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“You have experience with this disease,” Master Ostrum said.

“Yes.” I set the jar on the table, watching as the eyeball bobbed in the preservation fluid.

“I wish I’d had you in my class last year,” Master Ostrum said with surprising fervor.

“I did apply,” I pointed out.

Master Ostrum stared at me; the eyeball stared at me. I shifted uncomfortably.

“You were right,” he said finally.

I waited for an explanation.

“I called the Wasting Death ‘unhygienic,’ and you were right to tell me I was wrong.” Master Ostrum leaned back in his chair. “That’s the narrative of the news sheets. People in Northface Harbor don’t like to look at a truth that makes them uncomfortable. Saying that only the poor and dirty get sick makes them feel safe.” He straightened up again. “But you can’t pretend a thing is true just because you want to feel safe. I let myself forget what I know because a lack of hygiene in the sick is an easy answer.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t make it right.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to this; it felt odd for someone of Master Ostrum’s experience and demeanor to apologize to me.

“And my experience with the Wasting Death has been limited to the docks. The disease is contained in the city within the factories, but it’s spreading.”

“It’s a plague,” I said in a small voice. It had become almost a fact of life in the north; everyone knew someone who’d been infected.

Master Ostrum reached into a basket at his feet and pulled out a small stack of news sheets. He tossed them on the table, the flimsy paper fluttering around the jarred eyeball.

Master Ostrum had underlined or circled a handful of passages.

MYSTERIOUS ILLNESS DELAYS SHIPMENT OF CLOTH, one article proclaimed. Another said,FACTORY HOUSING DESTROYED AND REPLACED AFTERINFESTATION AND ILLNESS.

“What is this?” I asked.

“The earliest clues I’ve found.”

I noticed the dates of the articles—all from three months ago, at the height of the governor’s race. One of the headlines readEMPEROR AUGUSTE ARRIVES IN NORTHFACE HARBOR—WILL HE OVERTHROW THE COUNCIL’S VOTE? An illness affecting the poor was minor news compared to the election.

“I’ve been trying to pinpoint the original cases of the illness,” Master Ostrum continued. “I hoped it would give me a clue as to how it spreads or what causes it.”

“The first time I heard of it was Burial Day, last fall,” I said. That had been almost a year ago. “My father told me about a sickness in a village near Hart, where people’s hands and fingers turned black.”

Master Ostrum sucked in a breath. “I’ve been too myopic,” he muttered.

“It moves slowly.”

“It used to,” Master Ostrum said. “It’s spreading more quickly now. This isn’t public knowledge, but a few people on the governor’s council have been sent to the quarantine hospital. Rich, powerful men.”

“What can we do?” I asked.

The corners of Master Ostrum’s mouth tilted up into a smile, though he didn’t appear amused. “We? We can’t do anything until you’re better trained. I have been tasked by the governor herself to help find a cure. While I work, you work.”

He turned and grabbed an empty golden crucible from the shelf behind him, then plunked it on the table in front of me, the metal reverberating.

I stared at it, unsure of what to do.

Master Ostrum raised his eyebrow. “Your application stated that you knew the runes.”

Idid. But I’d never actually used them.

“Start with the first form,” he said. I could hear the impatience in his voice. He was giving me a chance to prove myself, and I was failing. My mind raced to remember the basic forms of alchemy I’d read about in Papa’s books. I knew it all by heart; for years I practiced the forms using a chipped porcelain vase my mother sometimes used to hold wildflowers.

But I’d never actuallypracticedalchemy. I’d never had a real, working crucible, or...