8. Florence

“I’m telling you I need more.” Florence balked at the Revolver who was in charge of the Alchemists’ armory.

“I’m telling you, you’re not getting any.” The man was old; Florence guessed he was nearly thirty-eight. His black hair had begun to twist in weird directions, haloing thinly around the crown of his head. It was salted with gray almost the same color as his skin. The dark symbol of the Revolvers tattooed on his cheek sagged. She’d never met a Revo as old as him before. It wasn’t usually a profession that boasted particularly long lifespans. Perhaps being assigned far from the guild hall in Dortam had helped spare him from the Revolver’s suicidal groupthink.

“Not a day ago I counted that you had at least two barrels of sulfur. I know charcoal isn’t hard to come by, and you don’t need much graphite…” He was back to ignoring her as she spoke, counting and checking off quantities behind the gated shelves. “Why are you being so stingy with the gunpowder?”

“Because you’re wasting it.” He didn’t even turn.

“I am not wasting it. I’m trying to help you.”

The man shot a look over his shoulder that told Florence exactly what he thought of that claim. Florence put her hands on her hips, trying not to deflate. Certainly she’d had some failures… a lot of failures. But she was making progress. It was just difficult to explain that progress to anyone who hadn’t seen the implosion beam she was trying to recreate based on what the Riders had used to attack the airship she’d ridden on weeks ago.

“You fashion yourself a Revo.” He punctuated the statement with a sigh, finally giving her his attention. “But it shows that you have not had proper training.”

“I had ample tr—”

“I looked through your notes.”

“Y-you went into my laboratory?” Florence stuttered. There was no more sacred place on Loom than the halls of research. It was more private than a bed and more secret than a bath. She would rather parade naked through the guild than think of someone poking through her research.

“I did.” He was utterly unapologetic. “I’ve been letting you leech off our supplies for weeks. I wanted to see the fruits of your labors… or lack thereof.”

“My research wouldn’t make sense to someone else. My shorthand isn’t common.”

“You’re right on both accounts. It doesn’t make sense to someone else because you are chasing rabbits without knowing the first thing of the hunt. And your shorthand is uncommon for a youth like you, but the style was fairly popular twenty years ago.”

Florence pursed her lips, taking issue with his tone.

“The Wraith taught you, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Florence affirmed proudly. Ari had quickly become infamous among the Alchemists. She’d only been there about two weeks before flying to Nova, but in that time she’d worked the Vicar into a fit, claimed to be the creator of the Philosopher’s Box—a real Philosopher’s Box, and produced so many clockwork locks that half the initiates couldn’t get into their rooms after they quickly forgot the complexity of Arianna’s designs.

“The woman is half monster and half master. I can’t deny it,” he continued before Florence could correct him in Ari’s defense on the former. “But she is a Master Rivet. I’ve no doubt you benefited from her tutelage. You ask the right questions and you’ve been trained to think beyond what is there to what could be. You are young but you have the foundation of one truly raised on Ter.0.” Sadness lined the man’s eyes at the mention of the lost continent, a way of life that had been destroyed by the Dragons. “But she is not a Revolver. She cannot teach you the skills of follow-through on those theories. And, to that end, you are lacking.”

“Then you teach me.”

The man scoffed, brushing away the notion with a wave of his hand. “If I’d wanted a pupil I would’ve remained near the guild hall chasing my circle. I’ve not the time, energy, or interest for a student.”

“Then give me the gunpowder so I can continue to learn on my own.”

“No.”

Florence felt like she was stuck in a loop. “How am I supposed to improve?”

“Go back to the Revolvers, have whomever you claim was teaching you—despite your being a marked Raven—continue to do so.”

“Even if I could do that…” Florence didn’t actually know if she could. Her teachers likely stopped going to their meeting places when she’d stopped showing up. Arianna had been the one to forge those relationships. “I want to help the resistance.”

“Then help us, and don’t be a leech on our powder.”

“I—”

“Go away, girl. There’s nothing more to say.” The man turned his back on her again.

Florence couldn’t help herself; she shot one nasty face at his ugly salted hair before storming out of the armory. The guild continued on around her. Initiates worked on magic, reagents, pharmaceuticals, and a half dozen other things with all the help and support of a guild behind them. Florence was the only one adrift.

She slunk back to her tiny laboratory with her tail between her legs in the hope of licking her wounds in relative peace. She had only about twenty minutes of quiet before her door opened for two Alchemists. Nora and Derek helped themselves into her space, crowding around her table without invitation.

