So much noise! It’s deafening. The constant chug-chug-chug of turning cogs, the shicker-shicker of metal teeth grinding over steel, the pounding of hammers. In among all of this astounding machinery are men, mere humans: grinding, hammering, pounding, lifting, hauling on ropes, climbing up and down narrow metal ladders … and somewhere within all of this hectic activity I hope to find Jorzy.

At the far end of the factory, I see sparks and a flickering white light, like lightning. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I start to make my way towards that light. Past grim-looking figures and more huge lumps of machinery. A man wearing a foreman’s hat glares at me, but again I hold up the goggles. The men at the back of the factory wear heavy metal helmets over their heads. Sparks sizzle up from welds. Others, working on a conveyor belt, wear goggles like Jorzy’s.

And there’s my brother, working at a large conveyor belt. Small pieces of machinery are travelling along the belt and into a machine that gobbles them up. Jorzy is picking them up and checking each item as it runs past him. Two other men, both wearing goggles, are also working on the conveyor belt.

Blinking and squinting, I find the light nearly unbearable, like staring at the sun. The man on the end of the hungry belt glances up then nudges his neighbour. They all look up – only a moment; they can obviously spare no more time than that. Jorzy, seeing me, grins and gives a whistle. From out of the machinery itself, it seems, steps another man in overalls. With a nod at the belt, Jorzy moves away and the new man takes his place.

“Hey ho, sprat.”

I hold out the goggles. “Jorzy, can you get me some more powder?” I ask in a low voice, though I reckon my voice can scarcely be heard.

Jorzy frowns. “More?”

We exchange a look. And I wonder, not for the first time, if Jorzy has guessed what we do with the powder. He must surely have heard the rumours about the exploding devices. Not very many, just now and then, to shake up the Black Marks. Too many, or too large, and there would be heavy retaliations in the Cerel ghettos.

My brother glances over his shoulder at the ever-hungry machine. The other men aren’t taking any notice of us, but still. “You want to be careful, Leho,” warns Jorzy.

I want to tell him that I’m always careful – that I’ve learned from him, my big brother – but the factory is too loud, and it’s not the right place; you don’t know who is listening. I simply nod and walk away.

* * *