Alchemical symbol: Nickel [https://i.imgur.com/SX7htXR.png]

Slumped on a hard bench, Nevin tried to stay awake. He’d been stopped at the main gate, and after some discussion — quite loud on his part — he’d been ushered into this gloomy room, more like a corridor lined with benches. He gathered it was a soldiers’ changing room. It smelled of armour polish and armpits.

They offered him water, which he accepted, and to fetch a physician, which he declined. A soldier brought him a pair of boots and a soldier’s uniform jacket, both too large. He put them on without comment.

The young soldier they’d left to keep an eye on him watched with evident unease. ‘Are you sure you don’t want the physician, sir?’

‘I’m fine,’ Nevin snapped.

Eventually a bustle outside signalled the arrival of someone in authority — hopefully an officer sensible enough to understand the urgency of the situation.

It was Marshall Cole.

Nevin jumped to attention. ‘Sir!’

The Marshal eyed him, his expression impassive. ‘I’m glad to see you alive, Captain. We feared the worst.’

‘I must speak with you, sir.’

‘Of course. Come with me.’ Cole led the way out. ‘This could wait you know. Do you need to see the physician?’

‘No!’ Nevin said, rather louder than he’d intended. ‘Sorry. I mean, I’m fine, and this is important. What of the rest of my patrol? Are they all right?’

‘Jerard returned with two of your men. No major injuries, I believe.’

Two men. Nevin had hoped he’d been mistaken. ‘One of the soldiers was killed.’

‘So I understand. Unfortunate business.’

Unfortunate. The word rattled in Nevin’s mind like a stone descending a drainpipe. Gram was dead. How unfortunate.

There was a door suddenly, a polished hardwood door. Cole produced a key, unlocked it, and ushered Nevin into a hallway. Nevin stood and blinked. He wasn’t sure where in the barracks he was; he vaguely remembered corridors and a stair, but hadn’t been paying attention.

Following Cole, he found himself in a sitting room. Sunlight flooded in through a bay window overlooking the parade ground, where afternoon drill was in progress. His ill-fitting boots sank into thick carpet. Silk hangings covered the walls.

‘Do sit,’ Cole said.

Two settees faced each other across a low table. Nevin sagged into the cushions: cream-coloured cushions embroidered with lavender flowers. With a surge of guilt, Nevin recalled his filthy clothes, and shrank, trying to touch as little upholstery as possible.

‘Drink?’ Cole said. ‘You look like you need one.’

Not waiting for an answer, he went to the sideboard and poured two generous glasses of spirits. He handed one to Nevin, then sat on the settee facing him.

Nevin wrapped his hands round the glass. The cold solidity of it was reassuring, as was the fiery smell of the alcohol. The over-soft settee shifted under his weight; he felt he might fall.

This must be Cole’s private quarters, he realised. Nevin’s own quarters consisted of a single room only big enough for a bed, wardrobe, and desk. It was the room he’d been assigned as a junior officer, and he’d never bothered to request an upgrade. He only slept there, after all.

Of course, his father’s suite, as Lord, was larger than this and expensively furnished — but his father would never have tolerated this many cushions. He thought comfort made men soft.

Nevin stared at the low table in front of him. It was ebony, a rectangle of perfectly smooth blackness on which a sothron red lacquer pen-case floated like blood.

‘So, Jerard told me what happened…’ Cole said.

Nevin sipped his drink. Alcohol burned the back of his throat. ‘We hoped—’ He coughed. ‘Acting on information received, we intended to arrest two men in connection with Black Crow. They were involved in the vandalism themselves, or knew who was. But they weren’t alone. A number of gang members attacked us — Gram was killed, I was knocked out.’

‘And they were Shepherds?’

‘Definitely. One of them I’ve come across before — a Snake.’

‘That’s good.’ Cole smiled. ‘Very good. You’ve done well.’

‘Well, sir? One of our men was killed. They meant to kill me too.’

Cole drained his glass. ‘But you escaped?’

‘Yes,’ Nevin said. His glass was empty, though he couldn’t remember drinking. ‘I was lucky.’

‘Jolly good. Well, the Shepherds will have to be taught a lesson. Which should please Anemari. They may even help. Would you like the job?’

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

‘Sir?’

‘It’s no easy task, obviously. But you can have whatever you need, as many men as you want, subject to my approval, and you’ll be in sole charge. It’s a good opportunity.’

Black and red blurred together. Red eyes burning from the darkness. Fire leaping in the night. Nevin blinked and lifted his gaze to the Marshal. What he was proposing— if Nevin understood correctly, he was being offered a large, almost independent command for an indefinite period.

Certainly an opportunity. A huge responsibility too. The Shepherds were a large gang with a strong base in Outwall. A great deal could go wrong.

‘What about the other gangs?’ Nevin said. ‘Blazes, for example.’

‘They’re not involved with this, are they?’

‘Not as far as I know. But Blazes are big in the drug business, the bawdy house, every filthy trade, and if we crack down on Shepherds, they’ll surely expand their operations into Outwall.’

Cole shook his head. ‘Focus on the Shepherds, Captain. Blazes aren’t a problem.’

‘But, sir.’ Nevin didn’t have a rational argument to offer. He just knew that at the bawdy house, Thea had been terrified of the Lady. Something there was very wrong. ‘A single raid on the bawdy house alone, we’d be bound to find something to justify it.’

