Trevor was drowning. Before him, he saw a great ebony spire in a great inky abyss. He couldn`t breathe. The spire had a pulse. It beat like a heart. His lungs burned.

　　The pressure increased as he moved closer to the black thorn in dark water. It had architecture. Windows and doors like a great fortification.

　　He realized he was being crushed as well as suffocating.

　　Every second, the pulse washed over him anew. Every second, he thought he would succumb.

　　A redness welled up, imperceptibly veiling the dark thorn. Blood? The vessels in his eyes must have blown.

　　He could feel that his eyes were wide open. The salty water stung, but it was lost amongst the storm of sensory information.

　　There was a maleficence exuding from the spire. Nothing Trevor could see, but something more ethereal than the inexorable pulse. Whereas the pulse came quick, the dread poured out of the windows and doors, diffusing into the depths like another dimension of darkness.

　　He tried to inhale, but it felt like sucking treacle.

　　There was only hatred in that immense shape. It was pulling him in.

　　"All ashore who`s going ashore!"

　　Trevor gasped and sputtered. He flopped around wildly in his bunk.

　　"James, I think you killed him."

　　Free of the hammock, Trevor collapsed on the floor of his room. Blinking in the sunlight that filled the cabin through the port hole and open door, he basked in the free air.

　　"I think he`s just eager to get on land," the first voice said dismissively.

　　Something prodded his leg. A boot, maybe.

　　"Yeah," the second voice said uncertainly, "He`s raring to go. Excited beyond words, no doubt."

　　Trevor coughed again and rolled onto his back. It may have been a dream, but it felt like he had really been holding his breath.

　　"Tweesly, buddy, we made it!"

　　The hazy forms of James and Yggril were looking down at him. Their words helped drive the maddening images from his mind. A throne in the abyss. A hatred as dark as drowning.

　　"We`re here?" Trevor asked weakly.

　　"The captain and Gorestomp are headed ashore to buy the sulfur. We`ve got all day to get it loaded once the miners accept the purchase."

　　Trevor reached up to get his glasses off his hammock-side table and affixed them to his face.

　　"I can`t help load up," he said, the sentence trailing off.

　　Yggril waved at him, sputtering. "You`re not coming ashore for that. We`re bringing you to celebrate!"

　　"You haven`t lived until you tried the drink they got east of the mountains," James added.

　　They each grabbed one of his shoulders and hauled him to his knees. Halflings being smaller than humans, Trevor imagined the strength being more highly concentrated.

　　"Alright, I guess I`ll come," he said helplessly.

　　The pair of halflings proceeded out of the cabin, not allowing Trevor to change out of his sleeping clothes. It was a rather comfortable if worn robe, but not unseemly for rural wear.

　　Having fully awoken by the time they reached the gangplank, he protested, disembarking under his own power.

　　The dock, such that it was, was slapdash compared to the pontoon docks above Naatli, where their voyage had begun. The Hereafter was the only ship moored.

　　"You don`t get out much, Tweesly," James stated.

　　Trevor gave a sideways nod of nondispute.

　　"Was this what you expected when you signed up for a round trip to Glothir Industrial Mining Port?"

　　Trevor hadn`t noticed which of the halfling had asked him. He was busy grappling with the smell. Through rapidly welling eyes, he saw stocky dwarves moving materials, rolling barrels, and in general being busy. He noticed he couldn`t see any of their faces.

　　This was because they all had their beards done up like masks, with goggles over where their eyes should be, making them look like squat, hairy matchsticks with glassy black eyes.

　　"What in the holy fires is that forsaken smell?" Trevor gasped.

　　"That`d be the sulfur," one of the halflings said. "It clears the sinuses right up."

　　Trevor coughed and felt like throwing up. Someone patted him on the side. Someone short.

　　"You`ll feel better when you get some drink in you."

　　He blinked away the welling tears and cleared his throat, ready to push onward. The smell only got stronger as they came closer to a great building nestled in the ground, the entrance to a mine.

