Marcus nodded. The combination of the revolution and the declaration of war had sent a patriotic thrill through the nation, and while the aristocracy might be unhappy with the new order, the common folk had signed up in huge numbers to help defend Vordan against its foes. Unfortunately, Vordan needed more than bodies—without muskets, training, and leadership, the new soldiers were only extra mouths. Thank God for Murnskai tardiness. The League cities, with their standing armies, were quick to mobilize, but Imperial Murnsk was famous for moving with the agility of a glacier. It would be next year before Vordan had to face the full might of the vast hordes at the emperor’s command.

“I’ve heard,” Giforte said, “that he also had people looking for recruits for Downstairs. Though what qualifications they needed I have no idea.”

He led Marcus back to the first floor and into the kitchen, where a low-ceilinged doorway led farther down. Two guards stood beside it, rifles at the ready, and saluted at the two officers’ approach. The stairway beyond had been cut into the bedrock, lit by candles resting in wall nooks crusted over with wax. It went down at least fifteen feet before straightening out into a short tunnel.

“This was originally a wine cellar,” Giforte said. “Whoever lived here must have had quite a collection.”

The tunnel ended in a wooden door, caked with dirt and grime. Giforte knocked twice.

“Yes?” The voice from within was a young woman’s, oddly slurred.

“It’s Captain Giforte,” Giforte said. “I’ve brought Colonel d’Ivoire.”

Something opened with a snick, and the door swung inward. The woman beyond was barely out of her teens, wearing a dark robe that pooled around her ankles and hung loose at her wrists. It had a hood, but this was pulled back, and her face in the candlelight was alarming. It was round and pleasant, even beautiful, but the right half hung drooping and slack, like the skin of a corpse. Her right eye was milky and sightless, and even her hair on the right side was coming in stark white at the roots, displacing her natural brown.

“Captain,” she said, with a slight bow. “Colonel. Welcome. I am Auriana Daatifica.” When she spoke, the right half of her mouth didn’t move, giving all her words a slight lisp.

Marcus nodded nervously, trying not to stare. “I was told you had a message for me.”

“We’ve been expecting you.” Auriana stepped out of the doorway and gestured. “Come in. Captain, I must ask that you remain behind.”

“Of course,” Giforte said, looking relieved. “I’ll see you upstairs, sir.”

Marcus stepped through the doorway, and Auriana shut and bolted the door behind him. They were in a small chamber with bare rock walls, lit by more candles. Auriana led Marcus through another arched stone doorway, walking with a slow, gliding gait that could not quite conceal a limp.