‘No,’ Cole said sharply. ‘We have enough on our plate dealing with Shepherds. Leave Blazes well alone. We have an understanding with them.’

‘An understanding?’ Nevin slid his empty glass onto the table. ‘What sort of understanding?’

‘Not your concern.’ Cole frowned. ‘You have your orders, Captain, if you feel capable. Get yourself cleaned up, see the physician, rest for a day or two, then I’ll expect you back to work. You should speak to the Anemari — Captain Roban, I believe, is their man — they should be all too happy to work with us on this.’

Nevin nodded, carefully. His head felt too heavy for his neck. He dragged himself from the cushions onto his own sore feet in borrowed boots. The room swayed.

‘And Nevin.’ Cole stood. ‘I hear your father would appreciate seeing you, when you have a moment.’

Oh. Shit, Nevin thought, and passed out.

Alchemical symbol: Tin [https://i.imgur.com/e9DvjDg.png]

Thea emptied the dustpan into the ash bucket. Dust hung in the sunlit air, stirred by a soft breeze from the open window.

Benedict sat in his usual place, huddled in his robe despite the unseasonable warmth of the morning. He stared blankly at the table in front of him. The bruise on his face was swollen and deep red. He’d hardly spoken since she’d got back, and he’d slept through most of yesterday while Thea busied herself tidying up the mess.

She’d swept up the spillages, thrown out the broken jars, glued the stool back together, and reassured the neighbours and the building supervisor. In return for an ounce of laudanum for his sick wife, he’d even replaced the door.

The room was back to normal, more or less. Except it was not, because the latched door didn’t mean safety anymore, and no amount of cleaning would help her pretend she was in control of her life. The Lady could come for her at any time. And if not her, it could be the Shepherds breaking down the door.

She’d ratted on the Shepherds. Gangs didn’t like that, and they knew where she lived. But Blazes also knew where she lived, and for the time being, she had the Lady’s favour and protection — and Blazes didn’t get on with Shepherds. So most likely, she was safe. At least for now.

The wooden box the Lady had given her was in her pocket. She pulled it out. ‘Benedict?’ He stirred and looked at her. She opened the box and carefully unwrapped the little piece of red branch. ‘You know what this is?’

His eyes widened. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘The Lady. She wants you to work on the drug. This is the active ingredient, and it’s expensive. If they can use less of it, or replace it with something cheaper…’

Benedict was shaking his head. ‘I can’t.’

‘I know, I don’t like it either, but the Lady isn’t giving us any choice.’

Thea turned the piece of red branch in her fingers, examining it again. Such a feather- light, fragile, innocuous-looking substance, for all the damage it could wreak.

She could only dimly recall what happened to her parents. Only misery and fear, pulling at her mother’s unresponsive body, the empty glass vials on the floor, hunger and cold and sleeping in strange dark places. When Benedict took her in, she’d been confused more than anything. Glad to be fed and clothed and warm; confused and scared by the absence of her parents, but that had passed.

Only later had she understood the true nature of the arrangement Benedict had made with them. And by then, of course, it was far too late. Her parents were both dead, and for better or worse, she had to make the best of the deal he’d struck.

Like now.

She placed the red branch back in its box. It wasn’t a common ingredient, certainly — she’d never heard of it before. The papers the Lady had given her were old, the ink faded, paper folded and re-folded until they were starting to fall apart at the seams. A brief scan suggested they were rough handwritten notes, lists of glyphs and processes, things that would mean more to Benedict than herself. She offered him the papers.

He looked away.

‘Do you know anything about red branch?’ she asked.

He hunched and shook his head. ‘It’s dangerous. Far too dangerous.’

Thea examined the notes. Whoever had written them had run through the standard alchemical investigation techniques. And there was a recipe for the drug, quite basic: the red branch was first ground into a fine powder, then boiled with aqueous ammonia. The concentrate was filtered. Alum was added to precipitate a red solid from the liquid. Finally, the purified solid was dissolved in alcohol.

She frowned. Now she looked at it closely, the handwriting was oddly familiar. In fact, the more she looked, the more familiar it seemed.

‘Benedict.’ She thrust the papers under his nose. ‘This is your handwriting.’

He shook his head.

‘Don’t lie to me. Do you think I can’t recognise your writing? You wrote this. It was you—’ She broke off, staring at him in horrified rage.

Benedict hung his head. ‘Thea…’

‘How dare you.’ She threw the papers on the table. ‘How dare you lie to me. All these years — I thought you rescued me, but my parents are dead because of you. You killed them.’

‘Thea, please. Please.’ He gazed at her, pleading. ‘It’s not like that. I did, I did work on the drug. I wasn’t the only alchemist to work on it, and I regret it more than I can ever say. It’s filthy stuff — a filthy, dangerous, terrible thing — and I can never undo the harm I’ve done. I won’t touch it again.’

She laughed. ‘We don’t have that choice. Do you not understand? I don’t have any choice.’ She shifted the papers toward him. ‘Here. Read them.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You must.’

He blinked at her, his eyes wet with tears. ‘No, really, I can’t. I can’t read. I can’t read anything. It’s all a blur.’

She stared, too angry for a moment to understand, and then the meaning of what he’d said sunk in.

‘My eyes have been getting worse for months,’ Benedict said. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. But now — it’s all a blur. I can’t work. I’m sorry. I’m useless, just a useless old man.’