“Go away, girl. There’s nothing more to say.” The man turned his back on her again.
Florence couldn’t help herself; she shot one nasty face at his ugly salted hair before storming out of the armory. The guild continued on around her. Initiates worked on magic, reagents, pharmaceuticals, and a half dozen other things with all the help and support of a guild behind them. Florence was the only one adrift.
She slunk back to her tiny laboratory with her tail between her legs in the hope of licking her wounds in relative peace. She had only about twenty minutes of quiet before her door opened for two Alchemists. Nora and Derek helped themselves into her space, crowding around her table without invitation.
“You weren’t at dinner.” Derek dropped a plate before her.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Do you know how quickly your body will go into starvation mode if you don’t eat?” Nora leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “The second it does, it starts breaking down your muscle for energy because it’s the densest source in your body. It also destroys your ability to process—”
“I get it. I get it.” Florence hooked the plate and pulled it toward her. She was hungry, she just didn’t want to be around people. But it seemed she had an audience despite her efforts. And, if she was going to be miserable either way, she may as well be miserable and full.
“What has you so upset?” Derek asked after she tucked in.
Florence offered them both a quick summary of her encounter with the armory master.
Derek leaned back and folded his arms, listening thoughtfully. Nora hummed and nodded along, picking off the vegetables that were too bland for Florence’s taste. The other girl was the first one to speak when Florence finished her tale.
“He has a point.”
“As do I.” Florence frowned.
“His is more valid,” Nora insisted. “You haven’t done much here.”
“I’m working on making long-term change.”
“At least by blowing up trees in the forest,” Derek added dryly, earning him a sharp look. He remained unapologetic.
“You two go through reagents like water. And I’ve seen how quickly chemicals disappear when you’re working on something new.”
“But we’re Alchemists. This is our home, our guild,” Nora reminded her, as though she could’ve somehow forgotten. “It isn’t the place for you to run your… whatever tests you run. You should go home for that.”
Florence rolled a canister across the desk as Nora spoke. If she hit it too hard it would blow up the three of them. Though she neglected to mention that fact about the “tests” she ran. “I thought the resistance believed in the old ways of Loom? The notion that men and women should choose to study what they please. That there’s more to be learned from working together than apart?”
“We do. But if our resistance falls, it doesn’t matter what we believe.”
Florence bristled at the implication: the idea that she would do something to contribute to the fall of the resistance, rather than its success. She kept her face emotionless as Ari would have. Or tried to.
“Why don’t you just focus on something that will actually help us? Like trying to pin down those friends of yours who can get guns and clockwork through Ter.4?” No matter how many times Florence reminded her, Nora never seemed to fully grasp that she wasn’t a Raven at heart despite what was on her cheek. And that getting in touch with Helen and Will was harder than turning steel into gold for someone who didn’t understand all the tunnels and transport systems.
“I am trying to actually help you.” Florence’s plate was empty and she greatly missed the forced breaks in the conversation that came from eating. “But I need more gold and more explosives to do that.”
“And I’m telling you that you’re not going to be getting any more.”
“Have you tried speaking with the Vicar about these matters?” Derek stopped Florence mid-breath. Which was likely for the best, as her patience with Nora was running thin.
“No… Do you think I should?” Florence hadn’t properly been in a guild for nearly three years. Additionally, she’d just been an initiate in the Ravens and it had been made clear to her then that appealing to the higher powers simply wasn’t done. The Vicar Raven always had the Dragon adviser at his side, and Florence had always heard he was strict about adhering to certain expectations about hierarchy.
But Florence had never seen a Dragon in the Alchemists’ Guild, not counting Cvareh or corpses.
“You could try pleading your case.” Derek shrugged.
Florence regarded him skeptically, wondering if he was trying to get her into a worse spot by bringing up her losses with the Vicar.
“Or don’t.” He stood. “It’s your choice. But your options seem to be growing thinner.”
Derek held out a hand to Nora, which she took. He helped her to her feet, lacing his fingers against hers. The two left Florence alone to her thoughts.
She knew better than to pick up any of her remaining chemicals or powders. When her mind was so wild, she’d only produce greater mistakes. That stress had certainly not been helpful over the past few weeks, when her failures were the only thing keeping her ledgers company.
Florence flipped through her notes, wondering what the Revolver had seen in them. He was a journeyman of the Revos, his tattoo completely filled. He had years of practice ahead of her, and was willing to impart none of it.
She snapped the book shut.
Loom was like a mirror that had been cracked by the Dragons’ first descent. Spider-web fractures stretched across its surface, turning a single image into smaller pieces. They were all parts of one whole that fit together, but no longer joined cleanly at the seams. For one dark moment, she wondered if it was a wound that could ever be healed. By what magic could Loom be put back together into a single, flawless piece?
And then Florence made her way to the Vicar Alchemist. She wasn’t one to sit in place contentedly. Ari had taught her better than that. Even now, from above the clouds, the woman known as the White Wraith challenged Florence to be better, do more.
She received a few curious stares as she boarded the elevator that went directly to the Vicar’s laboratory, but no one stopped her. It seemed to be an accepted practice in the Alchemists that there were times when one needed to speak to the Vicar. At least, that was what Florence hoped. If not, everyone was about to have a good laugh at her expense.
“Enter,” a voice called from behind a door emblazoned with the symbol of the Master Alchemist, following Florence’s knock.
Florence entered, her heart in her throat. Sophie, the Vicar Alchemist, straightened away from her work table. She pulled the refined goggles off her eyes to get a better look at her visitor.
“I wasn’t expecting a little crow.”
“Little bullet would be more appropriate,” Florence corrected tiredly. Sophie arched her eyebrows in surprise and Florence added, carefully, “Just a suggestion…”