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I wrung my hands together. “What Scribbler crannies do you write to in Dunnitch?” I asked. “Is there anyone there that Patrick corresponds with regularly?Think.”

Polly screwed her eyes shut; she pushed her fists against them. “There are several,” she groaned. “You cannot possibly search each address there.”

“Whatelsedo you propose?” I asked, my own voice swelling.

Polly’s lip quivered. “I—I can forge a scribble,” though she seemed ill at the thought of even suggesting it. “I’ll send a message to Patrick saying there’s been some sort of trouble with the Alchemist, and that he should come. Then we can watch him.”

I shook my head. “I can’t just follow him. He’d notice.”

“I don’t see what other choice you have,” she said. “I admit, it might not work.”

“And if he leaves Kenton Hill without telling me? Or sends someone else?”

Polly sighed. “He’ll ask me to send a scribble ahead of time, naming the time of the arrival and who should be arriving. I won’t know who I’m sending it to, obviously, but if he intends to dispatch someone else, I’ll know.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then you and I are out of luck,” Polly said quietly. “Along with the rest of the parish.”

We stood there staring at each other, then at the sheet of parchment in her hand. “This is our last chance, Nina.”

Panic swarmed in my chest. “Polly, it’ll be all right.”

She shook her head. “There are a million ways for this to go wrong,” she mumbled, fear splitting the words. “This is suicidal.”

I caught her hand to cease her pacing. “The House wants idium, Polly, that’s all. We need only tell them where Becker is, and we’ll have saved the entire town.”

“And what, exactly, do we intend to do if the Colsons figure us out?” Tears rolled down Polly’s cheeks, spilled over her lip. “Even if we run, we’ll be hunted.”

I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and felt her hang on to me. For a moment we stood there again, just like we had before the war began. “There’s a way out of this,” I said for the both of us. We who had found ourselves the playthings in a man’s war game. “I promise you.”

“And if there’s not?”

And herein lay the truest test. “Then you’ll need to choose your next course.” I told her. “But I think I’ve had enough running for one lifetime.”

She nodded, then went to a small rickety desk. She took a piece of parchment and shoved it into the pocket of my skirt. “Keep this hidden,” she said. “And listen for my scribble.”

“When will you write to Patrick?”

Polly grimaced. “He has a Scribbler’s cranny in his mother’s kitchen, but he won’t check it until day’s end. I’ll wait until then.”

I nodded.

“What of Theo?” Polly asked then, hands wringing. “I expect he’ll burst through my door any moment, and demand that I give Tanner the route here.”

I turned to the door in question. “I’ll deal with Theo.”

In the pub, Briggs and Scottie were swallowing coffee at an alarming rate, and Theo was nowhere to be seen. Their miner’s overalls told me where they were headed.

“Is Theo visiting Margarite with us today?” I asked them.

“I bloody well hope so,” Briggs asked, donning his cap. “We’ll break under the Gyser River soon, and I don’t much feel like drownin’ in a hole.”

“He isn’t in his room.” I frowned. “I thought I might find him here.”

Scottie scowled. “Well, he must be waitin’ with Margarite, then.”

But Theodore wasn’t waiting for them in the square, or inside the shop, or down the shaft.