“It’s okay,” she reassured Axio again. She looked back at the door, then around at the featureless little room. She was a journeyman, a proud siliceer, and she now had the extra responsibility of protecting someone beneath her. That felt far more concrete than simply delivering important schematics. Another deep breath. She could do both. “I don’t know how long we have alone,” she said in a low voice. “Tell me what you know.”
Axio seemed to also take some courage in her presence. “Not much,” he said, his voice growing more steady. “Just that we’re at the Ivory Forest Glassworks.”
“I see.” She recognized the name and tried to remember what she knew of this place, though it wasn’t much. “It’s a big glassworks,” she told Axio. “They specialize in mass-produced low-resonance godglass. Based on what I saw just now, this is a labor camp. Explains a lot, I suppose. The quality coming out of here has never been good.” She paused to think for a moment. “If it’s a labor camp, they’re going to put us to work. They’ll give me daily quotas and a set schedule. They’ll give you … What’s wrong?”
At the mention of quotas, Axio looked like Thessa had just kicked him between the legs. “I, uh … told them I was a siliceer apprentice.”
“You’re shitting me.” It didn’t take half a second for Thessa to realize what that entailed. A siliceer, even an apprentice, was a first-rate commodity. Skilled labor. A siliceer’s assistant, however, was only a step above a common laborer. Axio had claimed to be an apprentice for better treatment, not thinking ahead to when someone asked for work out of him.
He looked ill. “Sorry, Thessa.”
“Piss and shit. Fine. We can deal with this. I’ll … I’ll think of something.” She could hear people talking just outside the door and lowered her voice even further. “If anyone asks, my name is Teala. We’re both apprentices at the Grent Royal Glassworks. You can claim to be new, maybe that will help keep your quota low.”
“You won’t use your real name?”
“No. Don’t tell them who I am or my rank. It’s very important! Follow my lead, and we’ll both get through this.”
As she finished speaking, the door opened to reveal a small, squirrel-faced man. The man’s apron was stitched with an inverted triangle covered in wavy lines emanating from a single point. Within a glassworks it was the symbol for cureglass, but in Ossan society it was the sigil of the Magna guild-family. The man had a small matching sigil tattooed on the back of his right hand. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, with long black hair, a pointed face, and sharp, nervous eyes.
He had a tiny piece of auraglass in his ear – a common godglass that enhanced the wearer’s natural charisma. Auraglass, in Thessa’s experience, was worn only by those who lacked confidence. His arms bore no scars, reminding Thessa of one of Kastora’s sayings: Scars are the true reflection of a siliceer. Too many and she is an oaf. Too few and she’s never truly worked the furnaces. None of this boded well.
The man stared at Thessa and Axio for a few moments, his expression bored. “These are the new arrivals from Grent?” he asked the enforcer standing just behind his right shoulder.
“Yes, sir.”
“Do we have a file on them?”
“No, sir.”
The man sniffed and looked from Axio to Thessa. Thessa met his eye, hoping that some confidence would divert his attention to her. It worked. He settled his gaze on her and said, “I am Craftsman Filur Magna. You may call me Sir, or Craftsman, or Craftsman Magna. I am the overseer of this compound.”
“Is this a labor camp, sir?” Thessa asked.
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “This is a workshop for undesirable siliceers; convicts, hostages, debtors. Enemies of the state. You are both prisoners of war, and this will be your home until your ransom is paid or the war has ended.”
“Sir,” Thessa said, trying her best to conceal this sudden avenue of hope, “what is our ransom?”
He glared back at her, and Thessa got the distinct feeling that Craftsman Magna wasn’t accustomed to being questioned by his wards. He removed a board from under his arm, to which were clipped several pieces of paper. He flipped through them, and his eyes settled on one. “Ah. No ransom being allowed. Too early in the war, you see. We need you working for our war effort. Not the enemy’s.” A cruel little smile cracked his face. “No one knows you’re here. You will be allowed no visitors or contact with the outside world.” He turned to the enforcer behind him. “Search them.”
The enforcer stepped into the room. Before Thessa could react, she found herself shoved face-forward against the wall. Thick fingers probed her in places they shouldn’t, running up under her tunic, through her hair, touching her everywhere, making her stomach flip. It was blessedly brief and about as professional as she could have hoped. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, though her heart was beating hard as she could tell what was coming.
“Boots off,” the enforcer commanded.
Thessa tried to come up with an excuse not to follow his instructions, but nothing came to hand. Reluctantly, she pulled her boots off. The enforcer picked them up one at a time, shoving his hand inside. He came away with the rolled-up schematics, which he handed over to the overseer without comment.
The overseer unrolled the vellum sheets, frowning as he flipped through them. “Well, well, what have we here? This looks interesting.” He peered at Thessa. “Where did you get these?”
Thessa stared at the ground, speaking the first good lie that came to mind. “I … took them when I fled the glassworks, sir.”
“A thief, eh?”
“I didn’t know–”
“Don’t try to explain yourself!” he cut her off. “I’m not going to listen to excuses. What are they?”
“I’m not really sure, sir. I just snatched them from the furnace room. I thought maybe I could sell them.” Better to be thought a thief than Kastora’s protégé. She let her gaze flick to the overseer’s face. He was looking at the schematics again, turning them this way and that with a frown on his face. Finally, he rolled them back up and put them in his pocket. He did not seem bothered by her explanation.
Thessa glanced at Axio, hoping that her message to keep quiet had gotten through to him. He knew she’d never steal from Master Kastora. At a nod from the overseer, the enforcer grabbed Axio and submitted him to the same quick, thorough search. It came up with nothing. Thessa forced herself to watch. Seeing Axio’s hands tremble and the look of fear on his face gave her strength. She was his superior. She needed to be confident for both of them. With no ransom being allowed, she was glad she’d decided on a fake name. She and Axio might have to be here a long time. Without knowing who she was, the overseer would expect less of her. She might even be able to get away with sabotaging their operations in some way. Grit in the molten cindersand? Impurities in the fires of the furnace?
She forced herself to focus, formulating a quick plan. First, learn to navigate this place. Second, plan an escape. Third, get the schematics back. Fourth – if escape was impossible – figure out how to fight back.
The overseer studied his papers again. He produced a nub of pencil from behind his ear and looked directly at her. “Name?”
“Teala.” His eyes narrowed, so Thessa added, “Sir.”
“Last name?”
“None, sir. I was an orphan.”
“Rank?”
“Senior apprentice, sir.”
He nodded along with her answers, firing off a number of basic questions about who she was, her role under Master Kastora, and what kind of work she did at the Grent Royal Glassworks. She replied with half-truths and a few outright lies, presenting herself as a lowly cog at her old glassworks, someone who barely saw Master Kastora and rarely spoke to him. By the time Craftsman Magna finished, Thessa felt like she had learned more about him than he had her. She knew his type precisely: an administrator who played at silic knowledge; half competent in an office, uncomfortable in front of the furnace. He was small-minded, probably petty, more concerned about his ledgers than about any of the people under him. She would have to figure out a way to use that.