“Help,” Marcus said. “A mob stormed the University because they’d heard some foreign students stayed behind.”

“Balls of the Beast,” Raesinia swore. “Was there a lot of damage?”

“When we left, they were still wrecking the place.” Marcus sighed and pulled over an ancient chair. He tested it with his weight, gingerly, and when it didn’t collapse at once he sat down. “I got the foreign students here, but the Preacher stayed behind to take care of the people in the hospital. I’m not sure what happened.”

“Oh hell.” Raesinia came closer and put her hand on his arm. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. Not even the maddest mob would hurt an army officer in wartime.”

“They did their damnedest with me,” Marcus said, flexing his right hand. Pain flared in his bruised fingers.

Now that the immediate danger had passed, the emotions he’d been suppressing came to the fore. Worry about the Preacher, disgust at the stupid, shortsighted anger of the rioters, and something more: a hint of despair.

This was, after all, Vordan City, a place he’d always considered to be the center of the civilized world. Watching his city tear at itself like a crazed animal affected Marcus more than he cared to admit. During the revolution, there had been Orlanko and his black-coats to blame, but now there was no one but the Vordanai themselves.

Or maybe not.

“I think Maurisk wanted this,” Marcus said. “Or someone in the government, anyway. There were Patriot Guards protecting the University, but they marched off somewhere just before everything started.”

“That sounds like Maurisk,” Raesinia said. “He’s running out of the food for the Spike. But listen!” Raesinia grabbed Cora, who’d been hovering nearby, and pulled her over. “Tell him what you told me.”

“What?” Cora said. “Oh. Yes. I went through the records you got me, from the Halverson Mill. Something is very wrong there. A lot of capacity is missing, and a lot of raw materials. They’ve tried to cover it up, but not very effectively.”

Marcus massaged his temples. He’d almost forgotten why Raesinia had come here. “So, what does that mean?”

“It means that there’s a lot of gunpowder unaccounted for. A lot.”

“But it gets better,” Raesinia said, unable to restrain herself. “Cora figured out where it’s going!”

“Probably,” Cora said, blushing a little. “I’m not certain. But there’s a warehouse in the Docks that Halverson owns, and if you cross-reference all their wagon traffic, there’s more trips coming out of it than going in. So either they’re manufacturing horses and wagons in there, or somebody neglected to write down what they’ve been sending over. Officially, the place is standing empty.”

“So all we’ve got to do,” Raesinia concluded, “is go over there and take a look!”