“If there were agents of the Order in the area,” Sarah said, “and they weren’t bought and paid for by the dux, I might advise them to check out the warehouse at the corner of Third Street and Broad Way, on the edge of the manufactory district. I think there’s quite a lot there that they might find … interesting.”

Chapter 12

Yevri’s Café had been a fixture of the West Central district for many years. It had been built in a prime spot, a prudent distance from the edge of the Pit but still close enough to bask in the warm, sulfurous air that rose continuously from the depths. But the Pit was always expanding, stone gradually crumbling under its acidic breath, and yesterday’s prudent distance was today’s teetering on the brink.

More than teetering, actually. At least half of Yevri’s building now projected over the edge, cantilevered out on a complex set of struts that had been built up, bit by bit, as the underlying rock fell away. Old Yevri and his sons insisted it was still safe, and most days someone was out there hanging from a rope harness, adding yet more beams and props. There was a morbid betting pool on whether the old man would live long enough to see his beloved café finally topple into the abyss.

In the meantime, the place was pleasantly warm, the food was reasonably priced, and no one looked too closely at suspicious characters. Gyre hadn’t had time to apply a fake scar, so he’d resorted to a scarf and a hood, making it obvious he didn’t want to be recognized. Yora, when she arrived, had her golden hair gathered in a tight bun under a shapeless hat.

She sat down opposite him at the rough-hewn wooden table, looking somewhat the worse for wear. Her skin was a shade paler than usual, and there were bags under her eyes, as though she hadn’t slept since the attack.

“It’s good to see you,” Gyre said.

“You too,” Yora said. “You had us worried.”

“The Auxies were persistent,” Gyre said. “Everyone else all right?”

Yora shook her head. “We lost three people in the attack, and another couple were badly hurt. The good news is Raskos didn’t get anyone alive.”

Gyre guiltily bit off what he’d been about to say. He’d barely thought twice about the new faces, the tunnelborn Yora had pulled in for security. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

“Sarah’s all right. She and Nevin were putting the finishing touches on our way into Raskos’ warehouse. But—”

She stopped for a moment as one of Yevri’s sons approached, a scowling, blue-haired boy in his teens, who set down two bowls of thick, meaty soup. Yora peered at hers suspiciously.

“House special,” Gyre said. “It’s good.”