meters of rock, and he willed one of his globes of light into existence.
“A valid point.” Rubble shifted as Books clambered after him, the lantern banging and clanking as he went.
The dust continued to harass Akstyr’s nose, and he sneezed repeatedly. It disturbed his concentration and his light winked out several times. Some brilliant Science practitioner he was.
“I hope nothing’s left down here to hear our clamor,” Books said.
“I’m sure anything down here would have starved by now.”
“I wasn’t thinking of living beings.”
“Oh.” Akstyr remembered the battle he and the others had fought against all those mechanical constructs. Yes, there might be booby traps and Made creations yet about. “I’m not sure if any of those things we fought last spring had ears.”
“Comforting.”
The dust faded and the debris on the ground dwindled until they could walk on the wooden ties of the old mine cart tracks. An intersection waited up ahead, and Akstyr increased his pace. He hadn’t had a chance to see the shaman’s laboratory, and the idea of exploring it now filled him with anticipation. While Books was looking for those implants, maybe he could find some small artifacts to take with him and study. Or more books. He’d never had a chance to learn anything about Mangdorian magic.
“The cart’s been moved,” Books said, and Akstyr paused before reaching the intersection.
“What?”
“Remember that cart that rolled up to us as we were leaving? It was here.”
Yes, that cart carrying the message had been creepy. “Maybe the soldiers moved it.”
Books grunted dubiously. “Amaranthe said the workshop is to the left there.”
Akstyr walked into the intersection and into a puddle. With his mind, he nudged his light ball higher and farther out. The tunnel straight ahead sloped downward and disappeared into water.
“Nobody around to fix the pump,” Books said.
“It doesn’t look like the laboratory will be affected.” Akstyr headed left, swinging his glowing sphere back around the corner to light the way, and he almost stepped onto a skeleton. A human skeleton. Startled, he let his concentration slip and the light winked out again.
Books, holding his lantern aloft, joined him. Tiny teeth marks marred the bones, and only scraps of gray fabric remained. In the shadows ahead, Akstyr could make out the white skull of another skeleton.
“It seems the soldiers attempted to explore before blowing up the entrance,” Books said.
“Seems.” Senses stretched outward, Akstyr stepped over the skeletons and headed deeper into the dark passage.
Books knelt to take a closer look at the skeleton, maybe trying to figure out what had killed them. Or what had eaten them. Akstyr just wanted to get to the workshop, though he was careful to probe every inch of the way, searching for the residual tingle of an area touched by a Maker.
He reached an open wooden door, and stepped over two more skeletons to enter a long, rectangular chamber with a ceiling and walls chiseled from the rock. Workbench after workbench ran down the length of one long wall, while cabinets and machines occupied the opposite one. Disassembled equipment and tools scattered the surfaces, and more than a few metallic heads, hooks, and articulating arms appeared to be from the sorts of constructs that had attacked Akstyr and the others the spring before. The team had been eager to leave the mines after being mauled so thoroughly, so he had never seen the workshop before, and he couldn’t tell if anything had been touched. He wanted to explore everything, but the skeletons on the floor were disconcerting. But they’d been Science-ignorant soldiers. He ought to be able to detect traps before he triggered them.
It was hard to focus on the idea of hunting for traps. Residual energy plucked at his senses from all sides, begging him to investigate. He’d love to take back souvenirs to study. In particular, a half-orb set into the body of a knee-height brass spider drew his eye-it pulsed a soft purple, creating an interesting play of light and shadow on the walls and equipment in a far corner.
“Don’t play with anything,” Books stood in the doorway, the ex-pilot’s pistol loaded and in his hands.
Akstyr sniffed. “Practitioners do not play. They study, they ponder, they-oh! Is that a mind foci artifact?” He veered toward a fist-sized golden ball with a lustrous shell.
“Shiny,” Books said dryly. “Can you look for the implants, please? I’m assuming that whatever killed these soldiers could still be a threat.”
Akstyr pocketed the ball to study at a later date. “We’re not even sure those devices are here, are we?”
“If they’re not, this trip was a waste of-”
A clank sounded in the tunnel behind Books. He jumped inside, spinning in the air to land with his pistol up, poised to fire. The wooden door slammed shut in front of him, smacking the pistol and nearly tearing it from his hands. Gears ground behind one of the stone walls, followed by a soft click. An armoire near the door emitted an ominous hissing sound.
“-life,” Books finished bleakly.
“Uhm,” Akstyr said. It wasn’t his most brilliant utterance.
Books tried the door, but it seemed to have locked itself. It was the only exit from the workshop.
Books strode to the armoire and pointed to pink gas flowing out of a vent near the top. “Can you stop that? I’m guessing it doesn’t promote haleness and longevity.”
Akstyr joined him, crinkling his nose as a scent like mildew and fungus wafted toward him. Books had already pulled his shirt over his nose. Akstyr doubted that would be effective. Instead, he concentrated on the idea of a filter, something that formed over his nose and mouth, a tight mesh weave that allowed air through but blocked out larger particles. Though it never grew visible to the naked eye, he thought he was successful in creating it. He sniffed experimentally and no longer detected the mushroom odor.
Good for him, but that probably didn’t help Books. If he passed out, Akstyr would have to fly the dirigible himself. He paused, intrigued by the off-hand thought. If he could figure out how to fly it, maybe it’d be his chance to leave the empire forever.
Though the idea tickled his mind for a few seconds, he told himself that Books would die, not pass out, if the skeletons were any indication, and, anyway, leaving the team in a lurch would be pretty despicable. It was surprising to realize that mattered to him, because there had been a time when it wouldn’t have. None of the people he’d grown up with would have thought twice about ditching him for a chance to steal a dirigible.
“Well?” Books asked.
“I made a filter for myself, but let me see if I can make the gas stop,” Akstyr said.
Concentrating on two things at once was an intense challenge, one Akstyr hadn’t mastered yet, but by keeping the picture of the filter in his mind, and imagining his thoughts probing outward through it, he managed to sense of the armoire’s otherworldly properties. Or he would have if it had any. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel anything. What he did sense was a complex mechanical miasma behind the doors, a maze of levers, gears, and pipes that he couldn’t guess how to work.
“I think it’s just a machine,” Akstyr said.
“Meaning there aren’t any booby traps?” Books reached toward one of the cabinet knobs.
“Meaning the booby traps aren’t magical.”
Books’s hand froze. “Ah.”
“Maybe your great knowledge of science and history would be useful here.”
“Perhaps so. Why don’t you find those implants?”
Books started coughing, and Akstyr hustled away. He poked through boxes and cabinets, alarmed by how many were locked. It’d stink donkey butts if what the emperor needed to save his life was in the room, but they couldn’t get at it.
Akstyr pulled a small wooden box out from beneath a bench. Intricately carved with a pattern of vines and leaves, it looked like something that would hold jewelry or other tiny, precious items.
Books coughed again, phlegmy coughs this time, like those of someone suffering from consumption. He was standing in the corner by the door, head bent, hands in front of him. Akstyr couldn’t tell if he was doing something or not.
“You need some picklocks to open that door?” he asked.
