“Asher of Alkali Lake,” she murmurs, finally looking up. “I received a report from the saltpeter beds this afternoon. You didn’t put in your time.”

“I decided to harvest sulfur from now on. If that’s okay?”

“It’s not. You were assigned to the beds during your first visit, and that’s where you’ll stay. You don’t get to upgrade—especially not after running.” The Chemist takes the wire-framed eye thing off, sets it on the table, and turns her attention to me. “You must be Delta of Dead River.”

I nod.

“I can spare you a few minutes. Come sit.” She nods to a chair in the corner of the room, almost behind her desk. “Asher, that is all.”

He lingers a moment, but in the end doesn’t argue. After I’m seated in the small chair, the Chemist turns away from the candles and lifts the tinted goggles to her forehead. Her eyelashes are as brilliant a white as her shorn hair, and her eyes are the lightest shade of blue, almost violet along the edges. The whites of her eyes are slightly pink, as though she’s rubbed them fiercely and is in desperate need of sleep.

“They’re tinted,” I say, pointing to her goggles.

“Yes. My eyes are very sensitive. And the glasses”—she glances at the wire-framed instrument on the desk—“make everything a bit bigger, which helps with the measuring. A trader came to town with them ages ago; he found them in an old rover. I was lucky to be out that day. I’m usually here, in the kitchen.” Her eyes flick upward with the memory, and for a moment, she’s lost in it. “I’m rambling. Was there something you needed?”

I look over her desk, hoping to spot paper or scrap metal filled with symbols—Old World or otherwise. But there is nothing other than unmarked measuring cups and mixing bowls, jars of ingredients, and the completed black powder, dark inside sealed jars.

“Is there a recipe that you have to follow?” I ask. “Instructions for mixing?”

“Yes. It’s been passed from Chemist to Chemist.”

“So it’s not written down anywhere?”

The Chemist laughs, her violet eyes twinkling. “What good would that do? No one here can read, and then that rusted General would try to steal the recipe so his Oracle can tell him how to make powder.”

I lick my lips and nod, trying to mask my disappointment. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just . . . get rid of him?”

She cocks a pale eyebrow at me. “We are safe only because we have something he needs. We could never truly overthrow him.”

“You have all the black powder in the wastes! You could stockpile it. Bring in an explosive during a delivery!”