Noon the following day finds me standing outside of Rodger’s shop, scowling with my hands shoved deep in my pockets. The shop is a tall, narrow building at the end of one of the main shopping streets, and from the outside looks like the last place on earth you’d go to repair anything. It’s also pink - likely a previous owner trying to bump up attention - but the paint hasn’t been redone in years and so the original brick pokes through in ghostly red patches. A bunch of metal pipes streak down the left side of the building, striped with different coloured metal where the parts have been exchanged or replaced. Thin black stains creep along the wall beneath them. Above the door, a corrugated iron hangs at an angle: RODGER’S REPAIRS. The ‘I’ is shaped like a spanner, although the charm of that detail is somewhat lost at this point.

‘At least straighten the fucking sign,’ I mutter as I duck through the door.

I’m instantly hit by the smell of cigarette smoke. It’s hazy inside, and dim. The sound of a radio floats out from one of the back rooms, loud, rhythmic drumming. I snoop past the towering stacks of bolted shelves, glancing at them as I go. It kinda looks like Finn’s room in the Den, a bunch of parts in bowls and boxes, screwdrivers of various sizes hanging on the walls, tangles of red and green wires.

The stool at the shop till is empty - no Rodger. Good. I picked lunch hour on purpose. I walk through into the back corridor. The cigarette smell grows strong enough to make my eyes sting, and then I hear shouting from up ahead.

When I duck my head into the room it’s coming from, I find Finn lying on the workbench with his eyes closed, and Rodger standing over him, yelling.

‘You can’t keep doing this man!’ Rodger’s saying, hand on his hips. ‘Get a fuckin’ grip! You told me you were serious. Taking a nap in the middle of the day isn’t serious!’

‘I’m not napping,’ Finn says in a quiet voice. ‘I’ve done the lanterns and I finished the schematics for the connector. I just need ten minutes.’ He’s rubbing at his temples like he does when he gets migraines, and his prosthetic is off, stumps out on display. He gets them when he’s spent too much time working with chemetal without proper protection. My jaw goes tight.

Rodger catches sight of me standing in the doorway and does a double take. ‘The hell is she doing here?’ he sneers a second later, glaring at me.

‘I came to give Finn his lunch,’ I say, holding up my cloth bag and giving it a shake. It’s partially true. Mainly I came to make sure that he doesn’t skip it again.

Rodger turns to face me fully, crossing his arms. His veiny old muscles bulge in a way that I think is supposed to be intimidating. He’s a big forty year old with piercings through his eyebrows and lips and greying black hair, tied up in a ponytail. He thinks he’s scary. He’s not.

‘You can’t be in here,’ he says slowly, like I’m stupid. ‘Employees only, there’s a sign.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Give it a break Rodge, it’s only me. You alright Finn?’

‘Fine,’ Finn says, but he’s still lying down. ‘Just need a moment.’

Rodger curses under his breath. ‘I’m docking you for this,’ he tells Finn. ‘You’re on half pay again today.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense!' I scowl.

‘It’s fine,’ Finn says.

‘But you should be on lunch break anyway!'

‘Get your sister out of here,’ Rodger says venomously to Finn. Then he pushes past me, roughly knocking his shoulder into my head.

I turn around, my fingers going to the knife sheath hidden on my hip, but Finn sits up suddenly. ‘Wait,’ he says, green around the gils. ‘Wait, Addie, don’t—‘ He starts to tip. I rush over, get my arm around him. Gently guide him back on the bench.

‘When did it start?’ I ask, keeping my voice soft. Rodger will have to wait.

’This morning,’ Finn says. His palm is back over his eyes and I can see his ribs stuttering as he takes purposefully steady breaths. He’s too thin. ‘Think it was drinking last night. But it’s fine. I’m already feeling better.’

He doesn’t look better.

I look around the work room. Even without seeing it, I know there’s chemetal here. I can feel it, pins and needles in my fingers, my lips. It’s coming from the corner, and sure enough, my gaze narrows as I spot an old wooden table with a small black lump resting innocently on top of a white plate. It won’t be anywhere near pure, of course. But there’s enough of it in the alloy to be unpleasant. Finn should be wearing gloves and a mask to deal with it, but there’s no sign of either.

‘Thanks for lunch,’ Finn says.

