A shriek followed by an ear-piercing pneumatic explosion came from somewhere far down the line of machines, simultaneous with a stabbing flash of blue light. A trestled bridge shattered—not merely splintered—as super-chilled air hammered a shockwave upward and disintegrated its center span. Star, Beltran, and Kordas were all thrown backward off of the walkway when the shockwave reached them, which was fortunate for them. Flash-frozen shards of wooden beams and Doll-armatures had ripped through Dolls with impunity and embedded themselves in structures near where they’d just been.

Disoriented and gasping, the two humans tried to find their bearings in the mist, which blew against them with gale force before slowing to a breeze.

Inside the Fabrication Annex, it began snowing.

Kordas and Beltran could barely hear as they struggled for breath in the sudden chill. Star and the others helped them to their feet, while snow drifted around them in flurries. They were all silent while Beltran dazedly dabbed at a nosebleed.

All five of the Dolls looked toward where the explosion had originated. Finally, Star said, “Twelve of us have ceased to be,” and spoke no more for a time.

Beltran leaned on Kordas, who drew the five Dolls in against them. “I am sorry,” Kordas said, pulling them close. “I am so sorry.” Snow whirled around the seven figures and settled upon them, and all seven of them rested hands on each others’ shoulders.

The machinery above continued its pace, except for one, which the Dolls had already begun repairing.

15

A full candlemark after the Annex incident, Kordas still felt shaken. He and Beltran were in a Healer’s infirmary, where they’d been inspected inside and out for wounds. Their eyes were bloodshot and they were both mildly concussed, but Beltran seemed to have the worst of it. The Herald had a plug of soft rag in each nostril, and his hair was still matted from a bloodied abrasion.

Star had shards of wood in the left temple and shoulder, but took no notice of it. I need to remove those as soon as possible. Someone might notice. We’ve been insanely lucky so far that no one gives a shit what I do, but that luck won’t last forever.

Aside from polite respect due to their titles, the Healers showed little concern except that their wounds were tended and that they were not going to complain about the service. There was nothing to sign for, and no reports; apparently, whatever a Duke did was none of their business.

Nothing is anybody’s business. Except when it is. This place is just insane.