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“Time?”

“To show you what I’ve been doing.” Hellet handed her book satchel to her. “Time to change the world.”

“But... I...” Celcha was suddenly afraid. The comfort of her bed, the safe haven of the library, these weren’t things she wanted to give up in the name of a cause.

“But what?” Hellet studied her with wide, dark eyes. Would he give this up for her? He was her little brother and he loved her—they were each all the other had—and yet... would he? Should he?

Celcha ran her fingers through her fur, finding and touching the nootki tied there, each a silent witness to her deeds, a reminder of those who laboured in the dark even now, digging up a lost city to build another that they would never see. “So, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to give the ganar something they haven’t had in many lifetimes,” Hellet said. “A choice.”

Celcha bowed her head. “How?”

“Walk with me.”

—

Celcha and Hellet were allowed one “day of ease” on the last day of each week, and even given a small stipend, though they had to convince a trainee to spend it for them since, in the city, a ganar with money would instantly be accused of theft. At best, they’d end up penniless and beaten.

This particular day of ease was all but over. The ganar, however, kept different hours. They not only needed more sleep than natives of this world but when their sleeping was combined with their waking, it totalled something rather longer than a day, leading to their sleeping periods shifting through the months so that sometimes, as on this particular day, they slept the whole time that the sun spent crossing the sky and woke in the evening.

Hellet had woken Celcha early rather than late. They wound their way unchallenged through the outer complex which lay empty but for a handful of guards and the occasional overly enthusiastic librarian. By the time they emerged into the large cavern that abutted the library wall Celcha had stopped yawning. For the brief period between first seeing this cave and seeing the chambers of the library, the cavern had been not only the largest by far she had ever seen after a lifetime underground, but substantially bigger than any she might have imagined.

“This way.” Hellet veered away from the well-travelled route between the complex and the library’s white door. He led Celcha away from the bridges and rails of the official path and out into the uncharted chaos of the wider chamber. Somehow, the idea of leaving the path had never occurred to Celcha. She supposed it was because the library’s door seemed a beacon, drawing her on towards its hidden mysteries. Even so, she couldn’t help feeling mildly disappointed with herself.

Hellet navigated the way along a deep valley cutting across the cavern, all water-smoothed rock and sudden drops. He offered a belated, “Be careful.”

They were soon out of sight of anyone crossing by the normal route, ten yards deep in an increasingly steep chasm. Celcha began to smell an acrid scent, as if something that shouldn’t be burned had been cremated here. It grew stronger as they went.

“Here’s our first stop.” Hellet worked his way around a narrow ledge. In the void to his left the library’s light at last began to fail.

The ledge itself was blackened, and charred lumps crunched beneath Celcha’s feet as she advanced, clinging to whatever handholds offered themselves. “What’s this?” Something shiny and silver caught the light and drew her eye with it.

Hellet bent and snagged a long-necked glass flask resting in the blackened hollow. In its rounded belly the flask held liquid silver—the thing that had snared Celcha’s attention—brighter and more gleaming than even the most polished steel.

“It’s called quicksilver,” Hellet said. “But what it is exactly is less important than what it is in general.”

“Which is?” Celcha wasn’t sure why her brother couldn’t have explained this earlier, somewhere level.

“It’s a catalyst. Something that allows a chemical reaction to take place but does not itself take part in the reaction.”

“Did Tutor Ablesan teach you a new language while I wasn’t looking?”

“An agent of change,” Hellet said. “We’re going to need a lot of it.”

“Did... did you make it here?” Celcha looked at the burn marks. Here and there were rocks that hadn’t come from the stone walls. Rocks that, whilst blackened on one side, were a strangely familiar reddish-orange on the other. They reminded Celcha of... “These are from h—” She had been about to say “home” but to call the dig site home felt like a kind of obscenity. “From Arthran.”

Hellet nodded and showed his teeth. “Cinnabar. It’s the ore from which quicksilver comes. Smelting it is dirty work. The fumes are toxic and plentiful. I knew you’d try to stop me so I—”

“How did you get the rocks, the fuel, the glassware?” Celcha was too intrigued to be angry.

“They pay me too.” Hellet shrugged. “I asked different trainees to get me different things. They don’t say no to me. They’re a little scared, I think.” He shrugged again, a deeper one this time. “I told Benjon that the rocks reminded us of home, and we scatter them in our room.” Hellet turned away. “Come on, let’s get the rest.”

“There’s more?”

“I’ve kept busy whilst you’re out exploring with the princess.”

“Don’t call her that.”