She turned and dove into one of the piles of books, delicately shifting volumes in a way that kept the whole structure barely standing while she excavated the one she wanted. All of the books were thick, leather-bound tomes, marked only with numerical codes that meant nothing to Marcus, though Cora apparently knew them intimately. She had one particular book open in a matter of moments, and flipped rapidly back and forth through the pages.

“Ah,” she said. “Got it. Flash powder. Local sales only, no long-range trade. That’s a bit odd.”

“It doesn’t travel well, I’m told,” Marcus said.

Cora nodded absently, her finger tracing a line in the book. “Last year . . . it looks like there are a couple of bespoke places producing it a pound or so at a time . . .”

“It would have to be more than that,” Raesinia said.

“Dozens of pounds at the least,” Marcus agreed. “Maybe hundreds.”

“Then it has to be the Halverson Mill. They’re on the north bank, up the river a way. As far as I can tell from this, they’re the only ones who make it in bulk.”

“Does it say how much they’ve made recently? Or who buys it?”

Cora shook her head. “These are compilations of last year’s stock books. There’s nothing that detailed.”

“It’s still something,” Marcus said. “We can find the owner and ask him.”

“I’m not sure that would be a wise idea,” Raesinia said. “If he’s involved, then he’ll just deny everything, and then they’ll know we’re looking for them.”

“Ah,” Marcus said.

For a moment he’d been thinking as though he were still Captain of Armsmen, or at least the second in command of the First Colonials, with a regiment of musketeers at his back. Here and now, he had no official authority to investigate whatsoever, and all he had to back him was a single squad of riflemen. If Maurisk really was involved in the bombing, then he had thousands of Patriot Guard he could call on against anyone he could plausibly accuse of being a traitor. If Raesinia is serious about this, we’re going to need more men. He resolved to write to the Preacher when he got back to Twin Turrets and see if he could scrounge up a few more reliable bodies.

“This is about the bomb at Farus’ Triumph, isn’t it?” Cora said, breaking in on his thoughts like a bucket of cold water. “The day they unveiled the Spike. They said you were nearly killed.”

“Wait,” Marcus said. “She knows you’re the queen?”

Raesinia nodded. “My old . . . identity is supposed to have died at the Vendre. There’s only a couple of people who know the truth. Cora, Sothe . . .” She hesitated. “And Maurisk.”

“Excuse us a moment.” Marcus grabbed Raesinia’s shoulder and pulled her away from Cora, his voice a hiss. “You did not tell me about Maurisk.”