a heavy sigh. He removed his satchel from his shoulder and held it out reluctantly. The man approached with a grin, but as he reached
for it Chance swung the bag wide at his head. The man flinched backwards as it grazed his cheek.
“Rhett, run!” Chance yelled. He grasped the boy’s shoulder, barreling into the man and knocking him to the side. Both of them sprinted as fast as they could back the way they’d come.
“Who was that?” Rhett asked, his eyes wide with panic. Chance ignored his question, keeping a firm grip on the boy as they ran. He heard the two others giving chase behind them. Their booted footfalls came loud and quick, reverberating off the alley walls.
Chance knew their best hope was to make it to one of the busier streets. Perhaps they could find a constable, or the crowd would discourage the pursuit.
He wasn’t used to such sudden exertion, and his lungs ached. His breaths came in sharp wheezes and his veins pulsed with his frustration toward the whole situation. He couldn’t outrun them, he realized, but they weren’t going to take him without a fight. He could give them that much.
As the closest thug came up behind them Chance forced a sudden stop, digging his feet in and turning about as he swung his fist wide. The back of it connected with the side of the thug’s head.
The impact dropped him to the ground with a surprised grunt.
Chance seized a discarded piece of metal scrap and waved it at the other thug, who’d stopped just outside of Chance’s reach.
“Keep going, Rhett!” Chance instructed. The thug circled him, eying the scrap he held and glancing at his friend.
Rhett kept running, looking over his shoulder as he turned the corner.
“What’s the matter?” Chance shouted, swinging the scrap a few times. “This is what you wanted, right? Come on then!”
He lunged at his opponent and swung wildly, but the thug caught the scrap and seized Chance’s wrist. Pain shot up Chance’s arm as the thug gave it a twist. The pain was so sharp Chance fell to his knees, dropping the scrap. His whole body twisted under the pressure. The brute held him there, twisting harder every time Chance struggled.
Looking about him in desperation, Chance caught the eyes of a man and woman, staring out at him from their hovel. He wanted to call out to them, to beg their intervention, but he could see how little use they were to him. They kept silent in the shadows, watching impassively as the scene played out before them.
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