After that day Fedon wasn’t around as much. He still lurked at the fringes of Jonathan’s life, but was hardly the fixture he’d been in the warehouses where they crossed paths much more frequently. Jonathan still stopped by Maxom’s office every day to get something to eat, but Kaspov and his crew were quick to mock him for that in a good natured sort of way. Jonathan’s life seemed to have finally taken a turn, for the better, and for that he was grateful. He still didn’t understand a lot about the things he was helping Kaspov work on, but by now he at least knew the names of all the basic tools and could make himself useful in plenty of minor ways. His knowledge of the dwarvish language had even extended beyond the basic insults he’d learned so far into more practical areas. Even if he understood a handful of words now though, speaking it was another thing entirely. Even with the deep voice he had for his age, it was much too high pitched to emulate the subsonic rumblings of a dwarf without eliciting gales of laughter from the dwarves he worked with. 

“Two coppers for that? Ye could get a sausage in the market for half that,” Kaspov exclaimed one day when they were on a break for lunch. “There’s always a few street vendors looking to sell their greasy wares too. Yer bein robbed Jon!”

“Well even I was allowed to go into the city—” Jonathan tried to answer. 

“Who says ye ain’t?” the engineer cut him off, pointing his spoon accusingly at Jonathan between mouthfuls. “Yer allowed to go just about any please ye damn well please in Khagrumer.” 

“But Boriv said—” Jonathan tried to continue again. It could be hard to get a word in edgewise when Kaspov got on a roll though. 

“Pike Boriv,” Kaspov said before taking another bite of his stew. “Look. I get what he was trying to do. He was just making sure that if he found a way for them to let ye free from here, ye wouldn’t be held up because someone thought ye knew too much about the things we dwarves get up to, but since yer stuck here anyway you might as well have a look around now.” 

“...Well even if I am allowed then,” Jonathan continued, “It’s not like I know enough Dwarvish to order beer, much less dinner.” It was admission that hurt to make, but it was true. He was hopeless.

“Well that one is easy to fix, ain’t it lads,” The engineer smiled. “We’ll just have to teach ye so ye can start getting some decent grub, won’t we boys.” 

That decided it apparently, and after that a part of the workday was devoted to teaching Jonathan the stone tongue. Another probably slightly longer part was devoted to making fun of his very limited progress, but it was all in good fun. At least this felt like life again, Jonathan thought. Plus - now he knew he could explore the whole city, so maybe he’d actually find something to do that was more fun than sitting alone in the hot darkness of the warehouse. All of these developments combined to make him the happiest he’d been since before Marcus blew up his whole life. 

So Jonathan learned from Kaspov during the day and explored the city during the evening and learned to enjoy living again. Even more exciting than that though, he learned that Dwarven magic wasn’t really magic - not in the way he’d always thought of it anyway. Most men referred to dwarven brands as dwarven wands, and even though Jonathan knew the proper name, he’d always assumed they worked the same way his fire blooded powers worked: A dwarf pointed it, uttered some secret command or terrible thought, and killed the person or beast it was pointed at. It turned out that wasn’t it all though. Dwarves had just figured out a lot more than men had. Dwarven firearms and steam engines both operated on physical principles that he didn’t really understand, but they were all about pressure and chemistry. Theoretically anyone could make them or use them if they understood how. 

He decided that steel was probably the best example while he was lying in bed one night. With all the new words and ideas he was learning lately he spent a little time every night thinking about the things he’d learned that day and trying to make sense of them and hopefully remember them better. Men made steel - they knew how to forge it and shape it, but their steel didn’t hold a candle to dwarvish steel. It rusted faster and wasn’t as strong. It wasn’t a secret magic of the dwarves like he’d been taught though. It was just that they’d figured out techniques to do it better. Techniques they didn’t share with outsiders. The same was true with all their crazy contraptions apparently, though he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen himself. When they took apart that engine he’d kept waiting to find the secret runes of power that made the whole thing run, but they never appeared. It was just metal moving inside other pieces of metal in very clever ways. 

Of course he’d never be able to share those ideas with his friends back home. He was sure that the brightest minds of men would be able to do a lot with them, if they only knew about the blind spot that had been built into the way they saw the world. Of course Dwarves had their own blind spots too. Not just legally and culturally either. Once Kaspov had dispelled the idea of dwarven magic, it left them with no magic at all. They couldn’t feel the way the fire danced in the machines they worked on. They couldn’t feel it practically bursting from the coal or the dwarven powder they made. Jonathan wasn’t sure which limitation was worse ultimately, the ability to use magic to a degree that it limited your ability to understand the world without relying on it, or to see the world clearly, but to be forever blind to part of it. 