“You weren’t at dinner.” Derek dropped a plate before her.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do you know how quickly your body will go into starvation mode if you don’t eat?” Nora leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “The second it does, it starts breaking down your muscle for energy because it’s the densest source in your body. It also destroys your ability to process—”

“I get it. I get it.” Florence hooked the plate and pulled it toward her. She was hungry, she just didn’t want to be around people. But it seemed she had an audience despite her efforts. And, if she was going to be miserable either way, she may as well be miserable and full.

“What has you so upset?” Derek asked after she tucked in.

Florence offered them both a quick summary of her encounter with the armory master.

Derek leaned back and folded his arms, listening thoughtfully. Nora hummed and nodded along, picking off the vegetables that were too bland for Florence’s taste. The other girl was the first one to speak when Florence finished her tale.

“He has a point.”

“As do I.” Florence frowned.

“His is more valid,” Nora insisted. “You haven’t done much here.”

“I’m working on making long-term change.”

“At least by blowing up trees in the forest,” Derek added dryly, earning him a sharp look. He remained unapologetic.

“You two go through reagents like water. And I’ve seen how quickly chemicals disappear when you’re working on something new.”

“But we’re Alchemists. This is our home, our guild,” Nora reminded her, as though she could’ve somehow forgotten. “It isn’t the place for you to run your… whatever tests you run. You should go home for that.”

Florence rolled a canister across the desk as Nora spoke. If she hit it too hard it would blow up the three of them. Though she neglected to mention that fact about the “tests” she ran. “I thought the resistance believed in the old ways of Loom? The notion that men and women should choose to study what they please. That there’s more to be learned from working together than apart?”

“We do. But if our resistance falls, it doesn’t matter what we believe.”

Florence bristled at the implication: the idea that she would do something to contribute to the fall of the resistance, rather than its success. She kept her face emotionless as Ari would have. Or tried to.

“Why don’t you just focus on something that will actually help us? Like trying to pin down those friends of yours who can get guns and clockwork through Ter.4?” No matter how many times Florence reminded her, Nora never seemed to fully grasp that she wasn’t a Raven at heart despite what was on her cheek. And that getting in touch with Helen and Will was harder than turning steel into gold for someone who didn’t understand all the tunnels and transport systems.

“I am trying to actually help you.” Florence’s plate was empty and she greatly missed the forced breaks in the conversation that came from eating. “But I need more gold and more explosives to do that.”

“And I’m telling you that you’re not going to be getting any more.”

“Have you tried speaking with the Vicar about these matters?” Derek stopped Florence mid-breath. Which was likely for the best, as her patience with Nora was running thin.

“No… Do you think I should?” Florence hadn’t properly been in a guild for nearly three years. Additionally, she’d just been an initiate in the Ravens and it had been made clear to her then that appealing to the higher powers simply wasn’t done. The Vicar Raven always had the Dragon adviser at his side, and Florence had always heard he was strict about adhering to certain expectations about hierarchy.

But Florence had never seen a Dragon in the Alchemists’ Guild, not counting Cvareh or corpses.

“You could try pleading your case.” Derek shrugged.

Florence regarded him skeptically, wondering if he was trying to get her into a worse spot by bringing up her losses with the Vicar.

“Or don’t.” He stood. “It’s your choice. But your options seem to be growing thinner.”

Derek held out a hand to Nora, which she took. He helped her to her feet, lacing his fingers against hers. The two left Florence alone to her thoughts.

She knew better than to pick up any of her remaining chemicals or powders. When her mind was so wild, she’d only produce greater mistakes. That stress had certainly not been helpful over the past few weeks, when her failures were the only thing keeping her ledgers company.

Florence flipped through her notes, wondering what the Revolver had seen in them. He was a journeyman of the Revos, his tattoo completely filled. He had years of practice ahead of her, and was willing to impart none of it.

She snapped the book shut.

Loom was like a mirror that had been cracked by the Dragons’ first descent. Spider-web fractures stretched across its surface, turning a single image into smaller pieces. They were all parts of one whole that fit together, but no longer joined cleanly at the seams. For one dark moment, she wondered if it was a wound that could ever be healed. By what magic could Loom be put back together into a single, flawless piece?

And then Florence made her way to the Vicar Alchemist. She wasn’t one to sit in place contentedly. Ari had taught her better than that. Even now, from above the clouds, the woman known as the White Wraith challenged Florence to be better, do more.

She received a few curious stares as she boarded the elevator that went directly to the Vicar’s laboratory, but no one stopped her. It seemed to be an accepted practice in the Alchemists that there were times when one needed to speak to the Vicar. At least, that was what Florence hoped. If not, everyone was about to have a good laugh at her expense.

“Enter,” a voice called from behind a door emblazoned with the symbol of the Master Alchemist, following Florence’s knock.

