‘Rennic, the aqueduct, the waterways. Can we—?’

He rounded on Chel so suddenly that the raw pain in his eyes burned through undisguised. ‘What’s your fucking headache here, little man? I cannot leave this gate! You find the problem, and you fix it on your own.’ He let out a sharp breath from his nose, his voice dropping. ‘On your own. Like everyone else.’

Chel said nothing, just a soft nod, then turned and pushed his aching body in the direction of the workshops.

***

‘Lemon? Foss?’

The loom chamber stood empty, its once clattering machines standing silent and dark. Chel felt alarm in his gut, hot and piercing. The looms were never unattended. The looms were never still.

‘Wee bear? That you? Did you bring the cavalry?’ Lemon emerged from behind the great silk engines, a half-axe in one hand. Her mania had left her, and her eyes looked red and puffy. She had a pretty impressive bruise forming on one cheek.

‘Not … No. It’s just me. Did you find Foss?’

She nodded, swallowed, gestured to the room’s far corner. ‘He wouldn’t wait. Said someone needed to get down there, make sure … Took that little lass with him, the workshop woman. What do you mean, just you? Where’s the rest? How’m I supposed to guide down an army if we’re one army short of an army?’

‘Things at the gate, there just … there aren’t enough people. Wait— someone’s coming!’

A small, ragged figure emerged blinking into the chamber from a hidden hatch in the corner Lemon had indicated. ‘It’s the chief artificer.’

‘Aye, workshop woman, like I said.’

Chel and Lemon made for the corner, expecting the woman to be babbling with news. Instead she looked up at them expressionless, slack-jawed, her gaze a thousand miles away.

Chel saw the sprays of blood that criss-crossed her. ‘Five hells, are you all right?’

She tilted her head slowly, bringing him into focus, and nodded.

‘What happened? What’s down the—’

Lemon grabbed the woman by her bloodied clothes. ‘Where the fuck is my brother Foss?’

The woman’s loose gaze swivelled her way. She gestured toward the hatch.

‘Come.’

***

The air in the caves was dank and heavy with the stink of ammonia. Chel edged through the darkness, trying to ignore the streaked scrapes of bat-shit along the passageway floor. The artificer led, stepping carefully, insistent that no torch could be permitted. From somewhere overhead came the thump of machinery, the clatter of the water-wheels and their racks of scoops, delving incessantly for water for the city above. The caves echoed with overlapping noise. The passageway itself was smooth, tunnelled, mined; much of the city’s stone had been quarried from beneath it.