It was something he spent a lot of time thinking about as he explored the city. Now that he wasn’t mired in despair he had plenty of time to ponder these ideas, which is just what he was doing when he ran into Fedon that night. He was on his way home with a pot of mushroom chowder, which was far from the worst food that Maxom served him, but still one of the things that made him look forward to the idea of ordering food of his own as soon as he got a little more confidence when the angry dwarf stepped in front of him on the way home. Jonathan immediately got a bad feeling, and rather than risking a confrontation he tried to back peddle only to find a few of Fedon’s friends barring his way. 

“Kaspov trust ye,” Fedon growled, “But I don’t. I see right through ye cold blood. I know what ye doin.”

“I’m just trying to get home and eat Fedon, I don’t want any—” Jonathan tried to explain.

“Ye spyin’!” Fedon said, taking several steps closer. Despite the fact that he was more than a foot shooter than Jonathan, with the look of disgust and anger on his face he was still plenty intimidating. “Ye stealin’ our secrets in the yards and wanderin’ around town to see what else ye can take for the filthy kingdoms above.”

“I’m not. Really.” Jonathan tried to explain. “Look - I’m just trying to do my job, same as you and—” That was when Fedon shoved him hard, sending the pot he was carrying clattering away as half his dinner spilled onto the paving stones. Jonathan had always known that dwarves were stronger than they had any right to be, but his time with Kaspov’s crew in the yards had really hammered that point home. There was no way that Jonathan could win in a straight up fight with Fedon, let alone a three on one fight with him and his friends. 

“I’m not lettin’ that happen,” the dwarf yelled, following up his shove with a punch to Jonthan’s stomach that doubled him over in pain. He tried to put up his hands to ward off further blows, but that was a lost cause. “I stop ye here and now. Even if no one else sees, I know how to deal with traitor scum like ye.” When the fists stopped the feet started. The boot to Jonathan’s kidney was the most painful thing he’d ever felt in his whole life, and the blows to his ribs that followed as he curled up into a ball were almost as bad. 

Jonathan lay there, taking it, just hoping that he’d finally get enough and stop when he finally heard words that chilled him to his core, “We end ye now, we ain't ever got to worry about what ye might do then!” Jonathan hazarded a look at the dwarf as he stopped kicking him long enough to walk over to a rubbish pile and grab a length of iron bar. If he started hitting him with that, Jonathan realized he’d never be able to recover. He’d be crippled for life. He probably wasn’t meant to survive this encounter anyway, so recovery should be the least of his worries. His eyes darted around as he looked for any way out of this. Fedon’s friends hadn’t joined in, so while they might not want his blood on their hands it was clear they had no intention of letting him escape. This wasn’t the sort of bullying he’d dealt with all his life - he couldn’t just take it until they got bored. If Jonathan wanted to live long enough to find out how badly this was going to hurt tomorrow he would have to fight. 

Instinctively he grabbed the closest thing to him, which turned out to be the cast iron pot still half full of cold mushroom chowder. As Jonathan rolled into a defensive crouch and tried to regain his footing,  he raised it up in front of him. It was a flimsy shield, but it was all he had. 

“Ye think that will stop me, weakling?” Fedon sneered, raising his weapon before bringing it down hard. Jonathan blocked it, but almost dropped the pot in the process, as the blow rattled him to his teeth. 

“Well see if yer skull or yer kneecaps take the blow half as well as dwarvish cookery.” Fedon said as he raised his bar again. Jonathan could feel the fear rising inside him to a crescendo, but it wasn’t alone. His rage was rising too. He’d never done a thing to this dwarf and now just when Jonathan was threatening to be happy again in a little life he was making for himself he wanted to kill him? For what? For the crime of being too tall? It was madness. Jonthan lashed out the only way he could, by throwing the pot at the dwarf. Even as it soared through the air though he was pulling the fire from the surrounding stone, as well as from the cookfires he could feel within the buildings that surrounded them. The pot might have been full of lukewarm mush when he released it, but by the time Fedon sneered and moved to swat it away it was bubbling and starting to smoke. 

“Ye call that a throw,” Fedon mocked him as he swatted it away. His careless blow sloshed what was left of the chowder out of the pot so that while the iron kettle might have gone wide of the mark, his face and upper body was sprayed with the suddenly superheated food. Fedon didn’t get the chance to finish whatever line he meant to say before he brained Jonathan. He just started screaming instead. Jonathan made a break for it in the chaos, while Fedon’s friends came to the dwarf’s aid to try to figure out what had happened. Jonathan ignored all that though - he limped away from the scene of the fight as fast as he could, and went to the warehouse he always slept in, even though he expected them to follow. 

Jonathan didn’t have another choice. The best he could do was to find a dark corner far from his pallet and curl up into a ball like a wounded animal while he waited for his pursuers to find him or for sleep to take him.