As soon as Jonathan spoke the courtroom erupted into chaos. A flurry of nods and small discussions started immediately, inspired by his answer. Within a few seconds they became a series of shouting matches and after a minute or two, the magistrate eventually became involved in it. He barked out a series of what sounded like rulings more than questions, intermittently banging his gavel until order was once again restored in the courtroom, and silence reigned again. 

When it first erupted, the tumult made Jonathan fear that he’d said something wrong. He’d been so sure that was where Kaspov was leading him, but after people started yelling he was once again consumed with doubts and fear that he’d only managed to sign his own death warrant. That was until he looked to Kaspov for reassurance and the old dwarf winked at him, not letting that little gesture of collusion mar his otherwise stoic and respectful expression he’d worn the whole time before the court. It was only a little reassurance, but it was all Jonathan needed to stand a little straighter until the proceedings died down. 

Finally the Magistrate questioned him directly. “Yer magic Mr. Shaw, does it affect ye or the steam or the train?” It was a good question, and it gave Jonathan pause. With Kaspov’s help he'd already managed to thread a needle, but were they asking him to thread a second needle inside the first? Why were they so hellbent on killing him as opposed to thanking him for saving the dwarves he worked with every day?

“The magic affects me, your honor,” Jonathan answered, deciding to give the most self-serving answer possible. “The steam came out of the train, and when it reached me I pulled the heat from it, and then expelled the heat into the ground with my feet. My boots even caught fire at the time.” He decided the best way to go was to oversimplify things a bit for his benefit. If it had actually worked that way, Jonathan would have been very badly burned in the process. In reality most of the heat was stolen almost as soon as it left the train, but he had no way of knowing how the dwarves would react if they learned magic had touched their precious train.

His answer kicked off a second series of debates, but these were shorter, and more orderly, and Jonathan waited patiently for them to finish, confident he’d beaten the headsman's axe. Finally silence fell upon the court and the magistrate pronounced his verdict. “Mr. Shaw - The previous verdict of guilty and its sentence of death against ye is vacated. Ye are found innocent of using magic in Khagrumer.” Even though Jonathan tried to remain stone faced as the verdict was read, he couldn’t help but smile as the Magistrate continued. “Use of magic in extremis is allowed in the deep runs in the defense of life or property. The court thanks ye for yer service to clan Kahgh, and sentences ye to one month of hard labor instead.” 

Jonathan was feeling better and better until those final words tore it all back down. A month of hard labor? For what?! He wanted to scream. Having just survived his brush with death though, he chose to remain silent as the guards flanked him and escorted him out of the courtroom. “It’s goin’ to be fine, kid,” Kaspov said as he walked by him on the way out of the room. 

The exchange was too quick for Jonathan to comment, but he had plenty of time to brood about it in the tiny cell they locked him in. It was a different one than last time, but it was functionally identical. It had the same low ceilings and tight spaces that made him as uncomfortable as before. The only added comfort was that this time he didn’t need to ponder his own mortality while he fought muscle cramps. Other than that he didn’t see how things could get a whole lot worse - at least until a few hours later the cell across from him was filled up by one of the only dwarves in the whole city he could recognize: Fedon. 

That at least brightened his day, and Jonathan sat up to pay attention as he watched the grumbling dwarf locked in his cell. Fedon didn’t immediately notice him as he argued with the guards, so eventually Jonathan chimed in, “Looks like the gods work in mysterious ways, Fedon. What goes around comes around, huh?” 

The dwarf stared daggers at him after that comment, but stayed quiet until the guards were gone. As soon as they left though, he sputtered. “Ye. Man. This is all yer fault!”

“My fault?” Jonathan asked. “I didn’t do anything. I’m not the one that ran to the guards and tried to get someone executed.”

“They say I lied about ye to the court - that I’m guilty of wasting their time.” Fedon raged. “Ye understand? Because of Man I guilty of lyin’ ! My honor will no stand for this!”  

“That’s terrible,” Jonathan said smiling. At least one good thing came out of all this. “Maybe you should tell someone who cares.” 

“Oh, ye’ll care soon, Man.” Fedon said, punctuating his Wenlish sentence with a string of dwarven curses before he continued, including a few that Jonathan was able to recognize. “They give me six months in the salt mines for this.” 

“Damnit Fedon, I don’t care what you do with your life, so long as you do it far away from me.” Jonathan cursed, utterly fed up with this guy. He had no idea how one could simply decide to start hating a whole race of people like this. Plenty of humans were equally guilty of this sort of racialism too of course, but other than his brother, Jonathan had met few men that hated dwarves as much as Fedon hated humans.

Fedon’s only response to this was a long belly laugh though. “Far away? From ye? Man - where is it ye think ye’ll be doin’ the hard labor? Ye’ll be right there in the salt same as me.” Jonathan paled at the revelation. He’d assumed that his punishment would be somewhere in the city. Maybe he’d be unloading freight, or cleaning chimneys or chutes without pay or something. Laboring in some salt mine seemed a little extreme. 