　　"The Glothir #2 sulfur mine itself. Furthest mine they`ve got from civilization, and I can`t be any more the glad of it. Come on, the bar is just around the corner."

　　All about the little colony, forming roads in the sense that there were long stretches of space without buildings, were stone shanties. The dwarves here seemed to be doing something akin to living in them. The most complex of these had four stone walls, a stone slab for a roof, and some old fabric for a door.

　　Trevor couldn`t imagine living here among the oppressive heat, constant exposure to airborne contaminants, and constant hard labor. He considered himself lucky to be a simple country boy.

　　The tavern - or bar, or watering hole - at which they had arrived was not obviously named. It looked as much like any other shanty house, except it had a crowd of dirty dwarves about it.

　　Trevor could only watch as James and Yggril pushed their way effortlessly through the working dwarves, who were all about a head taller than the halflings.

　　Trevor, in turn was about a head taller than the tallest dwarf here, and simply watched in dumb giant wonder at the mercurial halflings making it to the bar proper, slipping through the gritty clientele like oil through gravel. He thought he even saw James` fingers slip in and out of a dwarf`s money pouch, but a second thought dispelled the image.

　　Some dwarves waiting in line nearby were talking through their beards.

　　"I think it`s a human," one muffled voice said.

　　"What`s one of them?"

　　"Some kind of exotic ape from the south. Put on airs in the last couple thousand years or so, or so my great-granda said."

　　Being the only one of his height around, he assumed they were talking about him.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

　　"Excuse me," he said grumpily.

　　The two dwarves turned back to look at him, their goggles flashing reflected light. He thought their stance looked guilty, but he was no expert.

　　"Why do you have your beards up like that?"

　　The one with the red beard said immediately, "It`s just the fashion around here, humie. Guess you`re gonna hafta go without."

　　Trevor frowned. He felt his face growing hot, despite his lack of facial insulation. The other one, brown bearded, lightly punched the red beard`s shoulder, chastising him.

　　"Dwarven beards filter toxic substances out of the air, sonny," brown beard explained mercifully.

　　Shocked, Trevor covered his face, but the two dwarves laughed.

　　"You hafta breathe a lot of it. If you`re leaving today, you`ll be fine, even if you`re a human. But we live in it."

　　The two halflings apparated with three jugs and three bowls.

　　"We got the last of the hole-made chili," James said.

　　"The last batch until they get more peppers from the mountainhome," Yggril added.

　　Red beard and brown beard groaned.

　　Yggril turned to them, addign knowingly, "It`s his first time trying real dwarf cooking."

　　Both beards straightened up, their malaise dispelled. "You wouldn`t mind waiting for us to get some grub before you start, do ya?"

　　Trevor, James, and Yggril found a table out of the way of traffic. Dwarves, the industrial and sturdy folk, were spartan in their d閏or, so they stood at a table which lacked any form of bench, stool, or chair. The table was almost chin-high for the halflings. It barely reached Trevor`s waist.

　　He felt like he stood out, being the tallest around for as far as he could see. It was a new feeling for him. His siblings were equal or slightly taller than him, though he was taller than his sister for a modest count of years. He had never caught up with his father, but he could see eye to eye with his mother.

　　A double clunk resounded from the short table as the meals were distributed. Each of the three had a bowl and mug now.

　　"It`s a long line for more chili," Trevor said wistfully, "But I think we should wait for them."

　　Yggril shook his head, which was hard to do while gulping ale. He broke off his swig and said, "They went down to the deli instead. Much quicker."

　　Trevor looked sullenly at his chili. "Oh."

　　"But you`re right, we need to wait for them," Yggril added.

　　Changing the subject, Trevor transitioned to talking shop.

　　"What kind of loading will we be doing when the negotiations are done, do you think? It`s not much of a walk to the docks. Come to think of it, they`re not much of a docks for how big this mine is."

　　James swatted Yggril on the arm, "I told you he was a sharp one. He noticed."

