By midday, they were sitting on the seawall with their backs to the city, counting the morning's take. The stones beneath them were black with age and slick with spray from the waves that crashed against the barrier. Beyond the wall, the harbor spread out like a forest of masts and rigging. Fishing boats, mostly, with their patched sails and rust-stained hulls. But there were other vessels too—merchant ships flying the colors of trading houses, sleek cutters that might have been naval vessels or might have been pirates depending on who you asked, and the occasional pleasure craft from the Inner Island, all polished wood and brass fittings.
Four silver, eighteen bronze. Not a bad morning's work, all things considered.
Tarrin pulled out a piece of bread from his coat—probably lifted from the baker's stall while Kael was handling the transaction—and tore it in half. It was hard and dark, the kind of bread that would break your teeth if you weren't careful, but it filled the hole in your stomach.
"You ever think about it?" Tarrin asked around a mouthful of crust. "What we'd do if we made it across?"
"Made it across to what?" Kael kept his eyes on the ships in the harbor. "You think they'd welcome us with open arms? Give us jobs in their counting houses, invite us to their fancy parties?"
"Maybe not." Tarrin shrugged. "But it'd be better than this."
Kael wasn't so sure. He'd heard stories about what happened to Outer Island folk who tried to pass themselves off as something they weren't on the Inner Island. The lucky ones got thrown back across the Bridge with a few broken bones as a reminder to stay where they belonged. The unlucky ones just disappeared.
Still, he found himself staring at those distant spires more often than he liked to admit. Wondering what it would be like to walk streets that weren't ankle-deep in mud and refuse. To eat meat that didn't come from the sea. To sleep in a bed that didn't reek of mold and salt.
"You know what I heard?" Tarrin's voice dropped to a whisper. "From Mako, down at the Gutted Fish. He says his cousin works the docks on the Inner Island sometimes. Loading cargo, that kind of thing."
Kael raised an eyebrow. Mako was a drunk and a liar, and his cousin was probably a figment of his imagination. But Tarrin looked serious.
"He says there are ships that come and go. Not from the Inner Island—from somewhere else. Somewhere beyond the Outer Islands. Places with names you never heard before."
"Bullshit," Kael said automatically. But something in his chest stirred at the words. Everyone knew there were only the two islands—Inner and Outer, connected by the Bridge, surrounded by empty ocean as far as anyone had ever sailed.
Except... sometimes, on clear days, you could see smoke on the horizon. Just a smudge, like a cloud that never moved. The fishermen called it sea-mist, but Kael had always wondered.
"Think about it," Tarrin pressed. "Where do you think all that fancy stuff comes from? The silk, the spices, the weird metals they use for their jewelry? You can't grow silk trees or mine for spices."
That was true enough. The Inner Island had farms and mines, but they produced grain and iron and coal—practical things for practical people. The luxuries, the exotic goods that showed up in the markets... those had to come from somewhere.
"Even if you're right," Kael said, "what difference does it make? We can't get off the Outer Island, let alone sail to some mystery land."
Tarrin grinned. "Maybe. Maybe not. But I'd rather die trying to get somewhere better than live knowing I never tried at all."
The afternoon sun was starting to sink toward the horizon, painting the water in shades of gold and red. Soon it would be time to head back to the Broken Lantern, to turn over their take to Ghislan and get their next assignment. But for now, they could sit and watch the ships and dream about horizons they'd never see.
A gull landed on the seawall nearby, fixing them with one bright black eye. It cocked its head, as if listening to their conversation, then let out a harsh cry and took to the air again.
Kael watched it go, circling higher and higher until it was just a speck against the darkening sky. Lucky bastard. It could go anywhere it wanted.
"Come on," he said, standing and brushing crumbs from his pants. "Time to get back to work."
Tarrin groaned theatrically but followed him away from the wall. Behind them, the harbor settled into evening routines—fishermen checking their nets, merchants securing their cargo, tavern keepers lighting their lanterns against the coming dark.
And somewhere out there, beyond the reach of those lanterns, ships moved through the night toward destinations that existed only in rumor and imagination.
For now.