The city was vast and had filled him with a mix of reluctance and excitement when it first came into view from the deck of the ship. The southwest voyage across the choppy water from Albain had been Pocket’s first experience with the sea. At least the first he could remember. Certainly he had made the trip once before, as a babe when Sir Corc brought him from Airlann to live at the castle. He had not known what to expect upon seeing the land of his birth, hither fore only dreamed of while staring at his old map under the tower stairs. But the sight of the city with its cluttered harbor and sprawling buildings eclipsed his initial vision of the island. So far, Airlann was Black Pool; a chaotic hive of ancient buildings, countless smells and many, many winding streets.

Pocket turned in place, looking all around the alley in which he found himself. He fought down a rising sense of panic as he realized he was no longer certain from which end he had entered. He looked to the sky for an answer, hoping he might spy the sun, but the tired structures around him leaned so alarmingly that their eaves almost touched, leaving only the smallest strip of open air between them. Pride gnawed at him more than fear. He had memorized every twist and cranny of the Roost, able to get from one point in the castle to any other blindfolded. He had been in Black Pool eleven days now and still he was having trouble finding his way.

He was looking for the billier’s shop in a section of the city known as Cauldron Town. Sir Corc had made him memorize it; a small shop under the sign of a black axe across from the bell-founder’s. Cauldron Town, Pocket knew, was the metal working district of the city and could be found by following the smoke and clamor…or so the locals said. Pocket had been walking most of the morning, following these assured guidelines, but from what he could tell the entire city was filled with black air and loud noise.