Regardless, Dyeawan has begun to associate a good day with one during which she doesn’t see the Man in Black.

Her favorite level in the Cadre thus far is seven. It’s the one that belongs to the builders. Consisting mostly of workrooms of varying tools and trades, it’s the place where the designs and machinations of people like Edger are given birth into the world of the real. The artisans installed there are all masters and mistresses of their crafts, and it seems every discipline is brilliantly represented. There are carpenters, smithies, stonecutters, alchemists, metallurgists, and people working with equipment and on projects Dyeawan can’t even identify.

Tahei isn’t a master, but he may be the most talented apprentice on level seven. He’s neither carpenter nor smithy, strictly speaking. He’s a plump young man of perhaps nineteen years, far too young to be in charge, but he seems to be quickly moving up the Cadre ranks for one reason.

“I make things move,” he’d explained to her when she asked. “It’s kind of my specialty. Whatever material you use, if you need it to move around, on its own or under power, I’m your man.”

She doesn’t doubt his skills, and hasn’t since their first meeting when she delivered new tools to his workshop.

“You must be the one they call Slider,” he’d greeted her.

“Yes.”

“I’m Tahei. Are you enjoying that new tender of yours?”

“I don’t know the words to say just how much.”

“I’m glad. I built it. I named it too.”

Dyeawan’s eyes lit up. “You did?”

He nodded proudly. “It reminded me of a rowboat without the water. Of course, I didn’t design it, Edger did, but I did fix a few flaws in the turning mechanism. Don’t tell him that, though.”

Dyeawan shook her head. “I wouldn’t. I owe you more than thanks.”

Tahei waved a gloved hand dismissively. “It’s always reward enough to see it working. And that it’s made such a difference to you is a special prize.”

“Still,” Dyeawan insisted. “If there’s anything I can do to help you—”

“Do you bake?”

“I… no, I’ve never cooked anything. I mean, not in a proper kitchen. I’ve roasted wharf rats and even a snake once—”

Tahei laughed. “I meant more cakes and the like. We only have cakes on special occasions. The rest of the time when I ask the cook tells me I’m too fat and he can’t spare the sugar, besides.”

“No, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I was mostly joking. You’re working hard enough around here. We’re even, okay?”