The pile of garbage too dirty to dump down the sewer was enormous. Lucian made seven or eight trips back and forth, getting thoroughly filthy before he finally managed to haul most of it onto the four-wheeled cart.
Technically, every morning the Church hired laborers to collect the city's refuse and cart it outside the walls, preventing filth and disease from spreading. But the Musicians' Association didn't want to wait until tomorrow morning — a heap that size was simply an eyesore.
Hugging the last armload of garbage, Lucian crept into the hall without making a sound, hugging the edge of the circular chamber as he shuffled toward the main entrance.
"Wolf, damn it, can't you let me read my sheet music in peace for five minutes?" A rich voice, pitched sharp with irritation, rang out. At the same moment a figure in a red coat came charging down the staircase, glancing back and cursing — and crashed straight into Lucian, who couldn't dodge in time.
With a clatter, something tumbled out of the garbage in his arms and hit the carpet. Even though the rug was thick and soft, it couldn't muffle the dull thud entirely.
The figure in the red coat staggered a few steps before regaining his footing. It was the musician Victor, who had gone upstairs earlier.
Victor drew a long breath, then bent down, picked up the broken oil lamp, and held it out to Lucian, who was still frantically trying to stabilize the rest of the load in his arms. "Sorry."
Another man came down the stairs — a middle-aged fellow with brown hair, wearing a long dark-blue overcoat. His chin jutted forward in a pronounced arc. "Victor, the Association doesn't exist solely for your benefit. I have every right to do as I please. If you want to do whatever you like, go back to your own home."
He gestured emphatically to drive his point home, an irrepressible grin on his face. "Your first symphony concert at Sacred Hymn Hall is only three-odd months away. I understand your nerves and sensitivity — truly I do — but surely you haven't even finished preparing the program yet? I've been looking forward to it for ages. I'm even planning to write a dedicated review of your performance in *Music Review*."
"Damn you, why don't you hold a concert of your own at Sacred Hymn Hall, if you're so great?" Victor muttered under his breath, then turned and stalked out of the hall.
Wolf's expression turned ugly. He grumbled under his breath as he headed back upstairs. "Without you, in three months' time..."
Seeing the argument had ended, Lucian resumed carrying the garbage toward the entrance. Then his gaze swept across the top of the pile and landed on the oil lamp — its glass long gone — its base engraved with elegant patterns, now worn almost smooth. Something stirred in his mind. "Wait — is this metal?"
The thought was enough. After setting the last load on the four-wheeled cart, Lucian reached out and touched the lamp base. Sure enough, it was metal — some kind of copper alloy, but harder and more resilient than any copper he'd remembered from his previous life. "A copper-like element? There isn't much metal in this base, but if I sell it to a blacksmith, I should be able to get a few Copper Fels for it."
"Money?" As a genuinely destitute pauper, Lucian now associated everything he saw with its potential value. A whole new line of thought opened up. "Maybe there are other useful things in this pile of trash? Like the scrap paper I noticed earlier, or broken Feather Pens..."
It was like discovering a treasure hoard. To a rich person it would be laughably trivial, but for Lucian it was the first ray of dawn on the long road to changing his life. If he could scrape together five silver nals, he could begin learning to read within a month. Whether or not he ever studied Arcane Magic, literacy alone would let him understand how this world actually worked. And with all the knowledge, experiences, and books from a whole other library of a world behind him, he was certain he could find other — better — paths to fortune.
Excitement, determination, and a longing for a brighter future flooded through Lucian, filling him with energy. He pushed the cart toward the city gates. But worry nagged at him too: picking usable or sellable items out of a garbage heap required no special skill at all. The only real obstacles were an ordinary person's revulsion toward filth, and fists.
"So long as the gangs haven't moved in on this racket, the rest — a few scattered beggars — I can handle." After battling those red-eyed rats in the sewer chamber with Gary and Correa, Lucian had developed a certain confidence in his own abilities. He might lack the strength of a fully grown adult who'd trained for years, but in a fight, staying calm, thinking clearly, and striking with precision and viciousness were just as important.
Not far from the Musicians' Association, Lucian suddenly spotted a silver-haired young man strolling leisurely toward the building. "Rhein? What's he doing heading to the Musicians' Association?"
After convincing himself that a Bard like Rhein would naturally be drawn to the Musicians' Association, Lucian quickly forgot the matter.
At the Gate District, the guard Andre still recognized him. Seeing the cart piled high with garbage, he immediately understood what job Lucian had taken. He gave a friendly nod and didn't bother him, letting Lucian pass through under the idle, indifferent gazes of the gate soldiers.
"No one's following me. Could it really be that the gangs haven't gotten into this?" Lucian wondered, equal parts puzzled and encouraged.
Still, he didn't let his guard down. After passing through the gate and walking downstream along the River Belen for twenty minutes or so, he noticed the surroundings had grown secluded. He pushed the cart off the road into a patch of tall grass and began rummaging through the garbage for anything that might fetch a price.
A broken oil lamp. Several rusted metal scraps. Eight damaged Feather Pens. A large wad of crumpled waste paper. And more besides.
Digging to the bottom, Lucian pulled out a rectangular piece of semi-transparent black gauze. It carried a faint, delicate fragrance and had a conspicuous hole in it, as though it had snagged on something. "Looks like a veil — probably belonged to some female musician."
He examined the gauze, rubbing the texture between his fingers. Not a single thought of anything romantic crossed his mind — only a cold assessment of its worth. "It's clearly fine-quality black gauze, but what could I actually do with it? Hmm — I could sell it to a tailor. They could cut it into little decorative trim or lace for skirts and coats."