A glyph [https://i.imgur.com/ZLENX3y.png]

Andra crouched in the corner of her cage. She watched, she listened, she waited. Feet away in her own cage, her sister mirrored her pose. Cara had stopped trying to talk to her, having learned Andra wasn’t interested in what she had to say.

The cage was too small for Andra to stand upright. Sometimes she stretched to keep herself limber. Sometimes she slept. Sometimes men brought food and water and changed the dirt bucket, for her and the other captives. Perhaps there was a regular schedule to their movements. She didn’t know. There was no day or night for her, no sun or moon or fresh wind bearing tales of distant places. Only the same flat stinks of animals and humans, the same cramped cage.

When water was brought, she drank it, but she didn’t eat the food they provided. It was her only freedom. That and her dreams of bloody vengeance.

Men were coming. Two. She heard their heavy booted feet drawing closer, their over-loud voices echoing in the adjoining passage. And then they were walking toward her.

She waited, tense and ready. The men stopped in front of her cage. Two fat, ugly, stinking humans stared at her with their avid little eyes, as if she were meat. She snarled.

One of them laughed. ‘Oh, we got a live one here. She’s ready.’

‘The keeper said it wasn’t eating,’ said the other. He carried an iron thing, a stick with a circle on one end — a weapon? It looked ungainly. He’d be slow.

‘She’ll eat when she’s hungry. If she lives.’ He leaned in. ‘Won’t you, pet?’

She remained still. Better if they thought her quiet. Better they become careless, and give her an opportunity to rip their throats out.

‘We’re going to let you out,’ the man with the iron-thing said. ‘Be good, and you won’t be hurt. Understand?’

She glared at him, pouring hatred into her gaze.

‘Don’t waste your breath,’ the other man said. ‘They may look like people, but they’re animals. They don’t speak a civilised tongue. Let’s just do this. We don’t have all day.’

‘I’m ready. You open the cage.’

Andra braced herself. She had already picked her target: the man with the weapon. She’d knock him down and kill him, then turn on the other before he could react. Humans were slow.

The cage door swung open. She pounced. Cold iron gripped her neck; she pawed at it, fighting, unable to breathe. Dark fringed the edges of her vision. The length of an iron rod separated her from the humans. An iron collar circled her neck. She couldn’t reach them, and the harder she fought, the tighter the collar grew, until she was choking.

Helpless, she was dragged from the cage onto the stone floor of the tunnel.

‘Told you,’ said the man. ‘Stupid animal.’

They forced her to walk before them, bent on all fours, like a beast. She quickly realised that to keep breathing she had to relax, neither pushing nor pulling on the collar. Her blood seethed, but she walked where they directed her, and did not fight the restraint.

The hard fact remained: the human had caught her before she could reach him. He had acted more quickly than she, more quickly than a human had any right to. These two had snake tattoos, like the other man she’d fought. He’d been fast too, and strong.

Angry as she was, for now there was nothing she could do. Only she had to watch and learn, and understand. She had to be cleverer than they.

They led her through many twisting tunnels, all alike, and stopped before a wooden door. Behind the door was a low roar of muffled noise. They opened the door and shoved her through. She sprawled to the floor and the door slammed shut before she realised the collar was gone.

She was free. Free in a stone cell not much bigger than her cage. Was this a new prison?

Opposite the door she had come through was another door. The noise was louder. The door slid open, and now the full force of hundreds of shouting human voices hit her. Light glared in her eyes.

She stepped out onto coarse black sand. Sheer stone walls surrounded her, rising to a balcony thronged with human men, all shouting and laughing. The door had closed behind her.

The balcony was three times her height above the ground, the walls smooth and unclimbable. No escape that way.

On the opposite side of the pit, a door slid open. A mass of yellow-white fur shambled through and stopped.

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It was an ice-bear, a young one, hardly half grown, but still twice her weight and strength. It stood and stared, confused by the noise and strangeness. Then it saw her. It huffed through its nose, taking in her scent, and it growled.

The audience above cheered. They hung over the balcony, shouting: ‘Fight, fight, fight.’

And now she understood. This was what she was here for. This was what the caged animals were for. There was no escape, nothing she could do but fight or die. And should she live, they would make her fight again, and again, and again, until she was killed.

A dagger thrown from the balcony landed on the sand between her and the bear.

Andra snarled. She had no choice. She could not die without avenging her loss. So she must fight, and she must live, for nothing but the hope of one day killing her sister.

She darted forward and snatched up the dagger.

Si glyph [https://i.imgur.com/mHhTdaF.png]

After many days, Simon had simplified the steel enhancement to the fewest possible steps. All that remained now was repetition, and the main difficulty was to maintain his concentration, not to allow boredom to lead to error.

