Alchemical symbol: Antimony [https://i.imgur.com/7omjkx8.png]

Andra sat in her den, her back against a chimney, gazing out across the roof to the cloud-streaked morning sky. It would be a clear day for once, a day of warm sun. A good day to throw out this stinking bedding. To hunt. Perhaps to wash herself.

The impulse to move eluded her. She was restless, yet weary. Hungry, yet she did not know what she hungered for.

Standing in the dark of the marked one’s den with the child beneath her claws, she’d imagined cradling its warmth. Taking it for her own, to replace her own lost infant. But she could not. She couldn’t pick up the child. She couldn’t nurse it. Her claws would rip its soft skin. She could easily kill a child, but never feed it, never care for it.

She was not a mother. She would never be a mother again.

Wood creaked and thumped on tiles. A human was climbing from the building onto the roof. He was making a great deal of noise.

Oh. Him again. What did he want now?

He picked his way across the tiles until he stood outside her den. He coughed. ‘Andra? It’s Nevin.’

As if she could have failed to notice him. A mammut on the roof would be quieter, and the wind had carried his stinking scent straight to her.

‘I wanted to thank you,’ he said. ‘For saving my life, and for helping…’ He peered between the chimneys. ‘Are you all right?’

She didn’t know why he’d come, nor did she want to speak to him. But he seemed determined to speak to her, regardless. He stepped into her den. He looked at her, at her scratched and bleeding arms, at her rags of bedding, and wrinkled his noise.

Lasker expressed disgust in the same way. And why shouldn’t he be disgusted? She felt disgusted herself by the filth and disorder, but it was worse, somehow, for a human to look at her life with that expression.

‘Go away,’ she said.

‘I came to talk.’ He crouched down. ‘There’s a man, a big man with snake tattoos. The one with scars—’ He drew his fingers across his face. ‘—like so.’

Andra growled.

‘I could use your help,’ Nevin said. ‘You and your little friends.’

‘No.’

He sat back on his heels. ‘Children go anywhere. No one notices them. They can follow people, ask questions. And you — I know what you can do. If you’ll work for me, I can pay. You and the children.’

‘No.’

‘Fine.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll kill the Snake without your help.’

She eyed him. He wasn’t as big or as strong as the marked one. He certainly wasn’t as fast. ‘You kill?’

‘I’ll certainly try.’

Andra tapped her claws on the tiles. Dealing with humans always led to trouble. On the other hand, she wanted the marked one dead, and while she’d rather kill him herself, she’d settle for someone else doing it. If this Nevin failed and ended up dead himself, it was not her concern.

‘His house,’ she said. ‘I show you.’

Nevin smiled. ‘Good. Thank you. I still owe you a debt — you saved my life. And the children, I suppose. If you see them again, can you tell them? I’d like to help, if I can. And you, of course, if there’s something…’ As he spoke, his gaze had wandered to her collection of metal coins and bright-coloured scraps — things she had found, or taken from prey.

He gazed over her shoulder, at the dagger. Andra stood and reached for the sheathed blade. Her claws spoiled her grip; the knife slipped and clattered onto the tiles between her and Nevin.

He jumped.

‘Take it,’ she said.

Moving slowly, he picked the knife up. He unsheathed the blade and turned it in his hand. In the sunlight, the red stone in the hilt shone like fire, and the blade gleamed — good steel, and sharp. She’d taken it from a mad woman she had killed, but had never been able to use it.

She stepped toward Nevin. He tensed and leaned back, obviously uncomfortable at her nearness. Well, she didn’t like it much either.

She squatted and placed her right hand in front of him, flat on the tiles, the claws spread. ‘Now. You help me.’

Alchemical symbol: Zinc [https://i.imgur.com/db6WC9b.png]

Zult blinked at the darkness. Something had woken him. Perhaps a whimper from the baby, though he was silent now, only snuffling a little. He had a cold. Mama’s breathing was a loud rasp — sickness had settled in her chest.

Whatever noise had disturbed him must have passed. All was dark and still. Not dawn yet.

From the door came a tremendous thump. Zult seized his knife and rolled to his feet. Another loud thud and with a tearing crash, the door burst into scrap wood and metal. White light seared the interior of the shack.

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The baby wailed. Mama shrieked. Zult turned to slash at the canvas back wall. It bulged inward. Someone was trying to get in that way.

Dark figures crowded the doorway, hacking through what was left of the door. He charged them. He rammed into a body and shoved him out, out into the blinding light.

All was confusion of red cloaks and shining steel, eye-stabbing brightness. He threw aside the man he’d grappled and span, searching for a way out. There must be a way out. He might be surprised, he might be surrounded, but he wasn’t trapped. He had his knife. He was strong and faster than any of them. He could fight and run, and they wouldn’t catch him.

A screech came from behind. ‘Zult!’

Mama hung between two soldiers, struggling helplessly.

Before he could react, a sharp point dug into his neck. He froze. At the other end of the sword stood a red-cloaked man. Eyes bloodshot, face grey — but he was the livest dead man Zult ever saw.

The prig, the prig who should be dead, grinned like he was meeting an old friend. The sword in his hand shone like white fire. More swords pointed at Zult’s chest, his gut, his arms. Ten, twenty soldiers hemmed him in, two deep. They’d have to take turns to stab.

