“Good morning, all!” said Craftsman Primrose, who was waiting for them outside the factorium. He was holding a bundle, which he passed to Edwin.

Edwin unwrapped it; inside was a small version of the Guild uniform coat. “I asked Finblewick at Deakins to make it specially.”

“Wow, thank you,” said Edwin as he put it on, blinking in amazement.

Prue caught Cora rolling her eyes.

“It fits you perfectly,” said Prue.

Craftsman Primrose clapped his hands together. “Right, time for one of the most important lessons you’ll have.”

They followed him into the atrium, to the back of the factorium, where a long corridor ended in a cast iron doorway marked with the Guild symbol.

“Welcome to the Hall of Lost Personifates,” said Craftsman Primrose, pushing open the door.

They entered an enormous space; it was something like a gallery, with long benches and framed works of art. The paintings were all portraits of animals. Glass cabinets dotted throughout the room contained what looked to be various inanimate personifate bodies.

Craftsman Primrose took a seat beside a painting of a hawk and gestured to them to sit on the bench opposite. “Now, who can tell me where we are?”

“The Hall of Lost Personifates,” Prue said, suddenly realizing it was an utterly daft thing to say because he’d just told them that. She didn’t need to look at Cora to know she would be smirking.

“Continue, Frances. Look around. What do you see?”

She stared at the various canvases. “Are they designs for new personifates?”

“Not quite,” said Craftsman Primrose.

Cora coughed. “Sir, they are the painted records and bodies of personifates who have lost their second life. The room is a shrine to their service. Every uninhabited machine here was once a ghost brought back from beyond, a second life personifate. The esteemed Hannah Woolstenbury believes it’s important to recognize the commitment and contribution that the personifates make to modern community in Medlock. Without respect we lose our humanity.”

It was as though she was reciting a passage from a textbook, Prue thought. No doubt something she’d pre-learned from Larkin.

Prue glanced at Agapantha and raised an eyebrow. Agapantha gave a quick smile. On the other side of Agapantha, Edwin seemed a little on edge and quiet. The room was, Prue supposed, the ghost machine equivalent of a tomb and must’ve been yet another reminder to Edwin of his own limited time as a personifate. She thought about what Edwin had told her at breakfast about qwortzite having a limited lifespan of ten to fifteen years. She swallowed… Francis had only been twelve.

“Indeed,” said Craftsman Primrose. “Of course we don’t keep all of the machine bodies in here, some are archived in the factorium, but all previous personifates have a painting displayed.”

“Would the Guild use the bodies again for another spirit?” asked Prue.