The exemplar steel lay on the table to his left and the target piece to his right, convenient for drawing the sigil. He had decided, after a few trials, to reuse the source sigil on the exemplar multiple times. It was lazy and bad practice, but saved a good deal of time.

Requiring, as it did, focus on two different sigils on two different steel pieces, the work was demanding.

He drew the fresh steel blank toward him and scribed the target sigil.

Sam, who was watching from the other side of the table, sighed. ‘Couldn’t you just stack up all the pieces and do them at the same time?’

Simon finished the sigil. ‘Not a bad idea, but the contact would be poor. Of course, I could enhance a sheet of steel and Danta could cut it up afterwards. That would be easier for me, but more work for her.’

Sam sighed again. He rested his chin on his fists. ‘I’m bored.’

‘You’re always bored.’

‘We could do with going to the market,’ Nana said. ‘Be reasonable, Simon. The boy needs to get out now and then.’

‘I’m not sure this is a good time,’ Simon said. ‘The last letter from Grace, she said there’d been trouble in some of the food markets.’

‘We have to eat,’ Nana said. ‘Besides, the children need exercise and fresh air — well, as fresh as it gets down here.’

Simon glanced at Lorie, who sat hunched over his copy of the Second Grammar. She’d been quiet for days, hardly speaking, and her eyes had dark shadows. ‘Perhaps you’re right. While you’re out, can you visit the Garden and check if there’s a letter from Grace?’

Sam grinned. ’I can do that. I know the way.’

‘All right then.’ Simon handed Nana some money. ‘Be careful.’

When they’d gone, silence descended. Simon straightened the pieces of metal in front of him. It was good, really, to be alone. He didn’t like being watched while he worked, and even when they made an effort not to disturb him, their small noises were a distraction.

He focused on the source sigil. The sample tool steel was as familiar to him now as breathing: the crystalline structure, the mix of large and small grains, the strength and flexibility that he perceived as a texture on his fingertips, a flavour at the back of his tongue.

The hard part was to hold the connection to the source while focusing on the target sigil, and complete that invocation before the first had faded.

But with enough repetition, even this mental juggling act had become second nature. When he released the sigil, the properties of the sample steel flowed from source to target, as if he were merely a conduit. Good steel, obedient steel. The target steel shimmered and warmed beneath his fingers, the colour subtly changing.

In a minute, it was done. The target piece of steel was now indistinguishable from the source: rigid instead of flexible, hard instead of malleable, and about twice the price.

Simon shifted it to the finished pile. At this rate, he might complete the batch before the others returned. He should have a couple of hours, at least, if they went to the market and the Garden.

Would there be a new letter from Grace? Her last letter said the Theurgic Inquiry was scheduled for today. By now, she and all the rest of House Numisma would be at the Temple, and the nine Theurgist Adepts would be preparing for the ritual summoning.

He wiped the surface of the next mild steel blank. If successful, the Inquiry would discover the truth of his father’s death. Whether he was murdered, whether Aric was behind it. After so many years not knowing, it was strange to feel so close to the answers. And yet it might be days before he heard anything. He was better off not thinking of it; better, by far, to focus on Danta’s steel, for which he would be paid.

But having begun thinking, he couldn’t stop. Grace had told him setting up the Inquiry would take a long time, yet Numisma had moved quicker than either of them had expected. That must mean they thought they would uncover something worthwhile, something they could use against Eranon. Either that, or they were more worried by recent developments than he’d thought.

Grace had mentioned fights breaking out in food markets, and attacks on Numisma banks and businesses across the city. Perhaps Numisma had reason to worry.

Strange. Eranon had proposed armed patrols to keep peace and order, and yet every day there seemed to be more disorder. But then, a few armed men patrolling — what good could they really do? Even if they had guns.

Guns… nasty things. He could see why Danta wouldn’t touch them. No good in war because any Fire Adept could blow up anything flammable from a distance. Only useful to hunters and criminals…

Guns… Simon rubbed his forehead. Some half-forgotten detail nagged him; it felt important but he couldn’t bring it to mind. Guns — Steel — Danta. That business rival she was complaining of, Anders Andriessen… Why was that name annoyingly familiar?

He closed his eyes and focused inward. A white page ruled with black lines swam out of memory: tight black handwriting, names, and numbers. Eranon’s private account book, the one he had found in his office. He’d only looked at it briefly, but that was enough. One of the names was Anders.

Anders Andriessen made guns: guns for the Phylaxes-led patrols, guns that ended up in the hands of Snakes. And Snake was another name in Eranon’s account book.

Cold fire ran down Simon’s spine. He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he was certain it was important. Numisma needed to know. If he could get to them before the Inquiry began… A letter to Grace via the Garden wouldn’t reach her in time. He had to go to her himself, despite the risk.

He seized the nearest piece of steel and using the stylus point on his steel finger, scrawled a quick message to tell the others where he was going.