He thought he saw it as they returned to the city, a delicate flutter of something above the looming towers. He made straight for the workshops, where the artificers within directed him up to a winding hexagonal spire, adorned with carvings of geometric patterns, that overlooked the plaza.

Kosh stood on a wooden gantry, a balcony extended with freshly hammered dark wood, the former chief artificer at her side. The two were poring over a boxy construction of rods and pale silk, great coils of thin rope around their feet, spilling over the gantry’s side. They had affixed a pair of pulleys to the improvised wooden rail, wound with ratchets, torn from some crane in the works below.

‘Is this it?’ he asked, breathless, peering between them. ‘Does it work?’

Kosh turned, irritation at the disturbance mixed with pride. ‘It is. And it does. Of course.’

‘What about the other half? The … rest?’

‘A simple matter, for me at least. We need only charcoal, yellow-stench, and marsh salt. The easy recipe.’ She turned to the chief artificer, who made a puzzled face. Kosh sighed, exasperated. ‘I know the first two are in abundance here. As for the third … The silk caves, they are teeming with bats, yes?’

The artificer nodded, back on safer ground.

‘Then all we need is an expedition to harvest their streaked excrement, and seas of urine. This can be arranged?’

The artificer nodded again. Her expression did not change, as if nothing Kosh said was unexpected. The Nort turned back to Chel.

‘No problem is insurmountable, with knowledge and application.’

He grunted. ‘Don’t take too long, that’s all.’

‘What do you mean? The parley was unsuccessful?’

‘You could say that.’

‘How long do we have?’

‘Until dawn.’

The answer displeased her, and she turned away with a scowl that said this was all Chel’s fault. He wondered if the scowl was right.

He loitered for a moment on the gantry, ignored, then withdrew.

***

The council was in full-flow on the upper gallery, raised voices carrying down the hallway beyond. Mira the seneschal directed him to Tarfel, who stood close enough to Matil to be using her as a shield. Opposite them were arrayed the usual suspects, Ghiz at their apex, his long moustache pulled back around his sneering mouth.

‘Your mother would never have stood for such stupidity.’

Matil’s temper was even but fraying.

‘Once more, you forget yourself, Lord Ghiz. You address your Keeper.’

‘A temporary accident. Once the mourning period is over, the council will settle this properly.’

‘Mourning period? The army at our gates has come to make war, and they mean to prevail.’

‘You could give them what they want. What is he to us?’

Behind Matil, Tarfel stiffened, but did not shy away.