Amidst the destruction of the city, it was a relief to see that the newspaper’s headquarters remained largely unscathed. They approached its large flat rooftop; it looked suitable for a landing airship.

The rooftop was scattered with various pieces of equipment, ventilation systems, large pipes, and a few scattered crates. It was clear the roof was not designated for landing, but Dellen preferred to come that way; he thought to skip the nuisance of a locked front door.

The door leading to the interior of the building was visible on the far side. Dellen stepped out of the carriage, feeling a solid rooftop beneath his feet. It felt odd, it was peculiar how the ground felt stable in a city of constant movement, but now that it was still, his legs felt unsteady.

“Wait here for me?” Dellen said to Edmund.

“Of course, my lord.”

“I will follow you, just in case you somehow get yourself murdered,” Gilgamesh said.

Dellen rolled his eyes and headed inside.

The first thing he noticed was the noise echoing up the stairwell. There was the suggestion of hurried footsteps and frantic conversations.

He descended the stairs and entered the main office area. Reporters rushed about, papers flying everywhere, typewriters clacking away.

Dellen scanned the room, looking for who might be best to approach. He turned and was brought up short by a young woman opening her mouth to speak.

She was of average height, with a slender build that seemed to radiate energy despite her disheveled appearance. Her chestnut hair, which had likely begun the day pulled back in a neat bun, had since escaped its confines, leaving a few strands to frame her face and several flyaways sticking out in various directions. Her intelligent hazel eyes sparkled behind a pair of round glasses which were sliding down her nose.

“Welcome to the Copperopolis Chronicle, Lord Northcote.”

Dellen blinked at her and nodded slowly. “You appear to have me at a disadvantage.”

“I told you,” Gilgamesh said, “You have been making waves in the wrong circles.”

“My name is Eliza Montgomery, and I recognize you from my research.”

Dellen furrowed his brow and looked at her with some confusion. “And what research would that be?”

“I’ve been researching who would stand to benefit from a disaster befalling the city.”

“I see…” Dellen said, words tinged with bafflement, “And that led you to me? Why me?”

“You and others, four from noble families, however, at least two of them lost all of their holdings due to the cog collapses.” She shrugged. “It’s a complicated situation, but I’ve more or less ruled those two out.”

Dellen ran through their conversation up to this moment in his head. “You didn’t answer my question. Why do you suspect me of the bombings?” He frowned and considered what his last twenty-four hours had looked like. “When have you even had time to do the research? I can’t imagine you sat down in a room or conducted interviews yesterday, and today is still young.”

“That was quick,” Eliza said to him. “The paper received an anonymous letter about a week ago warning of the bombings. No one took it seriously until yesterday afternoon.”

Dellen nodded to her. “You still haven’t answered my question; why me? Why house Northcote?”

“House Northcote is one of the largest suppliers of alloys in the city. Shipments from outside the city have been unreliable, and now there’s damage that needs repair everywhere.” She pointed in the general direction of the entire city. “Just like that, money floods into House Northcote.”

Dellen felt a flicker of irritation rise within him, the insinuation that he might be involved in the bombing stinging him. He clenched his jaw, working to control his anger before responding. Taking a deep breath, he forced a calm tone, “I understand why my name might be on that list, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with the bombing. In fact, I’ve been trying to help the survivors.”

He pointed in what he thought was the direction of the Northcote Estates. “There are dozens of survivors housed in my estate right now.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Eliza gave him a skeptical look. “Dozens of survivors went to a noble estate thinking they’d find refuge there?”

“Yes, they did. I was in a carriage during the explosions. The carriage driver, Edmund, and I worked through the afternoon and into the night, finding people hanging from cogs, lifting them to safety, and telling them to find House Northcote if they had nowhere to go. Dozens of them did.”

Eliza’s eyebrows went up and her glasses slid further down her nose. “You were actively involved in rescuing people?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“With your own life at risk?”

“That point seems to be rather more debatable,” Gilgamesh said.

“That would seem to sink you further down that list,” Eliza said. “Hard to spend money once you’re dead.”

“Not to mention that I don’t have the explosive expertise for something like yesterday.”

Eliza nodded absently. “Yes, that is something of a problem, I can’t find anyone with the necessary expertise to have done something like that. At least not documented.”

Dellen took another calming breath. “So, who are the two remaining noble houses that stand to gain from this disaster?” Who leads them, and what about their houses positions them to benefit from all of this destruction?”

