Dust woke to the sound of heavy boots on cobblestone.
He'd learned to sleep lightly over the years—it was the difference between waking up with your possessions and waking up with nothing at all. But these footsteps were different. Purposeful. Searching.
He pressed himself deeper into the shadows of his alley, hardly daring to breathe. Dawn was still an hour away, the sky that pale gray color that made everything look like a faded painting. Normal people were still asleep in their warm beds. Only guards, criminals, and street kids moved through Lower Ashmark at this hour.
"—sure it was around here somewhere," a gruff voice was saying. "Kid about fifteen, dark hair, ragged clothes."
Dust's blood went cold. They were looking for him.
"Could be anywhere by now," another voice replied. "Rats like that know every hole in the city."
"Garrett wants him found. Something about interfering with business last night."
Of course. Dust closed his eyes, cursing his own stupidity. He should have known helping Clara would have consequences. In Lower Ashmark, no good deed went unpunished, especially when it involved crossing someone like Garrett.
The footsteps grew closer. Dust could see the flicker of torchlight against the opposite wall of his hiding place. In another minute, they'd check his alley. He had to move.
Carefully, silently, he gathered his few possessions and crept toward the back of the narrow space. There was a loose board in the clockmaker's wall that he'd discovered weeks ago—just big enough for someone his size to squeeze through if they were desperate enough.
The wood groaned softly as he pushed it aside, and Dust froze, listening. The voices continued their conversation, but they seemed to be moving away now, checking other alleys. He slipped through the gap and found himself in the cluttered back room of the clock shop.
Old Matthias, the clockmaker, was deaf as a post and slept like the dead. Dust had used this route before when the night watch got too curious about his usual sleeping spots. He just had to be careful not to knock over any of the delicate timepieces scattered throughout the shop.
He made it to the front door without incident and peered through the grimy window. The street appeared empty, but Dust had learned not to trust appearances. He waited, counting his heartbeats, until he was sure the searchers had moved on to other areas.
The morning air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of fresh bread from Miller's bakery. Dust's stomach responded immediately to the smell, reminding him that yesterday's meat pie was a distant memory. But he couldn't risk going to the market square—not yet. Garrett's men would be watching the places where a street kid might look for work.
Instead, he made his way toward the docks. The harbor district was rougher than Lower Ashmark, if such a thing was possible, but it was also larger and easier to disappear in. Sailors came and went at all hours, and there was always work to be found loading and unloading cargo—if you weren't particular about asking where it came from.
The sun was fully up by the time Dust reached the waterfront. Ships of various sizes bobbed at anchor, their masts creating a forest of wood and rope against the morning sky. Seagulls wheeled overhead, crying their harsh songs, and the air smelled of salt, fish, and tar.
"You there, boy!"
Dust turned to see a weathered man in a captain's coat striding toward him. The man had gray hair tied back in a queue and eyes the color of storm clouds. A thin scar ran from his left ear to the corner of his mouth, giving him a permanent half-smile.
"You looking for work?" the captain asked.
"Yes, sir," Dust replied carefully. He'd learned to be wary of sea captains—some were honest traders, others were little better than pirates.
"Can you read?"
The question caught Dust off guard. Most people assumed street kids were illiterate, and they were usually right. But Mrs. Henderson had taught him his letters years ago, during the long winter when she'd let him sleep in her shop's back room.
"Some," he admitted.
The captain's weathered face broke into a genuine grin. "Perfect. I need someone to help inventory cargo. Three copper pieces for the morning's work, and I'll throw in a hot meal."
Three copper pieces and a meal? It seemed too good to be true, which usually meant it was. But Dust's stomach was making the decision for him.
"Yes, sir."
"Name's Captain Aldrich. Ship's the Sea Witch. And you are?"
"Dust."
Aldrich raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on the unusual name. "Well then, Dust, let's see how well you can count."
The work was easier than Dust had expected. Captain Aldrich's cargo consisted mostly of textiles and spices—legitimate goods that wouldn't raise questions with the harbor authorities. Dust's job was to check items off a manifest as the crew unloaded them, making sure nothing went missing between ship and warehouse.
It was honest work, the kind Dust rarely encountered. By midday, they'd finished the entire inventory, and true to his word, Captain Aldrich provided a hot meal of fish stew and fresh bread that was better than anything Dust had eaten in months.
"You've got a good head on your shoulders," Aldrich said as they ate. "Ever think about leaving this place? Seeing what's beyond these walls?"
Dust looked out at the harbor, where ships flew flags from kingdoms he'd only heard about in stories. "Sometimes," he admitted.
"The Sea Witch leaves port in three days," Aldrich said casually. "We're heading up the coast to Silverport, then on to the Northern Kingdoms. I could use someone with your skills in my crew."
The offer hung in the air between them like a door suddenly opened to an impossible future. Leave Lower Ashmark? See the world beyond these crumbling walls? For a moment, Dust allowed himself to imagine it—salt spray and endless horizons, adventures in distant lands.
But reality crashed back like a cold wave. "I don't have anything to pay for passage."
"Who said anything about payment?" Aldrich smiled. "You'd be crew, not passenger. You'd earn your keep."
Before Dust could respond, a commotion erupted from the direction of the market square. Shouts, the sound of running feet, and underneath it all, a voice Dust recognized with growing dread.
"I know you're out there, boy! You cost me money last night, and nobody costs Garrett money!"
Captain Aldrich's eyes narrowed as he looked toward the sound. "Friend of yours?"
"Not exactly," Dust muttered, gathering his things.
"Three days," Aldrich said quietly, pressing the promised coins into Dust's palm. "If you change your mind about seeing the world, the offer stands."
Dust nodded and slipped away into the maze of dockside warehouses, Aldrich's words echoing in his mind. For the first time in his life, he had a real choice—stay in Lower Ashmark and face whatever Garrett had planned for him, or take a chance on something completely unknown.
The question was: did he have the courage to choose?