The Steps creaked underneath Harlan’s feet as he ascended the stairs, boards groaning and flexing under his weight. It had gotten easier lately. His legs no longer buckled during the last stretch. He was up to nine trips per day now, and sometimes, like right now, he was even able to carry cargo going up, too.

  That was more than double the pay for the same amount of work. Well—almost the same work. The added weight did take a toll, but it was worth it.

  Being a Stairwalker was backbreaking, but it was some of the only work in The Gutters where there were always more jobs than workers, and the pay was halfway decent. Best of all, you could get in without having all the right connections, and of course, you didn’t have to get involved with anything shady. Most Stairwalkers didn’t last more than a few months. He’d earned in three weeks what he used to make in a month stacking crates, but most days he came home and collapsed straight into bed. Walking fifteen flights of stairs carrying cargo all day will do that to you.

  The final board groaned as he stepped off it onto the cliffside path, pulling himself along the railings running alongside the edge. Leaning against it, he took a few deep breaths. The air was salty from the ocean beneath—or maybe it was the dockworkers just up ahead. Whatever the case, it made him feel at home.

  He opened his eyes and looked out over the water. Even after living in Cliffhaven his whole life, he had never gotten used to this view. It amazed him as much as it made his stomach lurch. The way the staircase snaked down the vertical cliffs. How the ships docked and undocked from the huge, unmoored docks floating on the water 100 feet below, in a never-ending flurry.

  The Steps and The Flats, the staircase and the docks, were called colloquially. Harlan chuckled to himself. Well, the Gutterfolk never were ones to spend any unnecessary energy on creativity.

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  He reached for the small tag attached to the box on his cargo harness.

  “Seaside Docking Company – Delivery #789,587 - Dock 11 – Port 9 – Gate 17,” it read.

  Pushing against the railing, he set off in the opposite direction toward the large open cargo bay doors that led into the Cliffhaven docks.

  Could it even be called a dock when the water was 100 feet below it? Technically, ships were lifted to the docks all the time for direct unloading, so maybe it wasn’t that much of a stretch. He glanced over at The Grand Lift as it was in the final stretches of hoisting one ship—a galleon, by the looks of it—up toward the docking bay. It hung suspended over the side of the cliffs, dangling 100 feet over the waves below. Dozens of men, boat hooks in hand, were preparing to grab it and guide it once it came within range.

  It sure would be easier if all cargo could get up here like that. But then, of course, there wouldn’t be any need for Stairwalkers—and Harlan needed the work now more than ever. Kiara was pregnant, and it wasn’t going well.

  The healers had been visiting her every few days for weeks, each visit costing more than the last. And then there was the upcoming birth to deal with. Something about “breech position” and “weak labor signs.” Whatever it meant, it came down to more healers and more expensive supplies and potions.

  The faded numbers above the gates ticked by as he passed the square openings in the wall leading into the cargo processing building. Reaching Gate 17, he backed his cargo harness into the hole in the wall, resting it on the worn wooden ledge. He braced himself, hands on knees.

  Then came the familiar tugging on the straps that secured the crate. The first time he had experienced the sudden weight change, he had fallen on his nose. Now he simply rose and stretched his back.

  When the small drawer next to the loading bay popped open, he dropped the small Seaside Docking Company tag into it, eyeing it closely as it snapped shut again. He always hated this part. What would he do if it didn’t open again? Who would he complain to? Would it even do anything?

  The seconds went by until the drawer finally opened again, this time with three triangular silver coins inside it. Without realizing he had been holding his breath, he exhaled and quickly pocketed the coins.

  He grabbed the straps over his shoulders, readjusting the now-empty cargo harness, and walked toward the sign that said:

  “Stairwalkers Loading Area.”