“How—” Kit jumped aside as one huge fist pistoned down, hitting the floor hard enough to send chips of stone flying. “—the fuck—” She ducked as the thing’s other hand whistled overhead. “—am I supposed to get it to hold still?!”

“Just like that,” Gyre said. The construct had stopped running, concentrating on trying to hit the elusive target at its feet.

Gyre went into a sprint—his legs reminded him that he had not been kind to them recently—and caught up to it from behind, planting the alchemical against the small of the construct’s back. The foam stuck it in place, and Gyre dodged around the thing’s feet as it spun, groping for him. He got past it and grabbed Kit, bowling her over and sending both of them to the ground in a painful roll across the stone. As soon as they came to a stop, Gyre jammed his hands against his ears, and Kit did the same.

An instant later, the bomb went off with a noise like the end of the world. Gyre’s teeth slammed together hard enough to hurt, with every bone in his body vibrating in sympathy. A wave of boiling heat washed over them, mercifully brief, followed by a rain of small stones and a smothering curtain of dust.

Kit was saying something, her mouth opening and closing in apparent silence. Gyre dropped his hands, and his ears popped. “What?”

“I said, you were carrying that in your pack all this time?” Kit’s voice was audible as if from a great distance.

“It was the biggest Lynnia had,” Gyre said. His own words sounded weirdly muted. “I thought we might run into something like this.”

“Remind me to take cover next time you trip,” Kit said.

She pulled herself out from under him and clambered to her feet. The corridor still boiled with dust, but where the construct had been standing there was now nothing but a shallow crater. Pieces of its stone carapace and shreds of organic debris littered the edges.

“Wasn’t sure that was going to work,” Gyre said, flexing his jaw. His ears popped again. “Your blaster didn’t bother it.”

“That’s different,” Kit said. She examined the detritus admiringly. “The ghouls have a sort of shield that absorbs deiat until it burns out. But plain old explosives apparently work just fine.” She turned back to him and held out a hand. “You all right?”

“More or less.” She pulled him to his feet, and he winced. “Sorry for using you as bait.”

“Eh.” She waved a hand dismissively. “I’m used to it.”

“So now what?”

“Keep heading down.” Kit picked her way around the edge of the crater and scooped up her pack. “And hope that—”

She stopped, and Gyre nearly cannoned into her.

“Hope that what?” he said.

“How many more of those bombs have you got?” Kit said. “Just for information’s sake.”