Chafing at the restraint, Jane could offer no reasonable argument against it, because the danger from the fire was, in fact, quite real. Still, she did not like having Vincent standing so close to the bulb of molten glass when Mathieu next pulled it out, either. The light from the bulb lit his face eerily, accenting the sweat pouring down his temples.

This attempt, however, resulted in greater success, for Vincent was able to create a red cone from glamour and align the pattern of the weaves with the bubble of glass. The glamour faded away as he released his hold and they all stepped back from the furnace to examine his efforts. Jane held her hands behind her back to fend off the urge to touch the still hot crystal.

Using tongs, Mathieu held it up to the light, gnawing the inside of his lip. ‘Do you see anything?’

Barely perceptible inclusions marred the otherwise unflawed crystal, tracing a pattern which, when raw folds of glamour were applied, would result in a red cone. Vincent blew out his breath and wiped his hands on his apron. ‘Jane, do you want to do the honours?’

Almost trembling from the excitement that the glamour had created a physical impression, Jane pulled a pure fold out of the ether and directed it at the ball. The crystal seemed to radiate as if it were back in the furnace, but nothing further happened. She twisted the angle of the glamour, trying to find the entry path that Vincent had used when creating the red cone, aware as she did so that both Vincent and Mathieu held their breath. She could not achieve any effect beyond a luminescence of the entire sphere, and that had no red in it. As she was about to give up, Vincent shouted, causing her to drop the fold.

‘Pardon.’ He winced. ‘For a moment, I thought I saw it.’

Mathieu hesitated, squinting in thought. He lowered the ball of glass. ‘Maybe.’

‘It was very faint, and on the side opposite you, Jane.’ Vincent tucked his chin into his chest and rubbed his hair into a tangle. ‘What if . . . what if the faults need to be more pronounced? I felt as though the glamour wanted to fold, but did not quite know where to do so.’

Jane considered, the only sound in the room the muted roaring of the furnaces. ‘If we laid another skein of glamour alongside the cone, say, one of cold, would that work, or would we merely have a recording of cold in glass?’

‘Possibly . . .’ Vincent stared into the furnace for a moment. ‘Mathieu, are you ready for another attempt?’

The boy asserted that he was.

‘Shall I handle the cold, or shall you?’ Jane asked.

‘You tend to be more perceptive of the path of glamours than I. Let us say that I will hold the pattern for the cone and you can trace it.’