Ekaterina Sedia - The Alchemy of Stone

When she passed people in the tunnels, she tried not to look at the crates they carried, and she did not ask what part of the city they were going to. She did not ask about what happened to the enforcers who had gone underground before her eyes, and whether they found anything but the abandoned tunnels.

Other times, she helped Niobe to care for the wounded— there were few of them, and the two alchemists had no trouble mixing enough potions and unguents. They talked only of alchemy—Mattie shared her little secrets and contrivances about the use of aloe leaves or chamomile flowers; she taught Niobe to make a strong, tart-smelling brew of green blackberry branches and to apply it to the bandages for stopping bleeding. She talked about her concoctions with a sense of urgency; she never said it out loud, but with a fear that her heart might give out at any moment, she wanted to pass on as much of her knowledge as she could. Niobe did not talk about it either, but she remained alert and attentive.

Mattie grew anxious—there was no sign of changes, and she worried that her body, although ably patched up by Sebastian, would run out before she could see the homunculus work its dark bloody alchemy on Loharri. She needed her key, and she began to feel its absence as a dull ache in her chest.

Mattie did not know whether it was morning or night. She left Niobe to care for the sick and went to wander through the tunnels, but her heart was not in it. Instead, she went to Sebastian’s workshop. He was gone, but she found the smell of metal and oil reassuring in its familiarity. She sat on a crate and waited for the time when she would be able to go to the surface and see the gargoyles again.

There was a rustling of cloth, and Iolanda entered the workshop. Mattie smiled, and Iolanda sat next to her and rubbed her shoulder gently. She seemed so subdued now, her countenance sad, her flesh not galling anymore but merely soft and tired. Mattie wondered where her glee went, her bouncing joyfulness; she wondered if Iolanda had grown disappointed.

Iolanda smiled and sighed, and pulled Mattie’s head into her lap. Mattie resisted at first, but Iolanda took a brush with short dense bristles and a long handle out of her sleeve. “Let me brush your hair,” she said. “You will feel better.”

Mattie carefully rested her head on the soft flesh of Iolanda’s thigh and closed her eye. The brush whispered through the strands of Mattie’s hair—not really hers; she thought of the dead boy the gargoyles had told her about. She thought about Loharri, and what possessed him to save these locks for such a long time, what made him painstakingly attach them to Mattie’s metal scalp. The same thing, she supposed, that compelled the Soul-Smoker to engulf the dead boy’s soul—compassion and desire to remember. Could they really be so similar?

Soon, the repetitive strokes of the brush lulled her and she stopped wondering. Instead, she imagined the things she would say to Loharri if she saw him again—when she saw him again, she corrected herself. If nothing else, she had to see him subjected to another’s will—maybe then he would finally understand what it was like, and would stop being angry with her.

“By all rights he should be down here, with us,” Iolanda said.

“You mean Loharri?”

Iolanda put the brush away and stroked Mattie’s hair. “Yes. He has as many reasons to hate this city as any of us.”

“I don’t hate it,” Mattie said. “I’m here by accident.”

Iolanda did not seem to hear her. “I just don’t understand him. He told me he had been in the orphanage; he should be happy to see it blown up. But instead, he goes and converts the caterpillars into barricades and mounts weapons on them.”

“Is this why we’re still here?” Mattie asked. “There’s still fighting?”

“There’s fighting,” Iolanda answered. “And he, of all people, is acting like resisting the natural course of progress is the right thing to do. What do you make of that, Mattie?”

Disappointment stirred weakly—every time she thought Iolanda was growing interested in her, it was just a pretext for asking Mattie questions of interest to Iolanda. She just shrugged, her metal shoulder butting against Iolanda’s thigh. But in her mind, she thought that Loharri’s behavior was only reasonable. She knew how hard it was to achieve something, to reach a position of some influence; to give it all away would be unbearable. And unlike her, Loharri could not possibly hope to retain his power—the mechanics were the enemy, and he was too prominent to escape notice. He was not defending the city, he was defending himself. She felt close to him now that she knew what the desire to survive just a little bit longer made one do. After all, she had agreed to a duplicate key, and she was disappointed that she could not have it.

Iolanda’s fingers played with Mattie’s hair absentmindedly. “I wonder sometimes, Mattie,” she said. “I wonder at the things we do—I wonder at myself. Have you ever done things that you didn’t expect to? Things that just… happened?”

“Yes,” Mattie said. “Lately, I’ve been feeling that I’ve been doing nothing but.”

Iolanda laughed.

Mattie sat upright. “Don’t forget about my key,” she pleaded.

“I won’t. I know it’s important to you.”

Mattie grasped her hand. “It’s not just important. It is everything to me, and I hate leaving it in someone else’s hands, even yours. Please try and understand.”

Iolanda shook her head. “I understand. I think maybe this is what we have in common, the desire to take one’s life into one’s own hands, even if it doesn’t work out and one is worse off in the end.”

Mattie nodded in agreement. She would be better off if she stayed with Loharri and never angered him.

Iolanda rose from her seat, smoothing her skirts. “In any case,” she said, “I cannot wait to see the sun. I hope we will get to the surface soon.”

Mattie agreed that it would be not a moment too soon.

And soon it was time to go. Iolanda was both excited and fearful, and Niobe only frowned, her lips pressed together in an expression of determination.

“We’re going to the surface,” Iolanda informed Mattie.

She did not need to bother—Mattie already had guessed it from the feverish movement that started in the morning and the endless chain of the miners and the spiders dragging out the crates with explosives and the few muskets that they possessed along with boxes of bullets. She was not sure whether the resistance of the city had been subdued, or if the miners were getting ready for their last assault.

“Did you see it yet?” Iolanda asked.

“See what?”

“If you need to ask then you haven’t,” Niobe said, smiling. “Come on, I’ll show you. Sebastian is getting it ready.”

Mattie followed Niobe through the tunnels, marveling at the ease with which Niobe navigated the maze. The beam of her lantern snatched the sparkling veins of ore on the rough surface of the walls from the darkness.

Mattie had never been this far in the tunnels—it felt different. The air grew cold and sharp, and condensation trickled down the walls. The supporting scaffolding was scarce, and Mattie guessed that these were little-used tunnels.

“Can you smell the river?” Niobe asked.

“Yes,” Mattie answered. “We’re under the city, aren’t we?”

“Not far from the paper factory,” Niobe confirmed. “The mines come close to the sewers here—this is why they were abandoned. They couldn’t dig farther without the risk of damaging the sewers or flooding the mines if they got too close to the river.”

“Can we get to the city from here?”

Niobe shrugged. “It’s possible. But first, look at this.”