I turn back to him and sigh. ‘Do you want me to help you home?’

The set of his mouth turns predictably appalled. ‘I’m seventeen. Not seven.’

‘You’re gonna stay?’

‘Yeah, of course. I told you, I’m fine. I’m already feeling better.’

I stow the bag on the side, eyeing him. He’s pale. ‘Alright,’ I say. ‘But if it’s Rodger you’re worried about—‘

‘It’s not Rodger,’ Finn interrupts. He holds his breath and slowly sits up. ‘Thanks,’ he says, peering up at me. His eyes shine bright, bewitching green in the tired hollows of his skull, beneath his glasses. ‘Really. But I’ll see you tonight.’

‘Alright,’ I say, reluctant. ‘I’ll try to find you something interesting.’

That gets me a disapproving frown. ‘I’d really rather you didn’t.’

‘You didn’t like the pace keeper?’

‘Leave the clocks alone.’

I give him a mock salute as I turn to go. The faint smile slides straight off my face as I reach the corridor and hear Rodger humming along to the crappy drumming on the radio.

I don’t have a steady job, not like Finn. Sometimes I help out teaching at the Dorms, or hang around the card rings, or slip into Mid to see what I can scavenge. People know me as an odd-jobber - someone who can track down what they need without asking too many questions. It’s enough to get by, but not enough to call it a real living. Most months, I’m counting on one or two decent finds in Mid and the luck to find a buyer for them.

Sometimes I wonder if I made a mistake, if I should have learnt a profession or gotten Finn to teach me about repairing stuff. But I’m no good with my hands and I can’t stand chemetal. And he’s the one with all the Affinity. I can’t visuals mechanics or draw schematics like he can.

After the repair shop, I spend the afternoon stomping around seeing if anyone wants any help - they don’t - and imagining what would happen if Rodger suddenly went missing. As fun a thought as it is, it wouldn’t help. Rodger’s a gambler, and he's definitely used the shop as collateral. Finn would get stuck with another shitty boss, who might kick him out anyway because of his hand.

I consider going back into Mid to do a spot of pickpocketing, but if I’m honest I’m still on edge from what happened yesterday. I even dreamt about the Peacer last night, the empty black eye of his pistol, levelled right at me.

I end up, once again, at the Old Boat. Finn and Tom will come later, so I reason I may as well wait for them there.

Pubs always feel weird in the daytime, naked without all the people. Dust motes swirl in the shards of grey daylight slicing in from the windows, illuminating all the wear and tear and general shabbiness: the stained floor, the scratched bar top, the yellowing lamp shades. The Association workers are still toiling away in the Pits at this point, and the only other person in there is Thesp, sitting at the bar looking haggard. He turns when the bell chimes, looks at me, and then replaces his head on the bar. Big Jay is nowhere to be found - she must be down in the cellar.

‘Good afternoon,’ I say to Thesp, coming to sit with him at the bar. Then I get a whiff of his stink - he hasn’t showered since last night - and pick a bar stool two seats away instead.

He ignores me.

‘Did you hear the Association are thinking about a strike again?’ I try, in a way that I think is very friendly considering he sprayed water all over me last night.

‘You what?’ The rasp floats out from the general direction of his head.

‘I said, did you hear the Association are thinking about a strike again?’

You have to be careful with Thesp. When he’s drunk, it’s hard to get him to stop talking about his past; when he’s sober though, he doesn’t like to talk about it at all. Kind of like Tom. You can never ask him a question about himself without circling around it for a while beforehand.

Thesp’s chuckle sounds like crushed gravel. ‘Oh aye, they’ll think about it. I’d bargain they haven’t stopped thinking about it since they joined. Whether they’ll do it is another thing entirely.’

‘Well,’ I say, surprised he’s capable of full sentences, ‘they were talking about a new dig site. Topsiders want to reinforce their wall.’

‘Aye. The bastards would.’ Thesp finally raises his head. Up close, he’s grey with a hangover.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

To explain: the city of Erudict has three walls. Ours, in Under, is the largest and oldest one. It rings the whole city, made of big, weatherworn blocks of tarnished black chemetal. It took them fourteen years to build, fighting off Katerakts every night whilst the creatures crawled along the streets and into the first floors of houses, eating whatever they found.

