"Sleeping," Wolfe said. "Their doctor is competent. I hope it'll be enough."
"The guards say the smoke's out of the building and the fires are all doused," Dario said. "They also say we'd be better off staying in there, never mind the draft. Didn't say so, but the townsfolk left with houses and buildings in ruins might make our evening rough if we try to take up beds in the shelters. We'd best not press our luck."
"Captain Santi will rest better inside," Thomas said, and stepped forward. "Let me, sir."
Wolfe didn't react for a few seconds, and then he nodded and stood up. Thomas scooped Santi up in his arms, careful of the salve-smeared burned arm. He didn't seem bothered by the man's weight in the least, and they all followed as he carried Santi's unconscious body through the narrow door into their prison. Morgan darted ahead to look over the cells and finally pointed to Dario's. Dario, to his credit, didn't even protest. "This one's best; it'll be the warmest," she said, and Thomas eased the man down on the mattress. "Thank you, Thomas. I'll take care of him now."
Thomas had positioned Santi with his head toward the wall so that his wounded arm lay straight and still, and now Morgan sank down on her knees next to the bed, studying the injury; Jess had the sense she was looking at something far different from what he could see, and her fingers spread out in a precise pattern to hover above his wounds. She let out a breath, closed her eyes, and went still.
Wolfe stood in the corner of the cell, all his focus on Santi's quiet face.
"Nothing more we can do here," Thomas said softly, and Jess nodded. "Best we take stock of what Beck's given us to work with in this workshop of his. The sooner we know, the better we can plan."
It was oddly hard to leave, though there was plainly nothing to do; Jess's gaze lingered on Morgan's face-fixed, tranquil, oddly tense beneath all that. Whatever she was doing, though, he knew it would take a toll. He could almost see the power, energy, quintessence-whatever one wanted to call it-pouring out of her, into Captain Santi's injured flesh. He remembered Askuwheteau's caution to her and wondered what price she was going to pay. Whatever it was, she wouldn't turn back.
///
In that way, he and Morgan were exactly alike.
The workshop was nothing but a junk heap.
The tools and materials that Philadelphia had to hand were, at best, a disaster. Broken bits of metal scavenged from wreckage, scrap bricks and broken stones, leather that had been rebraided and oiled to within an inch of its very ancient life. Rope was in short supply, and what they had, they kept carefully stored in barrels.
The wood-and there was not a lot of it-consisted mostly of scraps that showed hard use. A few precious new boards that must have been cut from trees inside the town walls lay in a neat, shallow stack. Miraculous that there were any trees standing at all, Jess thought, between desperate inhabitants and Library bombardments. Beck must have been brutal in his punishments for cutting them down.
"This is not so bad," Thomas said with forced good cheer as they looked over the disappointing lot. "I've done more with less. Does that forge work?"
"It does, but there's not much fuel," the guard who'd accompanied them said. "We can't use wood. There's some coal. Not much. We can bring you some Blanks to burn."
Jess shuddered at the thought. "Any Greek fire jugs that landed and didn't explode?" The guard frowned. "We just need a drop or two a day. Add some to a little supply of coal, you have a superheated forge that can stay hot for hours. It can burn rocks, if necessary."
"You can keep charge of what we don't use," Thomas quickly said. "I understand you would not want to give us unlimited access."
"You're dead right. And if Master Beck approves it, you'll keep your mouths well shut about it. Greek fire in Library hands? The people would tear you all apart."
He was right. The Library had been a constant, faceless enemy to the Burners for more than a century. It was a minor miracle he and his friends were all still alive now, since they were the breathing, vulnerable examples of it. Given the slightest hint of betrayal, the people of Philadelphia would turn on them fast.
"We're here to give you a great weapon against the Library," Thomas said. "Destroying us would be killing your own chance to win."
"I'm not listening. Master Beck can think what he likes." The guard glared at both of them with open, naked hatred now. "But if I'd had my way, we'd have roasted the lot of you on top of the books, and thrown your skulls over the wall for your friends to mourn."