The heavy wooden runners of the sand skiff rattled over the cracked flagstones of Anvil Row, grinding past rows of soot-streaked tenement blocks and sulfur-stained gutters.
The deafening, collective roar of hundreds of blast furnaces and steam-powered hammers operating in the industrial district shook the very dust from the eaves of the low buildings.
Dense plumes of black coal smoke and boiling copper vapor rolled down from the massive smelting chimneys, coating the crowded streets in a greasy film of gray grit that made common cart-drivers cough into their grease-stained sleeves.
Han Ping led the way down an alley known as Slag Run, his sharp merchant gaze picking through the weathered wooden signs swinging outside shuttered storage bays and abandoned casting rooms.
He stopped before
