Port Cray emerged from the morning mist like something from a merchant's dream. Where Lower Ashmark had been all cramped streets and desperate poverty, this city sprawled along a natural harbor with the confidence of true prosperity. White stone buildings climbed terraced hills, their red tile roofs gleaming in the sunlight, while the harbor itself bustled with ships from a dozen different nations.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Captain Aldrich said, joining Dust at the rail as the Sea Witch approached the docks. "Port Cray's been a free trading city for three centuries. No kings, no lords—just merchants and craftsmen making their own way in the world."
Dust could see the difference immediately. The docks were clean and well-maintained, with proper stone quays instead of rotting wooden piers. Uniformed harbor officials moved with purpose rather than the lazy corruption he'd grown used to in Lower Ashmark. Even the sailors looked better fed and better dressed.
"We'll be here three days," Aldrich continued. "Taking on luxury goods for the northern ports—silk, spices, fine wines. The kind of cargo that pays well but requires careful handling."
The Sea Witch slid into her assigned berth with practiced ease, and within minutes the crew was busy securing lines and preparing for the complex dance of unloading and loading cargo. Dust threw himself into the work, his hands now properly callused from days of rope handling.
"You've got shore leave tonight," Korvain told him as they finished securing the main cargo hatch. "But don't go thinking this is Lower Ashmark. Port Cray has laws, and they enforce them. Keep your nose clean."
Dust nodded, though privately he was more interested in exploring than causing trouble. The city represented everything Lower Ashmark wasn't—orderly, prosperous, filled with opportunities for someone willing to work for them.
As evening approached, several crew members invited him to join them for drinks and dinner at a tavern near the docks. Unlike the grim establishments of his hometown, the Golden Anchor was warm and welcoming, with good food and ale that didn't taste like it had been watered down.
"To new crew and fair winds," Erikson raised his mug in a toast.
"And to leaving the past where it belongs," Tam added with a meaningful glance at Dust.
They drank and talked late into the evening, the crew sharing stories of other ports they'd visited and adventures they'd had. Dust found himself relaxing in a way he never had before, surrounded by people who accepted him without judgment or ulterior motive.
But as the night wore on and the others grew more intoxicated, Dust excused himself to explore the city. Port Cray at night was a revelation—street lamps actually worked, watchmen patrolled regularly, and people walked openly without the constant fear that characterized Lower Ashmark after dark.
He wandered through market squares where late vendors still sold their wares, past guild halls where craftsmen displayed their finest work, through residential districts where families sat on their stoops enjoying the evening air. It was like seeing what civilization could be when it wasn't corrupted by men like Marcus Garrett.
Near midnight, as he made his way back toward the harbor, Dust heard sounds of struggle from a narrow alley between two warehouses. His street instincts immediately kicked in—someone was in trouble.
Peering around the corner, he saw three well-dressed young men surrounding a fourth figure—a girl about his own age, pressed back against the warehouse wall with nowhere to run.
"Come now, don't be difficult," one of the attackers was saying. "We just want to have a little fun."
"I said no," the girl replied firmly, though Dust could hear fear beneath her defiance. "Leave me alone."
"That's not very friendly. We're being perfectly reasonable."
Dust's mind raced. In Lower Ashmark, he would have walked away—getting involved in other people's problems was a good way to end up dead. But these weren't hardened criminals, just privileged young men who thought their wealth gave them the right to do whatever they pleased.
And more importantly, this wasn't Lower Ashmark.
"Evening, gentlemen," Dust said, stepping into the alley with his hands visible and empty. "Beautiful night for a walk, isn't it?"
The three men turned toward him with expressions of annoyance. Their clothes marked them as merchants' sons or minor nobility—soft hands and expensive fabric, but no real danger to someone who'd grown up fighting for survival.
"This doesn't concern you, street rat," the apparent leader said. "Move along."
"Actually, I think the lady asked you to leave her alone," Dust replied mildly. "Seems like the polite thing to do would be to respect her wishes."
The girl shot him a grateful look, though she remained pressed against the wall. She was pretty in a refined way that spoke of education and good breeding—definitely not someone who belonged in a back alley confrontation.
"You're new here, aren't you?" The leader stepped toward Dust with the confidence of someone who'd never faced real consequences. "Don't know how things work in Port Cray?"
"I know enough," Dust said. "For instance, I know the city watch patrols this area regularly. Should be along any minute now."
It was a bluff—he had no idea what the watch schedule was—but it had the desired effect. The three men exchanged uncertain glances.
"This isn't over," the leader said finally, though he was already backing toward the alley entrance. "We'll remember you."
"I'm sure you will," Dust replied pleasantly. "Have a good evening."
After they left, the girl sagged against the warehouse wall with relief. "Thank you," she said softly. "I thought... well, I don't know what I thought would happen."
"Are you hurt?" Dust asked, approaching carefully so as not to frighten her further.
"No, just scared. I was walking back from the library when they cornered me." She straightened, regaining some of her composure. "I'm Elena Ravencrest."
The name meant nothing to Dust, but her clothing and manner suggested wealth and status. "Dust," he replied simply.
"Just Dust?"
"It's been enough so far."
Elena smiled at that, and Dust noticed she had intelligent green eyes and dark hair that had been carefully arranged before her encounter with the three men. "Well, Just Dust, I owe you a debt. Those men... they're sons of prominent merchant families. They're used to getting what they want."
"But not tonight," Dust said.
"No, not tonight." She studied him curiously. "You're not from Port Cray, are you? Your accent is different."
"Lower Ashmark, originally. Sailor now, I suppose."
"Lower Ashmark?" Elena's eyebrows rose. "That's quite a change. Port Cray must seem very different."
"Like a different world entirely," Dust admitted. "In a good way."
They walked together toward the main harbor road, conversation flowing easily despite their very different backgrounds. Elena proved to be well-educated and curious about the world beyond Port Cray's borders, while Dust found himself sharing more about his experiences than he'd intended.
"The library you mentioned," he said as they reached the intersection where their paths would diverge. "Is it open to everyone?"
"The public sections, yes. Why?"
"I never learned to read properly. Street life doesn't leave much time for education."
Elena's expression grew thoughtful. "I could teach you, if you'd like. I mean, if you're staying in port for a few days."
The offer surprised him. In Lower Ashmark, favors always came with strings attached. But Elena seemed genuinely interested in helping, with no apparent ulterior motive.
"I'd like that," he said. "The Sea Witch will be here for three days."
"Then we'll start tomorrow. Meet me at the library at midday—it's the large building with the white columns near the city center."
As she walked away, Dust reflected on how strange his life had become. A week ago, he'd been a street thief running from criminals. Now he was a sailor with prospects for education and friendship.
The change was dizzying, but not unwelcome.