Around twenty five years ago, the wall around Under started to crack. Instead of reinforcing it, like any sane government would have done, the council decided to build another wall, inside Under’s wall, around the section of the city known as Mid. Riots followed. They lined the rioters up on the top of Under’s wall, and pushed them off as the sun set. There were no more riots after that.

Then, eight years ago, Top decided two whole walls and a bunch of people between them and the Katerakts wasn’t good enough. The Miners Association opened up twelve new dig sites, choked the city half to death with the dust kicked up, and began to build. Top got their nice new wall, and we got bled dry of chemetal. Now if Under’s wall breaks, we can’t fix it properly. All we can do is try to salvage the stuff that falls and patch it up from that.

‘I reckon they should do it,’ I say, tapping my fingers on the bar. ‘Strike, I mean.’

Thesp tuts and makes the same excuse as the worker from yesterday. ‘They’d kill them all before they sat down for breakfast.’

‘That was years ago. Now—’

‘Now’s not so different. You didn’t see the Red Courtyard. No, no, no, they won’t be striking again.’

I leap on my chance. ‘The Red Courtyard’s in Top, isn’t it? What’s it like?’

It’s like watching a chemical reaction. Thesp’s bony old spine straightens and a silver gleam returns to his yellow-washed eyes. ’Bigger than you’d imagine,’ he says with relish. ’Big and cold and awful. You can still see the blood stains on the stone. And nowt in there but that great big crying statue looming over the whole thing. Makes you shiver, I’ll tell you that.’

‘You think it’s true then? They really killed the last magicians there?’

Thesp looks at me. ‘They killed something there, alright. Places don’t get that kind of pain in the air without a whole lot of death.’

I raise my eyebrows—

‘Bullshit,’ Big Jay says, and I turn to see her shouldering her way through the door, hefting a big wooden crate. Her forehead’s damp with sweat and her apron’s smeared with dust.

’S’not bullshit,’ Thesp sniffs. ‘And you’ve never been there so you don’t know either way.’

Big Jay rolls her eyes as she lifts the crate onto the bar and begins to stack the new glass bottles.

‘It’s impossible, right?’ I probe. ‘To get into Top now. Since the wall was finished.’

‘Aye,’ Thesp says, and frowns. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

‘But it can’t be impossible,’ I press. ‘There’s gotta be places where you can jump it. Or parts that aren’t guarded, or have cracks or something. Right?’ If anyone knows it’s Thesp - he was once a student at the University in Top, before he got thrown out.

Thesp massages his forehead with spindly, dirty fingers. ‘Give it a bloody rest, Addie.’

I look up at Big Jay, who’s clearly trying not to smile, and roll my eyes.

Big Jay snorts.‘Hangover’s kicking in, is it?’ she says - with remarkable pleasantry considering she threw him out not twelve hours ago.

‘No,’ Thesp rasps, and puts his head back in his palms.

I mooch around at the pub talking to Big Jay and manage to wheedle my way into helping her out with restocking, in exchange for a few free drinks tonight. It just makes me feel worse, like I’m wasting more time, although I make sure to keep up a steady stream of cheerful conversation.

What else am I supposed to do? I’ve been thinking about it for months and I still don’t know. Finn’s got the repair shop. Big Jay’s got the bar. Even Thesp seems to have found his calling as the local alcoholic. And then there’s me. Occasional shitty thief who nearly got shot. I can’t even do that well.

Around six, before the sun sets, the Association lot trickle in. They look tired and pissed off. Like the Miners yesterday were saying, their hours have been extended, which means they start earlier in the day, and nobody likes a dawn wake-up. The pub transforms from a pale, grey room into a place full of light and sound and talking. My shoulders start to come down and I feel like I can breathe easier, like the air’s gotten clearer, even as it fills with the acrid tang of pipe smoke.

Tom comes in and that cheers me up too. He smiles wider when he catches sight of me, walks straight up to the bar where I’m slouched over my second pint. ‘Addie,’ he grins, gesturing Big Jay for a drink.

Her eyes flit from Tom to me and she has the nerve to wink. Again.

I frown back pointedly, and then turn back to Tom with a neutral expression. ‘Good day?’

He nods as he tugs his bar stool closer - so close I catch a faint whiff of the soap we have at the Den. ‘Pretty good, yeah. They might offer me a job at the Association.’

