A chimney is simple enough: it’s a hollow column made of bricks, stone or cement that vents out gases from the fuels we burn. But within those flues lurk eye-opening lessons about the influences on, and implications of, our energy choices. To get in the mood for this story, do what I’m doing as I write it: settle into a comfy chair by a crackling fire late at night. Absorb the heat and let your mind wander. Imagine you’re in England’s north country, where it’s damp and cold. Now imagine it’s January 1857.

He was standing at the gates of a 16th-century school, looking up at the roof of a large three-story stone building. The glint of the early morning moon backlit four cylindrical pots, grouped in a row on top of the chimney.

Only seven years old, Henry already knew his chimneys. He knew them inside and out. Literally. You see, Henry was a chimney sweep, although that was a benign description of what he did for a living.

In mid-19th-century Britain, most people would have referred to Henry as a climbing boy, which in my mind was a more fitting handle. That’s because he didn’t really sweep much. Instead, he spent his long days climbing inside fireplace flues, removing layers of soot with his head, hands and a scruffy straw brush.

Before the end of this January work shift, Henry would have to squeeze through each of those four suffocating chimneys.

From “Nobody Tips a Scandiscope” in The Investor Visit and Other Stories: Disruption, Denial and Transition in the Energy Business.