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But no one looks at ainst old-pinched cheeks, roa to be real That’s why I’olden orphan of Derfort Harbor No s I wear, there’s absurd richness that sits beneath my sodden clothes A worthless wealth of

All along the market street, the vendor tarps are still dark, burlap sacks saturated, carts covered and dripping I closethe sharp iron fro the drenched wooden planks on thefish mixed with the brined sand from the shore

My ih to stave off the stench

Of course, the air would probably s on top of the pub’s refuse bin As terrible as the scent of old ale is, this spot is one of the driest andit valuable real estate

I shiftatthe , but even that’s a major risk Zakir has too many eyes in the city It’s just a ht, whether I stay in one spot or not I’ fro froar children—not for their safety, but to make sure no one else encroaches on Zakir’s territory or steals from his thieves

I’ hidden

Like a tug againstbetween two vendor tents to see the ocean beyond I watch the sails of the docked ships, their shapes like tethered clouds that try to pull toward the sky My stoht of the teht there on the horizon

It’s a lie

Stoays are punished severely in Derfort, and I’d be a fool to try it More than a handful of kids at Zakir’s have tried it, and didn’t live to tell the tale I don’t think I’ll ever forget the way the gulls pecked at their flayed flesh fro, their bodies left to sway in the tidal breeze and pucker beneath salted rain

That smell, above all others, is by far the worst

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”

I flinch so badly that I scrape h limestone bricks atover me like a threat