Eliza adjusted her glasses, her brow furrowing as she marshaled her words. “Well, the first is House Lockridge, led by Lady Victoria Lockridge. They own significant real estate and several factories that produce clockwork components. With the destruction of so many cogs, there will be a high demand for their products, and they’ll be able to sell them at a premium. Additionally, to my knowledge, none of their cogs fell.”

She gave him a significant look.

“As for the second house, it’s House Thorne, led by Lord Harold Thorne. They have significant investments in transportation, including airships for city logistics and carriage services. With the city in disarray and many cogs inaccessible, people will rely, heavily on alternative means of transportation, driving up the demand for their services. They’ll be able to capitalize on this increased demand.”

“Those two houses are well positioned,” Dellen said. “Is there any reason to think that either Lady Lockridge or Lord Thorne have the disposition to attack the city? Financial motive or not, most people wouldn’t be willing to go to such lengths. Even if this disaster brings in more money for the Northcotes, look outside; the city is in ruins, it will be years before Copperopolis looks like half the city it was two days ago.”

“Generations.” Eliza corrected.

“No, a few powerful aetherforged from Moonglen could rebuild the supports and the city in just a few years if anyone could afford them.”

Eliza stared at him. “Aetherforged from where?”

Gilgamesh let out a whistle. “Look at you finding the odd memory or two. We didn’t often get aetherforged from Moonglen in the Refinery. People that powerful don’t often die. You’re right; it would take someone at least that powerful to create those supports beneath this city. I wonder why anyone made a working this complex out in the wilderness.”

“A place I read about.”

Eliza examined his face, “I’ve read a great deal about the world outside of Copperopolis, and I never came across anything about a city called Moonglen.”

“Did you often frequent the Northcote family library?”

Eliza ignored his question and took one of his hands in hers, and rubbed the steelskin. “These hands rescued people?”

Dellen articulated his fingers beneath hers. “They did.”

“And those eyes have read about Moonglen.”

“Yes,” Dellen said. “These eyes have read about Moonglen, but either Coperopolis spends decades rebuilding, or they hire outside artisans. I don’t think we have anyone in the city who can manipulate metal on the scale needed for those repairs.”

“You are a curious noble,” she murmured, looking at him like a puzzle to be solved, then shook her head. “Where would we even find the raw materials for an entire cog? Let alone dozens of them.”

“I’d look in the chasm.”

Eliza’s head jerked back. “The chasm?”

“Why not?” Dellen said, “The cogs are still down there, waiting to be salvaged. They don’t even need to be transported far, just up. I’ll bet the right team of airships could lift the pieces out. Some of them might not even need much in the way of re-forging.”

He considered the inky blackness of the chasm. “Well, it’s bound to be pretty deep, they’ll need repairs, but they’ll be free, meaning more money for building.”

“No one goes in the chasm,” Eliza said.

“You’re a reporter. Can you give me one good reason why no one goes in the chasm?” Dellen said. “I keep asking. No one ever does.”

Eliza opened her mouth, and Dellen cut her off. “Never mind. We’re not making any decisions about the chasm today. I’d like to review your notes for Lady Lockridge and Lord Thorne.” He said.

Eliza nodded and led him through the busy office, weaving between hurried reporters. They arrived at a small, cramped office. The walls were lined with shelves, overflowing with books, papers, and trinkets. The desk in the corner was equally cluttered, with stacks of notes, inkwells, and a half-finished cup of cold tea. On the wall was a botanist’s sketch of a flower and another of the same flower in bronze, showing how the transformation from organic to metal affected the species.

Dellen squeezed into the tiny room, trying to avoid knocking anything over.

Eliza dug through her notes, finally producing two folders, one for each of the noble houses in question. She handed them to Dellen, who carefully flipped through the pages, taking in her notes on the two nobles. Their business interests, personal connections, and even rumors of their private lives, all meticulously documented, albeit with distracting doodles in the margins.

“Should I ask to see the file you have on me?” Dellen said.

“You should,” Gilgamesh said, reading from the ceiling. “We might learn rather a lot. Look at that; Lady Lockridge has friends. I’m not saying you do too, but you have to admit that it’s a possibility. Even if a remote one.”

Dellen made his own notes, jotting down anything he thought might be particularly relevant or useful.

Eliza frowned at Dellen, then began rooting through her possessions before taking out a piece of paper.

“Uh-oh.” Said Gilgamesh.

Dellen turned his head up to see what had Gilgamesh’s attention.

Eliza’s eyes were wide, and her nostrils flared, but her voice was calm. “Your handwriting. Why does it match the writing in this letter?”