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Jonathan hedged, suddenly on his back foot. 

“Oh it is Man, it is.” Fedon gloated, grabbing the bars and leaning forward menacingly. “Those caves dark. Very dark. Ye never know what sort of accident might happen to clumsy cold blood like ye. Ye might never be seen again.” 

“We both know how our last fight went, Fedon,” Jonathan swallowed hard while his feigned bravado cracked under the weight of that image. “Next fight will be no different.” Not only was he going to be digging up salt, but he was going to have to sleep with his eyes open for a murderous dwarf while he did it? This was getting better and better.

“Next fight won’t even be fight,” Fedon said quietly. His eyes were cold now. He wasn't making a threat. He was making a promise. “Ye run into trouble down there, and ye’ll have no magic. How are ye going to magic while yer covered in salt, Man?” Jonathan tried not to let his shock show on his face, but he could see that Fedon at least glimpsed it, because he suddenly smiled murderously. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathan deflected half heartedly. Most elemental blooded humans had no idea how certain materials like salt and iron effected or even impeded magic, so how did a runty little ass like Fedon find that out? Even covered in salt Jonathan knew he wouldn’t be entirely cut off from magic, but it would make things harder. With a torch or two nearby there wasn’t much that could stop him, but he wasn’t about to share that with his enemy. 

“I know plenty, Man. I know more than ye at almost everything. That’s why I should be on repair crew and not you!” Fedon spat. “Kaspov is nothing but filthy man lover, and he put you on the team to spite my family.” If the last revelation surprised Jonathan, then this one flabbergasted him. Fedon singled him out time and time again not just because he hated humans, but because he’d taken a spot the dwarf coveted? That was too crazy to be true, wasn’t it?

They spent the next hour arguing about this across from each other before silence again reigned in the area. Jonathan was sure they’d put on quite the show for the other dwarves locked up down there. He just hoped few of them could speak enough Wenlish to follow along. Eventually the night ended with him leaning quietly against his cell wall pretending to sleep while he wondered what the hell he was going to do about all this new information. Had he beaten his guilty verdict only to get beaten to death in some cramped salt mine somewhere? It seemed like an even crueler twist of fate than usual for him. At some point pretending to be asleep to avoid another argument with Fedon turned into actually falling asleep, and Jonathan woke only when a key turned in his cell and a door opened. 

From there, he and a number of other prisoners were manacled, including Fedon, and then marched down to the railyard to be shipped wherever it was they were going. On the way Jonathan tried to get a glimpse of anything familiar like his crew or his home, but they brought them in on the far side so all he saw were different warehouses and platforms that looked exactly the same as the ones he was used to. 

The train itself must have been specifically for prisoners, because they’d replaced the padded couches that were normally found in passenger carriages with long wooden benches. Presumably that was so they could squeeze even more people into one car, but for Jonathan at least, it meant he could actually sit down in relative comfort. He’d been sitting in his assigned space when he finally heard a familiar voice ask, “Those your boots under there?” 

Jonathan turned to his left and couldn’t help but smile when he saw Ekrom sitting there at his elbow, pointing to a pair of new leather boots tucked half under the bench. “What the heck are you doing here?” Jonathan tried to keep his voice down, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. It was certainly unexpected, but not unappreciated. 

“Well, when Kaspov saw who was going to be joining ye for yer month in the pit, he thought that maybe someone should come along to keep ye safe.” Ekrom said simply, “And it looks like I was the one to draw the short straw.”

“But how did you get in here?” Jonathan asked, confused. “I thought only prisoners were on this train. Did you get yourself transferred?”

“Oh, but I am a prisoner,” Ekrom said, “Arrested and tried yesterday for assault.” 

“Assault?” Jonathan was shocked. “Who did you beat up?” 

“Kaspov, actually,” Ekrom laughed uproariously at that, but Jonathan was shocked. “Hit him good too. If he wants me to take a swing to end up in here with you, then I’m going to make the most of it.” 

“Well I’m so glad you’re here to help me, I don’t know—” Jonathan started thanking the dwarf before Ekrom cut him off. 

“It’s fine lad. It’s fine. Kaspov will heal, and he and the rest of the lads will make sure my pay is covered while I’m in here working with ye. It’s the least they could do after ye saved our skins.” Ekrom said dismissively, ''Now try on the boots. Kaspov’s brother made them up special. Just finished them last night. After what ye did to yer pair we didn’t think they’d be up to the rigors of a mine for more than a few days.” 

Jonathan was touched, but he leaned down to fetch the pair of leather boots because he was determined not to let the dwarf see him tearing up. For the first time since he’d fallen in with Kaspov he felt like someone cared if he lived or died. It was sad how rare that feeling was for him, but he was determined to enjoy it.