She watched as I worked. “What happens if the fungus is there?”
“It’ll dry up and leave a faint blue residue.” Nothing appeared as we sat there, watching, but I fully intended to do it to every item of clothing he wore from now on. Just in case.
“I want to go to the Builders’ Guildhall,” I told Kalina after she had finished her tea, and her eyelids drooped. “Some of Etan’s work might be useful for the engineers working on the bridge options, but I’d rather the information came through Eliska’s Guild than straight to her from me. Etan knows—knew”—I remembered, breath catching in my chest for a moment—“a few people there who liked to dabble in chemical reactions.”
“What about the rebel prisoner?” she asked. “Has anyone spoken to him?”
“He was pretty hostile,” I said. “They had to take him to the jail because he attacked one of the physics at the hospital when they were trying to treat him. There’s a Guard supervising now. Tain wants to give him some time to be treated fairly so he might be more amenable to talking.”
“I want to try talking to him,” she said, voice slurring.
I squeezed her hand. “You sleep some more, for now, all right? You’ll feel better after a proper rest.” I tried to sound confident rather than hopeful. She only ever had so much energy to spend, and it was all being sucked up by this mess we were in.
I was half-afraid she’d ignore my advice, but by the time I’d gathered up some of Etan’s papers—carefully curated first, of course—and our supply of dung crystals, her breath had deepened into sleep.
* * *
The Builders’ Guildhall was abuzz with activity. Eliska must have had every engineer and master builder in the city at work on the bridge plan. On one wall of the entrance hall a great diagram of Bell’s had been drawn and three engineers were arguing about how much force would be required to pull the support pillars out. “A team of oku,” one began, and one of his colleagues laughed.
“Oku from where? How many oku do you think we have in the city now?”
“Someone find that out,” the third muttered. “We haven’t eaten them all, have we? We’re still using them for milk and pulling carts.”
I wandered through the back laboratories, searching. At last I found the scientist I sought: Baina, clever and ambitious and discreet. She was bent over a bench, her bulk spread over enough space for three people, writing notes with one hand while stirring some unidentified substance in a massive ceramic bowl with the other.
“Good morning, Credo Jovan,” she said.
I smiled. “It’s well into the afternoon now.”
“Oh.” Baina went on stirring. “Well. I’ve been here awhile. I’m trying to work out what will best dissolve mortar. That lot out there”—she waved scornfully in the direction I’d come—“are mad if they think the supports will come down without internal weakening first.”
“That’s why I came, actually. It occurred to me that Etan might have some notes about chemicals that could help—you know how he was always tinkering.”
She paused, eyes narrowed in interest. “He was clever, your uncle.”
“He was.” To mask the shake in my voice, I pressed on. “I remembered him telling us about a few things you might find useful.” I handed her my collection of papers and the box of crystals, along with my most baffled expression. “I don’t understand it myself. But I remember him making something burst in a stone bowl with these crystals he’d gotten hold of and it completely smashed up the bowl and made such a mess in our kitchen I wondered if, on a larger scale…”
“It might damage a stone support?” She shoved aside her own notes and pawed eagerly at Etan’s. “No one has any real ideas about Trickster’s, but if we could find some way of applying a burst of force to particular spots, we might have something.”
“Is there anything you need that you don’t have?” Reading upside down from her discarded scribblings, I recognized a few acids I knew from my own work. “Do you need me to get the Stone-Guilder to assign more people to help you?”
Baina grinned, looking me over. “No, thank you. Some of what I do is not … Guild-endorsed. I’ve already arranged some supplies from people who aren’t exactly on the books.”
“At this point, anything that’s for the defense of the city is on the books,” I said. “You can use my authority for anything you like.”
She suddenly looked off to the side, a sly twist to her lips. “You know, this material is very rough, Credo Jovan. I’ll need to be doing my own experiments, figuring things out.… I don’t know how much use your uncle’s work will really be.…”
I’d read her right, in our brief contact. She’d never mention my name or where the information came from. It would be her innovation, exactly as I’d hoped. “Of course,” I assured her. “The other Credolen thought my uncle was odd for his interest in experimentation anyway. I’d rather not give them anything to gossip about.” Our gazes met; we understood each other.
But of course, we didn’t trust each other, not quite. An abandoned barrel across the street from the Guildhall provided me with sufficient cover to hunker down to wait. I was curious about her contacts; they likely moved in circles beyond Council access.
I didn’t have to wait too long. Baina’s massive form was easy to spot coming out of the Guild with a crowd of others at the end of a shift change, and her pace slow enough to track even in the fading light. North she went through the streets while I followed, keeping my footfalls light. She spoke to no one and kept her head down; as we headed into increasingly poorer neighborhoods, my confidence that she was meeting her contacts and not merely returning home grew. When she ducked into a building I slipped closer, excited, until I saw it was a kori bar. It was still doing good business, despite what must be dwindling supplies and useless currency in return, though if the city survived the siege, half of it would probably belong to these bar owners. Perhaps Baina wasn’t quite as single-minded as I’d counted on.
Then I saw the sign above the door: Branno’s.
Frowning, I moved closer, the coincidence tingling in my head. A dingy area of town, a crowded, dank bar … not such a bad meeting place. Inside, Baina had moved to a table in a corner. Oil rations meant that the place was lit poorly with candles, and she was only recognizable by her size. I wished I’d thought to bring something to wear over my paluma; my tattoos would stand out too easily in a place like this. It might be better to watch from outside. I turned, and froze.
Three treads away stood a Doranite man in nondescript clothing; I had only seen Batbayer briefly at Lazar’s, but his face was seared into my head. He was staring straight at me. His eyes dropped to my arms, then back to my face.
He ran.
It took me by surprise and I lost critical moments in the shock of recognition; by the time I found my senses and sprinted after him, he’d already disappeared down an alley. I followed, pelting into the shadowy passage. Whatever his role, whoever he really was, he knew me and feared me. That was enough.
I quickly lost sight of him between buildings, but the sound of his footfalls guided me in my pursuit. My heart pulsed through my chest as I skidded to a stop at a junction. Half-sized stone walls and iron gates enclosed two small yards on the other side of the pathway. Trusting my ears, I crossed quickly and vaulted over the opposite wall, stifling a curse as my ankle turned on the soft, earthy landing. Teach me to try acrobatics.