The beer I was drinking meets the bar with a thud. ‘The Association?’ I echo, wide-eyed. ‘Why do you want to work there?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Not as a miner, obviously.’ The back of my neck prickles; I wish he’d lower his voice. ‘As an assistant. Of sorts. To do some clerk work, help out in the medbay. They need someone who can read and write, so I thought I’d offer myself up.’

He looks excited and I’m happy for him. But it also makes me feel a little… uneasy. I can read and write. I never thought about going to the Association to see if they needed the help.

Would I want to do that though? I don’t like the Association. I don’t like what it stands for.

‘Yeah?’ I say, trying to keep my thoughts off my face. ‘Well. Congrats. That sounds good.’

Tom puts his hand on my knee, a warm, heavy weight. I go very, very still as my heart begins to splutter. ‘I mean it’s not a proper job,’ he says, leaning in to be heard. Fuck fuck fuck. His eyes are dark and molten, staring into mine. ‘But I like learning about it. The Pits. How it all works.’

I pull my thoughts together and try to put it diplomatically. Without stuttering. ‘It’s, uh, it’s not looked upon as a good thing here.’ I have to look away from his gaze, it’s too intense. ‘Nobody wants to join the Association. It’s sort of a last option type thing.’

‘I know. But if I can earn some money to help you and Finn then I want to. You’re letting me stay with you for free. And if it weren’t for you both I’d have probably gotten a knife in the back by the first week.’ He grins, as though it’s a funny joke.

I can’t quite bring myself to smile back. ‘Nah,’ I lie. ‘You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.’

Tom’s grip tightens on my knee - I stop breathing - and then he leans back. Big Jay’s come over with his drink, hollering over her shoulder to someone else. I try not to look disappointing.

Tom takes the drink with an easy smile, and then looks round. ‘It’s busy tonight. Is there some kind of event?’

Some kind of event. He’s so Mid sometimes. But he’s right - it is weirdly busy for mid-week. I tune into the conversation the big group of lads at the end of the bar is having. Then I notice their black overalls and the white streaks in their hair and don’t bother trying to overhear. ’The Patchers have come in,’ I explain. Big Jay’s serving them with hearts in her eyes - they’ve all ordered food, which’ll be a tidy taking for her.

Tom lights up with interest, like he does around anything related to Under. ‘Patchers are the ones that fix the walls, right? They work with chemetal.’

I nod.

‘Do you think any of them would talk to me about it?’

‘They’ve just finished their shift,’ I say after a beat. ‘I’d let them get another few drinks in them and then you can ask.’ I’ll need to make sure Finn or I are there. We’ve been teaching Tom to soften his accent but he often forgets and ends up sounding like someone from Mid, and the Patchers won’t like that.

‘Right,’ he says, peering over my shoulder. ‘One of them’s staring at you, by the way.’

I turn around. For a moment I can’t see it, just the group of guys, talking, laughing. Then someone moves and I catch it.

It’s Jan. The crooked nose would do it, even if I didn’t recognise the rest of him: thin, weedy, face like a kicked puppy. The nose is my fault, although it was a long time ago - decades. I raise my glass at him in a little cheers! motion. Jan’s eyes grow wide and he stares harder. Guess he’s still afraid of me.

’Friend of yours?’ Tom asks, following my gaze.

‘We grew up together. He was in the Dorms with Finn and I. Bit of a creep though.’

Tom looks curious. ‘A creep?’

‘He was always muttering to himself,’ I say, trying not to sound like an asshole. ‘And he was really into numbers. Apparently they spoke to him.’

Tom arches an eyebrow. It’s unfairly attractive.

‘Not like he was good at maths,’ I go on. ‘But like they actually spoke to him. He said maths was code from the gods. And he was really into rules. He once punched Finn for sneaking an older boy portion at dinner and broke his glasses.’

‘Right,’ Tom says.

I smirk. ‘You still want to talk to him?’

‘As long as you’re there to stop him punching me,’ Tom says. ‘He looks terrified of you.’

I look at Tom, his height, his athletic build. ’You could take him,’ I say, but Tom just laughs.

It takes me another hour to decide it might be fun to set Tom loose. There’s no point waiting for Finn - he’s probably at home, sleeping off his migraine.

We finish our drinks and wander toward the group of Patchers clustered at the end of the bar. Half of them are crammed around a large table cluttered with dirty plates, while the rest lean against the bar or walls. Most look to be in varying stages of drunk.

