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“less so in the literal sense. I’ve often thought it must be strange to be a man of your size. Like Gulliver in Lilliput, at times.”
    Cly was familiar with the tale, and Yaozu wasn’t the first to make that comparison. The captain shrugged as he ducked another beam. “I’ve been big my whole life. You get used to it. I’ve known a few dwarfs—a couple of them pirates, and damn fine ones—and I’ve wondered the same thing about them. I expect it’s not so different, living in a world where nothing is the right size.”
    Yaozu murmured, “I know what you mean.”
    “There’s nothing strange about your size,” Cly observed.
    “Not my size, no. But outside these walls, I could be treated as a monster, evicted from my home, my property seized and my family sent away. It happens all the time in Portland, you know. Strange persons such as ourselves, Captain Cly … we may be very different from one another, but we recognize a kinship all the same.”
    In silence they traversed another few blocks, and all the while, Cly considered this. Finally he said, “I suppose that answers my question well enough.”
    “Speaking of fitting in … you’ve spent a good deal more time in the underground than before these last few months.”
    Cly flushed, and even the rattling lantern couldn’t hide the creeping color. “I’m not … Well. Maybe a little more.”
    “You protest too much, Captain. And look, here we are at the cross-paths before the vaults.”
    It was true. Their conversation had brought them all the way to the edge of a set of living quarters, the entrance to which had once been a great bank vault with a reinforced door in a reinforced room.
    Here, where people came and went more frequently, the labyrinth opened and the streets were packed cleaner, lined with planks or stepping stones held aloft from the perpetually moist floor. More lanterns hung, dimmed, from the end of every wall, and containers of fuel were stationed beneath them, left ready for any passers-through who might require them. Painted signs were affixed to walls or mounted to posts between the corners where mine-cart tracks split the right-of-way. These weathered rectangles held messages in handwritten black lettering and clearly marked arrows.
     
UNION STREET, THIS WAY; SENECA STREET, OVER HERE; COMMERCIAL AVENUE, TO YOUR RIGHT.
    “So,” Yaozu said, clapping his hands together. “My appeal for your services.”
    “Yeah, that,” Cly said. “Sure, I’ll make your supply run. I’ll need some details, and a list, and a budget—”
    “Absolutely. I’ll draw up all of these things, and we’ll discuss your rate.”
    “Oh, that’s easy. I ask—”
    “Whatever it is, I’ll double it. I’ll need you back by the end of next month, and I’ll need my instructions followed to the letter. I’m fully prepared to pay for speed and quality service.”
    “That’s good, that you’re giving me a few weeks. Because I’ve been thinking…”
    “Yes?”
    “About making a trip to New Orleans.”
    “When?”
    “Soon. Real soon.”
    “That’s … quite a ways off, for a jaunt. May I ask why you’ve chosen such a destination?”
    “An old friend wants me to run an easy job, down there on the Gulf. It wouldn’t interfere with anything you’re asking—not at all—and New Orleans has everything you’re looking for.”
    “And then some, I’d bet.”
    “You’d bet right,” Cly said. He was surprised to hear himself selling the idea, but he sold it anyway. “It’s huge, and with all those Texians on the premises, you can bet I’ll find plenty of good industrial-quality wares. They’ve got the best machine shops on the continent.”
    “I’ve heard as much,” Yaozu said, considering the possibilities. “I wouldn’t have thought it’d be worth the trouble, to send you so far away. But if you’re already going … it might work out well for us both. Two of my engineers are Texians, or they were . They’ve been known to