Romilla sighed. ‘That’s putting it mildly. You had to witness your brother teeter upon the brink of damnation, and then pass through the fires of cleansing. I cannot begin to imagine how you feel this day. I only wish to remind you that your friends and allies remain just that. After what happened, Olt chose to absent himself lest fearful locals turn their eyes upon him next.’

‘So, not his gods, but very much his problem,’ amended Hendrick grimly. ‘If they have laid a finger on him– ’

‘They’d have suffered for it,’ said Aelyn. ‘He’s safe. He’ll find us when we depart. He always does.’

Hendrick felt Borik glance his way again at the word ‘depart’. The duardin held his gaze a moment, then cleared his throat and went back to his gun.

‘Come, break your fast,’ said Romilla, tugging Hendrick over to where the others waited. She pushed him down onto a broken length of pillar, then produced dried meat, a canteen of water and a slightly withered jashbin fruit.

‘My appetite died with my brother,’ said Hendrick, immediately regretting how melodramatic the words sounded aloud. Romilla pressed the provisions upon him regardless.

‘As did all of ours,’ she said. ‘But the Lord Sigmar has work for us yet, and we cannot do it exhausted and half-starved. Eat what you can, Hendrick.’

He took a bite of dried meat, chewed, tasted nothing but ash. Hendrick forced the mouthful down with a dry click and swilled his mouth with brackish water. He took another bite, and another, attacking the mean repast like a begrudged enemy until it was gone. Hendrick wondered, distantly, whether he would ever enjoy food or drink again.

Romilla joined him in his meal. Aelyn stood and stared off into the distance, head cocked as though listening to something. Aside from the sounds of stolid chewing and swallowing, there was only the click and tick of Eleanora’s tinkering, and the slow scrape as Borik cleaned the bore of another gun barrel.

‘El, my dear, will you not eat?’ asked Romilla. She had to repeat the question before Eleanora glanced up at her.

‘No,’ replied the engineer. ‘I’ve nearly got this. The third flywheel is still sticking, and the gears won’t quite mesh right until I’ve figured out why.’ With that, she returned to her work with an intensity calculated to shut everything else out.

‘She’s nearly got this,’ echoed Romilla in exasperation. Hendrick ignored her and forced down the last of the jashbin.