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Down among the struts of Raccoon Furnace live the cokers, parsing out scraps of stolen fire. From Coker Inchard you can get it cheap and risk burning granite; Olgy will trade it for a hump in his tent. But from Ewards you can get a magic word.

Pay dearly, take his coal and his whisper and run to the old well down Curbin Street. Throw a piece from your bucket, and wish.

It worked for somebody’s sister’s friend’s lover. It could work for you.

That night Ewards will collect all the wet cold chunks, and dry them, and sell them again.