　　Yggril said, "It used to be a lot longer. The first docks," he said while peering as if through the buildings and people moving through the streets, "was another nautical mile or so further back the way we came in."

　　James waved a hand, erasing his brother`s words.

　　"No, them`s the old docks. The first docks was even further back," he turned on Trevor with intent to clarify, "It`s all plateau around here, Tweesly. Used to be, you could roll a barrel from here over miles of dry wastes down to the shore, if you could convince the boulders to move out of your way."

　　"But that would mean the shore has been creeping up rather quickly," Trevor said with a nervous chuckle.

　　"You from Naatli? I think you said." James was getting loose with his words, and Trevor noticed how big the mug was for the little halfling. He started to answer, "Yes, my family owns a farm, delta-adjacent-" when the halfling cut him off.

　　"Your family owns a bunch of seabed, you mean. It`s all underwater now, innit? You think the bay area is all that`s affected?"

　　"Well, no, now that you mention it-"

　　"People from the bay," and here the halfling made a noise of disgust, "they all think they`re the only people around. They think just cause the elves closed off their in-ways and the dwarves at the mountainhome closed up the southern doors that they`re the last living things around."

　　Yggril hiccuped. "James. You know, we`re from the bay."

　　Trevor was just thinking how James was sounding more dwarfish as his mug gradually emptied when another clatter at the table startled him.

　　"But he`s right," a red-bearded dwarf said, having just slammed a tray on the table next to Trevor. It was the red matchstick from earlier, but his face unmasked. Jolly cheeks stuck out above where the beard began, giving him smile wrinkles at his eyes. His nose was red and bulbous, and looked like it was recovering from a season working as a dog`s chew toy.

　　"There ain`t nothing east of the mountains worth a tin penny," he said mockingly, his voice falsetto. "One week without us hauling the bones out of the earth and see what happens to civilized society."

　　Brown-beard wordlessly edged his way onto the table. His expression wasn`t one of disagreement, Trevor noted.

　　"I never realized," he said bashfully, "Out of sight, out of mind I suppose."

　　Red-beard thrust a hand up at Trevor, ready for a shake. "Hauberk Pishhun. I don`t think I introduced myself."

　　Trevor shook the hand and Hauberk gestured at brown-beard, "and this here`s Oron." The indicated dwarf gave a smile and a wave. Trevor gave his name and that of James and Yggril.

　　"Never had real dwarf cooking before?" Hauberk inquired, stroking his beard.

　　Trevor looked to the halflings for affirmation, saying "I eat what Cookie makes us like everyone else."

　　Yggril coughed into his mug, taken by an unexpected chuckle. "That`s not real dwarf cooking, Tweesly. That`s standard fare for any mess on any ship," he said, wiping himself of what had evacuated his mug, adding absentmindedly, "I need another one."

　　Oron passed over one of the five he had brought, and Yggril toasted him.

　　"What makes it real dwarf cooking then?"

　　"The real ingredients," Hauberk said mysteriously. "Mountainhome pepper mushrooms, for one. Some roasted grit beetle, marinated bat. No axolotl cause you can`t get them here and they`re too expensive to ship fresh. Pickled just doesn`t cut it."

　　Oron grinned and playfully pushed Hauberk, "No scaring him. Only you like axolotl."

　　Hauberk finished the recipe, saying, "Ugrin bluecap and sulfur seasoning, sourced locally."

　　"And who are you? Does the chef know you`re giving away his secrets?" Yggril slurred.

　　"The chef`s my brother," Hauberk said proudly. "Finest eatery east of the ridge."

　　Trevor pointed at the trays in front of the two dwarves. "So naturally, you got the sandwiches."

　　Hauberk pointed at him menacingly, dropping his words like forge hammers. "It`s your honor and privilege to eat real dwarf food, humie."

　　Trevor made a defensive grasp for the bowl. "There`s no utensils," he noted lamely.

　　James gestured with his own bowl, which he sipped from like a cup.

