Chapter 9: Morning Trade

The man with copper rings in his beard watched their approach with eyes that had seen too many desperate trades in the shadow of Dead Man’s Grasp. His massive frame cast a long shadow across the sand-swept ground, making the waiting skiff seem smaller, more delicate in comparison. The rising sun caught his rings as he moved, each one flashing pure and true – no hint of betrayal’s green tarnish.

“You came alone,” he said, his voice carrying approval beneath its graveled weight. “And with a little one.” His gaze settled on Thomas; assessment clear in the slight narrowing of his eyes. “The Wastes are no place for children.”

“Neither is slow death from bad air,” Hannah replied, feeling Thomas press closer to her side. Sebastian’s gears whirred softly in his pocket, a tiny mechanical heartbeat counting the moments until their lives would change. “We’ll take our chances with the sun.”

The man nodded slowly, one scarred hand trailing along the skiff’s gleaming hull. Morning light caught the vessel’s curves and angles, making it look alive, eager for motion. The auto-expanding sails lay folded against its sides like sleeping wings, their mechanisms intricate as clockwork dreams.

“Show me,” he said simply.

Hannah drew Thomas slightly behind her before withdrawing the crystal. She’d wrapped it carefully in dark cloth, but even through the covering, its light pulsed like a captured star.

“The skiff first,” Hannah said quietly. “Show us how to wake her.”

He smiled beneath his copper-ringed beard, appreciation glinting in his eyes. “Cautious. Good. You’ll need that where you’re going.” He moved to the control panel, his huge hands incongruously gentle on the delicate mechanisms. “Watch carefully. She’s got old-world heart, this one. Needs proper respect.”

Thomas edged closer as the man began his instruction, his eyes wide with fascination as each system came to life. The steam drive awakened with a purr that Hannah felt in her bones – smooth, powerful, promising speed beyond anything they’d known. The man’s voice took on a different tone as he explained each control, each gauge, each vital secret that might mean the difference between survival and disaster in the wastes.

“The sails,” he said, touching a lever with almost reverent care, “they’ll read the wind better than any human could. Trust them. When they want to spread, let them. When they fold away, don’t fight it.” He glanced at Thomas, who stood transfixed by the dance of gauges and steam. “Your boy there – he’s got mechanic’s hands. I see it in how he watches. Like your man had, I’d warrant.”

Hannah swallowed a sudden tightness in her throat. “His father taught him well.”

Hannah unwrapped the crystal and held it out. Its warmth pulsed against her palm one last time – a farewell, a promise, a key turning in the lock of their future. The man took it with careful hands, examining its facets with expert eyes.

“Pure,” he breathed. “Straight from the deep mines, this one. Worth more than I’m asking, truth be told.” He tucked it away in a hidden pocket, then held out the skiff’s activation key. “But something tells me you need speed more than fair trade today.”

Hannah took the key, feeling its weight like destiny in her palm. Thomas reached up to touch it too, his small fingers tracing its intricate patterns. In that moment, standing in Dead Man’s Grasp’s long shadow, they were no longer just refugees from bad air and poverty – they were travelers, adventurers, hunters of hope.

“The hidden compartments,” the man said quietly, “they’re accessed here and here.” He showed them panels that blended perfectly with the hull. “Water storage, spare parts, emergency supplies. And…” He hesitated, then touched a final hidden latch. “A weapon cache. Small, but might make the difference between reaching the Iron Mountains and not.”

Hannah’s fingers found her boot knife, remembering Mercury’s warnings about the Wastes. “Thank you.”

The man paused, something shifting in his weathered features like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He reached into his vest and withdrew a small leather pouch that clinked. “Here. Fifty quill.” His rings caught the morning light as he pressed it into her hand, the gesture gentle despite his calloused fingers. “Don’t feel right leaving you with nothing but hope and horizon ahead. Markets in Steelwatch don’t trade in dreams.”

Hannah started to protest, but he shook his head, copper rings dancing in his beard like windchimes catching light. “The crystal’s worth more than what we agreed anyway. Consider it balance returned to the scales.”

The weight of the pouch in her hand felt like kindness made tangible, like proof that even in this harsh world, mercy could still bloom in unexpected places. She tucked it carefully away, words of gratitude catching in her throat but shining in her eyes.

“Whatever drives you to risk this journey…” His rings caught the light as he gestured toward the horizon, where heat already shimmered like dreams made visible. “May it be worth the price.”

Thomas spoke then, his voice carrying James’s quiet strength: “It is.”

The man smiled, genuine warmth breaking through his weathered exterior. “Then mount up, young mechanic. The sun rises, and the wastes wait for no one’s courage to grow.”

Hannah helped Thomas into the passenger seat, making sure he was secure before taking her place at the controls. The steam drive hummed beneath them, eager for motion, while the rising sun painted their path in gold and shadow. Behind them, Coghaven’s spires caught morning light like a crown of remembered days. Ahead, the wastes stretched endless and unknown, holding either salvation or doom in their sun-swept embrace.

The man stepped back, raising a hand in farewell.

“The Wastes don’t offer second chances,” he said, voice rough with hard-earned knowledge. “Listen to the skiff. She’ll tell you what she needs.” He paused, eyes lingering on Thomas. “And take care of each other. That’s what matters most out there.”

The skiff’s runners bit into packed earth as the sails spread wide. It was time. Time to chase James’s last gift across the sun’s domain. Time to turn hope into horizon, prayer into possibility.