The Rebels of Gold (Loom Saga #3)(91)

“Lead on.” The woman’s smile was knowing, frustratingly so.

Coletta walked through the still passageways, trapped in by lattices of steel and iron, to a small storehouse not far from the outer edge of the refinery grounds. Coletta took a breath, unbarring the door.

Were it not for the dozens, hundreds, thousands of people she’d killed over the years, her face might have cracked. The room that she’d filled to the brim with gold from Loom, stolen from storehouses revealed to her by the self-styled Fen King’s notes, was completely vacant. A large pennon hung over a pile of hearts, dull and fraying already with rot.

Coletta read over the brief message, painted with the grease pencils the Fen used to mark various machines and walkways in the refineries.

After a long moment of silence, Doriv was the first to speak. “Coletta’Ryu, who exactly is the Queen of Wraiths?”





Florence


“I don’t call the shots, just deliver them.” Helen shrugged at a fuming Vicar Dove.

“We sent one hundred men and women to be made into Perfect Chimera, and you bring us only three back and ask for fifty more.”

“Again, just delivering the message.”

Florence looked at the delivery summary in question. She knew, better than Powell or Dove, what the request meant. They had precious few Revolvers as it was; to ferry them by the tens to Ter.3 was putting a strain on their ability to defend themselves in Ter.4.

“What are Willard and Ethel thinking?” Dove turned her attention to Powell and Florence.

It was a question Florence knew the other vicar didn’t really want to be answered, but answer she would. “They’re trying to encourage us to consolidate.”

“Then they should outright say it.” Dove pushed away from the table where the papers lay strewn, as if she was too disgusted by them to bear another moment in their presence.

The Alchemists had been sent ahead to Garre to learn how to transplant the boxes, and then become Perfect Chimera themselves. At first, due to “tempering issues,” the process was painfully slow. But, as was the case with most new technology, things improved quickly and efficiency increased exponentially. From the whispers, it seemed the Alchemists were content to stay in Garre for a while; it was a hard point to argue when that was the site of the boxes.

“I’m fairly sure they have.” Florence picked up the letter from Ethel that encouraged the rest of the guilds to come south. “It’s not an illogical proposition.”

“We cannot keep moving people,” Dove objected.

“And there’s the issue of Dragon attacks,” Powell added.

“If we hadn’t already sent so many Revolvers south, that wouldn’t be an issue,” Dove seethed.

“What’s done is done. There’s little point in arguing now.” Florence couldn’t believe she was younger than them both, especially not when they acted like squabbling children. “We should heed Ethel’s suggestion and relocate.”

“We just got to Ter.4,” Dove needlessly reminded Florence.

“We arrived at Ter.4 nearly eight months ago. And this move will be far less tedious with established rail lines. We can leave right through the guild hall. It’s a fairly straight shot south from Holx.”

“But we did just finish fortifying the Underground.” As weak as the objection was, it was still an objection and Florence couldn’t remember the last time Powell spoke against her. She hoped it wouldn’t become a habit.

“Fortifications in the form of blocking tunnels and building some doors,” Florence countered. “Hardly any significant investment of time or resources.”

“And turrets,” Vicar Dove reminded.

“We set up two turrets. Though I realize you may have gotten the number confused, since it doesn’t directly relate to your Ravens.” Florence was almost proud of how nonchalantly she delivered such a scathing remark.

“Careful, Florence, or one might think that you are fostering separation between the guilds.”

“I would never.” Florence returned them to the topic at hand, not wanting to risk further ire. “In any case . . .we cannot ignore these two attacks on Ter.3. The Dragons have finally realized our manufacturing there.”

“Took them long enough,” Helen mumbled.

“If only it took them longer,” Powell remarked with a pointed look.

“We must protect the factories at all costs,” Florence continued, unbothered by the exchanges occurring around her. “They are a far greater priority than staying holed in the Underground.”

“We can use those same lines you mentioned earlier to transport what we need here,” Dove insisted.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” Florence was beginning to suspect that Dove was just fighting her for the sake of fighting now.

“I do very much. The trains—”

“The trains run on tracks easily targeted by Dragons.” Florence shook her head. “They can destroy the tracks and separate us. Remember the whole reason we banded together?” Florence held up her hand by her shoulder, palms out, fingers upward, mimicking the symbol that had come to represent the sign of their rebellion. “Five guilds, separate but connected, and together strong.”

Powell sighed a sound that had a distinct tone of resignation to it. “There are more resources in Ter.3 than the Underground. We’re running thin on food.”