Site A-313, the Kovak Central Mining Concern called it. “Which,” Tara said, turning a page and squinting to read by lantern light, “tells you everything you need to know about the Kovak Central Mining Concern.” Site A-313, rich in copper and rare elements essential for high-energy Craftwork, rail-convenient to Kovak, Regis, and Dresediel Lex, ripe for exploitation. “You need these elements for industrial-scale necromancy, and there aren’t many places in Northern Kath you can get them without pissing locals off, since the mining process leaks.”

“Leaks?”

She compared her travel guide’s map to the flyspeck printing on the sheet the Two Serpents Group offices gave her. “Mining runoff enters the groundwater, people who drink it have higher mortality rates, and one or two sigmas greater than average chance of doing the wandering brain-chomping undead thing after death. No big deal.”

“It sounds like a big deal.” Outside the carriage window, over the tops of trees, the mountain grew. Its vicious black stone peak jutted toward the stars.

“Long as the Concern uses proper containment, there’s no outbreak. Problem is, containment isn’t working.”

“So there’s a zombie horde out there?”

“I mean,” she said, and trailed off.

Shale looked at her from across the carriage.

“Horde is pejorative. So’s zombie, for that matter, if you’re not referring to the Archipelagese religious practice.”

He did not speak then, either.

“Fine. Yes.”

“That explains why we had such a hard time getting a taxi to the camp.”

“Basically.” They’d had to pay the horse double, with a promised tip that would gouge away most of her expense account.

“And you wonder why the God Wars happened.”

“That’s not fair. The containment system should have worked. This is an isolated event—one site with one problem. Without the resources we pull out of the ground here, no one could do large-scale revenant agriculture. Price of food goes up, people starve. Do you want children to starve?”

“It’s just one problem at one site.”

“Yes.”

“So’s a stab wound.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you anymore.”

A high-pitched howl split the night, and others joined it. “Let me guess. Undead wolves?”

“Shambling wildlife,” Tara said, “isn’t the real problem with a leak.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes, fine, undead wolves. But the issue, believe it or not, is weeds.”

“Weeds.”

“The seepage spread south into the water supply for industrial farms in Centervale. Have you ever farmed?”

“Not as such.”