Zult snarled. He was trapped like a rat, but he could still fight. He eyed the prig. Him, at least, he could take with him.

The sword at his neck trembled, unsteady. The prig smiled. ‘Hello. Again.’

Over his shoulder, Zult saw his mother sag in the soldiers’ grip. Tears streamed down her face.

‘Your mother?’ the prig said. He met Zult’s gaze. ‘We both now you don’t walk away from this. Do you want her to see you die?’

The sword pricked Zult’s neck. He straightened. If he fought, with luck he might kill one or two. But they only had to be lucky once. Whatever he did, he was a dead man. The only choice was how.

‘Don’t hurt them,’ he said.

The prig’s smile faded. ‘We have no business with your family. Only you.’

Zult opened his hand. The knife dropped into the mud, and slowly he bent his knees, and kneeled. Soldiers grasped his arms. They bound his wrists.

When they dragged him to his feet, he caught a last glimpse of his mother, bewildered and sobbing. Then they led him away. He walked with his head high and didn’t look back.

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

The prisoner sat at the back of his cell, his head on his chest, either asleep or feigning sleep. The cell was small, not large enough for a man to lie down. A hole in the stone floor was the only amenity.

At Nevin’s approach, he opened his eyes.

‘Comfortable?’ Nevin said.

The Snake glared through the iron bars like a trapped wolf. Fresh bruises mottled his face and arms.

Nevin unfolded a camp chair and sat down. ‘Would you like to know when you’re going to hang?’

The Snake said nothing.

‘Ah. Not the talkative type?’ Nevin tutted. ‘Where are my manners? I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I am Captain Nevin vai Phylaxes, but you may call me sir. And you are Zult, is that correct?’

‘I’ll tell you nothing, prig.’

‘That’s unfortunate, because I have questions I’d like answers to. If you won’t answer, we can make your last few days even more uncomfortable. On the other hand, if you’re helpful…’

Zult laughed. ‘You’re going to kill me. What do I care?’

Nevin leaned back — carefully, because the camp chair had the habit of collapsing unexpectedly. ‘What do you know about Black Crow?’

Zult chuckled again. ‘I know we’ll dance on your bones, you and all your bleeding red-cloak prigs.’

‘So the Shepherds are behind Black Crow,’ Nevin said, in the tone of a man ticking something off a list. ‘Anyone else?’

Zult scowled.

‘What are they planning next?’

‘I don’t know nothing.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Nevin said. ‘Do you know how much it hurts to be hung by your arms? I’m told it’s very unpleasant.’

With a grunt, Zult climbed to his feet. He shambled to the front of his cage and stared at Nevin through the bars. ‘It’s been what, five days? Getting shaky? Not sleeping much?’

Nevin folded his arms. ‘I’m a sight better off than you.’

‘Kill me if you want,’ Zult said. ‘Won’t help you. Nothing can help you. The dreams are just the start. In a few days, you’ll be shaking. Weak. Jumping at voices no one else hears. You can’t hide it, not for long. It won’t let you be. You have to have more. And what will your nice prig friends say when you’re down in the slums, begging for a taste—’

‘Shut up,’ Nevin said.

‘You’ll never stop Black Crow. I know it. You know it. There’s a hundred of us for every prig. Thousands, and we won’t stop until we get justice.’

‘Justice!’ Nevin stood. ‘You’ll have justice at the end of a rope.’

Zult smiled. ‘Yes. But I’ll still have won.’

Heat boiled in Nevin’s chest. He paced along the line of empty cells, then back again. The Snake’s gaze followed him. Still smiling, still smug. With a word to the guards, Nevin could have him beaten, flogged. Tortured, if necessary. But that wasn’t the answer.

He returned to the man’s cell. ‘What about your family?’

Zult’s smile dropped. ‘You said you’d not harm them. If you’ve touched them—’

‘You’ll do what exactly?’ Nevin said. ‘Of course, I don’t want them hurt any more than you do. In fact, they’re perfectly safe. We’re taking very good care of them.’

Zult eyed him, uncertain now, and worried.

Nevin kicked the camp chair into shape and sat down. ‘How about I offer you a deal? You can hang. That’s one option. Your family will go back where we found them, free to go on with their lives. Or… you can walk out of here.’

Zult stared. ‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Indeed, yeah. You go back to Shepherds and carry on as normal like a good little henchman. Except you tell us everything they’re doing. You help us arrest the leaders.’ Nevin paused for a moment to let him think. ‘Meanwhile, your family will be safe. They’ll be well looked after. You can even visit them — as long as you’re telling us what we want to know.’

Zult snorted. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘You’ll never see them again.’

The Snake frowned. The scars across his face contorted with the effort of thought.

Nevin stood. He folded the camp chair. ‘You may need some time to think it through. You have two days to make your mind up. Then, of course, you hang.’

‘I’ll do it.’

Nevin hid his surprise. He’d thought the Snake would bite, but not so quickly. The offer had been his own idea. The Marshal had thought the man would say anything to escape the noose, but had agreed. Dead the Snake was of no use to anyone. Tortured, he’d talk, but not reliably. This way, perhaps, he could be used.

‘But if you lie,’ Zult said. ‘And any harm comes to them, any harm — you die first, prig.’

Nevin looked him in the eye and nodded. ‘All right.’