Florence entered, her heart in her throat. Sophie, the Vicar Alchemist, straightened away from her work table. She pulled the refined goggles off her eyes to get a better look at her visitor.

“I wasn’t expecting a little crow.”

“Little bullet would be more appropriate,” Florence corrected tiredly. Sophie arched her eyebrows in surprise and Florence added, carefully, “Just a suggestion…”

“We’ll settle on Florence.” Sophie smiled thinly. “Why has Arianna’s student come to visit me this day?”

Florence scraped together every rogue bit of boldness before speaking. “I need your backing on some experiments I’m running.”

“My backing?”

“Yes, as the Vicar. I’m working on some things to help the rebellion but I need more gold and more gunpowder, at the very least. I’ve been refused.”

“I know.” Sophie continued to smile and, in that moment, reminded Florence of King Louie. There was nothing physically similar between the capable looking Vicar and the bony man of Mercury Town. But their eyes, their mannerisms, suddenly overlapped so strongly it set off warning bells between Florence’s ears.

“Then you should know exactly why I’m here.” If Sophie was like Louie, then Florence would treat her as she would the little king of Mercury Town. The only difference was that she no longer had a White Wraith nearby to keep her safe.

“We’re skipping the small talk then? Excellent.” Sophie’s mannerisms shifted and she returned to managing some bubbling beakers on her table. “Your answer is no.”

“Vicar, I need—”

“Whatever you need pales in comparison to the needs of my Guild and this rebellion I’m trying to build.”

“I want to help the rebellion.”

“Then actually help us.” Sophie gave her a challenging stare.

Florence knew that look. It was so similar to the ones Arianna had given her, it was eerie. It reminded Florence, yet again, how little she knew of Arianna’s history.

“Let’s cut a deal.” Part Ari, part Louie, Florence knew how to navigate this personality. “You know better than anyone the needs of guild and rebellion. You know what I need and what I can do. Tell me how I can help you.”

“And in return you want access to your resources.”

“Naturally.”

“Very well.” The conversation picked up speed like a locomotive down the tracks. “You want more gold? Go and fetch it yourself.”

“Where is the nearest refinery?” Florence didn’t know the first thing about stealing, but she’d figure it out if she had to. It’s what Arianna would’ve done.

“Ter.1.”

“Ter.5 has no refineries?” Florence balked.

“The Dragon King didn’t want us to have such easy access to gold or reagents.” They both took a silent moment to curse the King’s pragmatism. “We have an allotment that comes along the main tracks through the Skeleton Forest. But it’s not enough.”

“So you need another shipment.”

“One outside of Dragon sanction,” Sophie affirmed. “There’s another route, but it’s never used. It was shut down for winding too deep into the forest and too close to endwig haunts.”

“I’m not a Raven.” Florence was ready to tattoo the words on her opposite cheek.

“I have secured a Raven to run the engine. I have Alchemists to speak on my behalf. I have a Rivet to ensure things run smoothly along the way.”

Florence knew where she was headed before Sophie even finished.

“I do not have a spare Revolver to fight off any who might seek to sabotage the mission. It is not called the Skeleton Forest for nothing. I would not like to see this costly excursion reduced to bones in the woods.”

It was neat, tidy, and convenient. Sophie won either way. If Florence succeeded, the Vicar would have more resources and a goal accomplished. Giving Florence a little gold in return was nothing in the wake of that particular victory. If Florence failed, she would be one of those corpses, reduced to nothing more than bones licked clean by the Endwig.

“Do you think I can do it?” Florence was compelled to ask.

“Of course,” Sophie praised brightly. “After all, you’re the multi-talented Raven, not Raven but Revolver.”

Florence took a deep breath and gave Sophie the benefit of the doubt. Florence’s failure would mean the death of her Alchemists. It made no sense for her to be hopeful for it or indifferent to it.

“Then I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful. Plan to leave within the fortnight. I’ll spread the word that you’re to have everything you need to prepare.”

Finally, a gear turned smoothly for Florence. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and Florence,” Sophie stopped her just as she was about to depart. “I think it goes without saying that this is quite a dangerous mission.”

Florence knew that, but she nodded anyway.

“Should you fail, it will mean your death.”

There was the whisper of a threat ghosting around Sophie’s words, a certainty that couldn’t be known unless a promise was being given. Florence kept her suspicion to herself, not wanting to unreasonably accuse the Vicar Alchemist of telling her outright that her options were to die on the mission, or die upon her unsuccessful return. Florence searched Sophie’s eyes for something more, something else. But there was nothing beyond careful calculation glittering in their depths.