Jan, as usual, hovers on the edges of the group conversation without contributing. His faint, giddy smile disappears soon as he sees me approaching and Tom snorts behind me.

‘Alright Jan,’ I say, all cheer. ‘It’s been a while, hasn’t it?’

‘A-Addie,’ he stutters out. I feel a prickle of guilt: in the bright light of the lamps, his nose really is crooked.

‘This is Tom,’ I gesture an introduction and Tom gives a polite nod. ‘He’s got some questions for you.’

‘Oh,’ Jan mumbles, grip tightening around his pint. ‘I… uh…’

I clap him on the back and he almost drops the glass. ‘Come on, Jan, he doesn’t bite. He just wants to hear about your work.’

‘We’re not really supposed to—’

‘—Bauman—’ someone slurs from the group nearby, and whatever Jan stutters out next goes unheard. My attention locks onto the conversation.

The man speaking is loud, his East Under accent rough and slurred. His stringy, shoulder-length hair streaked white in places - a seasoned Patcher. ‘They were tryna kill him! They’re on our side. Could be any one of us!’ He jabs a finger at his friend’s chest and nearly falls over.

His friend shoves him off, laughing. ’No way. They just built it wrong. That’s why it cracked.’

‘But why’d it crack there, huh? Why there, in his garden.’

‘Addie…’ Jan says nervously, but I shush him, leaning closer. They haven’t noticed me yet and I want someone to mention Bauman again. That was the scientist Finn and Tom were talking about last night. Biomech. I haven’t forgotten.

I wet my lips, putting on a drunken grin, and raise my voice. ‘Whose garden?’

The first man swivels, sways, and blinks at me. ‘Bauman,’ he says. ‘The guy.’

‘Yeah,’ his friend says.

‘His garden cracked?’ I ask.

It gets me a laugh. ‘Nah, nah,’ the first man says. ’The wall next to his garden. That’s what we’ve gotta patch tomorrow. Never mind there’s been another crack in the East section.’

I infer he’s talking about the East section of our wall - Under’s wall.

‘A wall in Bauman’s garden cracked?’ I repeat. He nods back and I nearly grin. Holy hell. I turn back to Jan, who’s looking at me guardedly. Tom’s raised eyebrows suggest he’s already caught on. ‘So Jan,’ I say. ‘Why don’t we talk somewhere quieter? Catch up properly.’

‘Um,’ Jan says. ‘No, it’s okay.’

I grab his clammy, cold hand and steer him away from the group.

Tom follows, at least sensible enough to keep his voice lowered this time. ‘Are you really thinking to—’

‘That depends on Jan here,’ I say, patting Jan’s shoulder. Jan looks at me like I’m the grim reaper, like he’s considering calling for help. ‘Loosen up!’ I tell him. ‘Tom, can you get the man another drink? On my tab.’ I’ve still got one left from the carrying I did for Big Jay earlier.

Tom gives me a deeply unimpressed look - he doesn’t like being ordered around - but turns back to the bar anyway.

I sling my arm around Jan’s shoulders. ‘So, tell me about the job tomorrow.’

Jan stiffens like a board. I’m almost offended. ‘We’re not supposed to talk about the job.’

‘Come on, it’s just me,’ I coax. ‘We’re old friends, aren’t we?’ Then I remember - a stroke of genius. ‘Are you still seeing—’ it was M something, wasn’t it?—‘Mennie,’ I throw out. ‘How she holding up?’

He goes even stiffer.

‘Are her lungs still bad? Because you know Finn’s been working on purifiers. We could get you one for her.’

I’m kind of lying. We could… we probably won’t. Air purifiers are the kind of expensive none of us can afford. I don’t even think Rodger has any in his shop - they’re mostly sold in Mid. I muse, for half a second, about stealing one, then decide I can figure it out later.

Lucky for me, it does the trick.

‘Finn works on them?’ Jan blurts out. He tugs out of my grip and rounds on me, puppy eyes wide. ‘He can do that?’

‘Sure,’ I say breezily. ‘But I’ll need a favour.’

Jan blinks. ‘What favour?

I tuck my curls behind my ears and pull out my best, most winning smile. ‘I need you to get me into Top tomorrow.’