Ash and Quill(28)

"How much time will we need?" Jess asked him.

"That . . . I'm not sure," Thomas said. "The press is only a few days. But the Ray of Apollo . . . well. A full day for the mirrors, but that must be done without anyone questioning our work, so two days, and we must be careful. I will consult Khalila with the calculations of focus. A week, at least, before we can be ready, and then we must find a power source."

"That's my job, then." He was overtaken by another yawn, and Thomas's smile broadened.

"Enough for tonight," his big friend said, and took a dampened cloth to the meticulous charcoal drawings they'd made on the walls. Jess sucked in a breath to protest, but Thomas shook his head. "I've got them memorized. We can't leave them up for anyone to see."

Once the wall was clean again, Jess walked over and nudged Diwell's chair with one foot, bringing the guard instantly back to startled wakefulness, with one hand on his gun. "We're finished for now."

Diwell muttered something that probably wasn't kind, or complimentary, and led them back to the prison. 



No way of knowing how late it was, but the moon was down. It felt like the world was spinning fast toward morning. Jess looked into Dario's old cell as they passed. Captain Santi was still asleep on one bunk, and on the opposite, he recognized the brown curls of Morgan's hair, though she slept facing the wall.

Wolfe, wrapped in one thin blanket, came awake the instant he felt their presence, and reached for a loose, jagged rock that was lying near to hand. He relaxed when he made out their faces in the dimness. He slipped the blanket away and climbed to his feet to meet them in the narrow hallway. "You took your good time," he said. "Can you do it?"

"The press, yes. And possibly something more that could be a valuable help to getting us past these walls."

Wolfe took that in and mulled it in silence for a few seconds before he said, "No unnecessary risks. Understand?"

"Yes," Thomas said. "But everything is risk. You know that, sir. How is the captain?"

"Resting. The doctor's not half the idiot I would have assumed." From Wolfe, that was high praise. "Morgan's been tending to him, as much as she can. If she weren't, he'd certainly lose the arm. He still could."

It was the studied calm in the way he said it that hurt. Jess cast a quick look at Santi, then away. Nothing more to be done for him. "How much is it hurting her?"

For a long moment, Wolfe didn't answer; maybe he didn't think Jess was ready to hear it. But finally, he said, "The power that the Obscurists possess comes from their life force, their quintessence. As they use it to transform and shift the nature of other organic and inorganic things, it becomes . . . affected by what it transforms. Think of it as water. Dip a dirty cloth in it, the cloth comes out clean, but the pollution remains." Wolfe finally shifted his gaze to meet Jess's stare. Jess wished he hadn't. "Obscurists in the Iron Tower have time-tested ways to manage their work. They create scripts and formulae and touchstones-filters, so that the corruption doesn't touch them directly. But using the quintessence daily . . . It's dangerous. There's a reason people have always feared witches. And there's a reason we never call Obscurists magicians."

"Because they aren't?" Thomas asked. "They have an ability, the same as gifted engineers."

"Engineers' gifts don't destroy them from within. An Obscurist without controls, without barriers . . ." Wolfe shook his head. "Nothing stops them. And that's dangerous. She's dangerous. She's learning too much, too fast, and no one to hold her back."

Jess swallowed. He didn't like the sound of that, but it had the ring of truth. "And what do we do about that?"

"Nothing," Wolfe said grimly. "Because we need her. And every single bit of power she can provide, if we're to survive this and find a way out. I'm sorry about that, but you and I are alike: we'll do what must be done. Even if it means letting those we care for put themselves in danger."

Wolfe's gaze slipped back to Santi as he said it, and Jess knew he was thinking of all the times Santi had stepped into the path of harm for him. And would, for as long as he could stand, or crawl.

I'm not like you, Jess thought. But he knew he was, really. He'd learned to be practical too young.


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Thomas said, "And everyone else is all right?"

"Well enough. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Jess said. His stomach cramped and growled like a wild beast.