　　"Ah." Trevor was more than uncertain about holding the chili closer to his face, but he did so. The smell hit him powerfully, an unearthly scent, nothing like the spices to which he was accustomed. Yet, it had indescribable earth tones. It smelled slightly sour.

　　"Down. The. Hatch," Hauberk started chanting, "Down. The. Hatch."

　　Trevor held the bowl to his lips as the chanting spread among his mates at the table. He couldn`t see individual pieces of food in the chili. It was lumpy and oily. The chanting stopped.

　　Someone tread hard on his foot, and he inhaled suddenly to scream. His mouth and nose filled with dwarven chili.

　　"There we go!" someone yelled.

　　The flavor hit him like a collapsing mine. He chewed something tough and springy. Whether it was bat meat, bug meat, or mushroom, he didn`t know, and wouldn`t guess which was worse. Heat started in his belly and his mouth tingled. He clutched at his chest with a free hand.

　　Laughter rang from the table, Hauberk`s the loudest.

　　Trevor`s vision began to warp. Colors shifted like the rainbow on an oil slick. "Guys," Trevor wheezed.

　　He felt dizzy.

　　"Guys," he said louder, "something`s happening."

　　Yggril spoke up, and Trevor looked at him. His head was contorting strangely, like he was a piece of rubber being stretched and warped. "That`s the pepper mushroom, Tweesly," he said calmly. "It makes your head weird. The sulfur makes it stronger, too."

　　Trevor held up a hand. It wasn`t his own. The fingers wiggled by themselves, and he couldn`t feel them moving.

　　Everything sounded like it was coming through thick cotton, or underwater. "I don`t feel good," he said. Or thought he had said.

　　Hauberk looked like his edges were on fire. Oron`s face was sliding into his beard, which was becoming darker and darker as Trevor stared. The conversation continued around him, coming in waves. The topic had shifted to the sulfur order, with Trevor as a side attraction.

　　He thought he heard rubber-headed Yggril say, "The commission said twelve per head, from what I know about it."

　　Oron seemed to take offense. He spoke up from the depths of his pitch-black beard, "That`s robbery! We charge the mountainhome seventeen, much less some bay-area scoundrels!"

　　Trevor could hear himself creaking as he swayed like a tree. If he concentrated, he could see leaves poking out from the end of his sleeves, his arms held out straight on either side of him.

　　In a turn of events, Hauberk became the reserved dwarf. He said contemplatively, his profile ringed with cracked lava, "Regardless of how you nailed us to that measly rate, what purpose do you have with it? Resale wouldn`t be sustainable, given the size of your ship."

　　Trevor couldn`t see James. Where there had been a halfling, there was only empty space. The empty space seemed pensive as it drank from its mug.

　　Needing to fill the silence, he jumped into the conversation, "Of course I`ll dance with you Madame Canary. I`ve twelve muffins and not a single shoe."

　　He earned blank stares from the horrors that ringed the table.

　　"I think we need to get Tweesly back to the ship," said the empty space. They said their goodbyes to the dwarves, and Hauberk greedily ate the last of Trevor`s chili.

　　Stumbling back to the docks, he confided in Yggril, "I don`t know where James went, but I need to return his tune because I said I`d fix it from dragging it through the potato farm."

　　"I think we`ll cover for you for when we load the sulfur," he said gently while guiding Trevor up the gangplank.

　　The empty space added, "Get plenty of rest. You`ll come down in the next few hours."

　　"How come-" Trevor said, interrupted by a hiccup. Some clamshells flapping like butterflies flew out of his mouth and floated away, so he started over.

　　"How come you aren`t seeing all of this?"

　　"We got some dwarf blood not too far back," Yggril said. "It gives us a good tingle, but it`s not so bad as a few drinks."

　　Suddenly, Trevor was laying in his hammock.

　　"You got us out of that pointed conversation with red-beard," the empty space said. "We almost had to tell him about the explosives."

　　With that, they left the room and Trevor watched the colors until he fell asleep.