“I best return to Dromán,” announced Seán. “Better they hear this ill news from me than a wave.”

“I better follow up on this fire,” said Borris, standing as he spoke. “Argyll, we’ll need to continue this another time. Apologies for the inconvenience.”

Argyll nodded solemnly without saying a word, his eyes locked on Fionn’s arm.

At least I’m not the only one to notice that. I’m sure there’s another story there too.

“Excuse me, Fionn, is it?” asked Ruairí, rolling the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows. “How was Conleth’s mind before this happened? Had he shown signs of illness before?”

“No,” said Fionn, taking another sip of thainol. “I mean, he was always a little eccentric, but when he stepped out of his room, he seemed like a different person. He… changed.”

“And the words,” asked Ruairí. “You said he wasn’t making sense, but what did he say?”

Fionn closed his eyes. “He said something about chaos. I think he was talking about Simians. Saying they were wrong, or bad, or something.”

“Pah!” said Seán. “That’s not new. He always was a fucking bigot.”

“No. This was different. He also said something about Seletoth. He said that he saw Him.”

“It sounds like he had a Seeing,” said Ruairí, solemnly. He idly fingered the pendant around his neck. “The Lord came to Conleth, and the vision crippled his mind. There are some things living men are not meant to see.”

“Sloth-shit!” cursed Seán. “Don’t be using this man’s death as an excuse to preach about your cult. I wouldn’t care if he saw Lady Meadhbh sucking off the Arch-Canon himself. All that matters is that Conleth is gone, and we must deal with the consequences now.”

“And what do you suggest we do from here, Seán?” asked Borris. “You can’t just fly off to Dromán with no notice. The Triad needs you now more than ever.”

“The Academy needs me even more,” said Seán. “I’m not as valuable to you as you think.”

A slight smile crept slowly across Seán’s lips. He stroked his beard, as if deep in thought. “You know,” he began. “Back in the early days of the Academy, students reserved the right to challenge any master to a duel, taking the title from them if they won. Few were actually foolish enough to request a duel, and none were ever successful….”

“For the love of Sin,” swore Borris. “Are you suggesting we make this lad a Firemaster because he defeated Conleth? Don’t be absurd!”

“It’s a decision only the Academy can make,” said Seán. “Fionn, if you take my place here while I’m gone, I’ll pull a few strings down in Dromán. Next time we meet, I may be calling you Firemaster.”

“Oh…” said Fionn. “I don’t think I can. I don’t know anything about politics.”

“That never stopped Seán,” said Borris. “We’ll call it a temporary solution. Now, I must meet with the city guard. I sure as Sin hope they have this fire under control.”

“I’ll make my preparations to leave tonight,” said Seán. “Fionn, come with me. I’ll show you your chambers and fill you in with what you need to know.”

“Thank you,” mumbled Fionn. Farris almost felt sorry for the lad. The Triad hadn’t exactly left him with a choice.

Ruairí and the Silverback both stood together. Argyll went to leave without saying a word, but Ruairí crouched down beside Fionn, and whispered something into his ear. Fionn nodded after a moment, then Ruairí followed the Silverback out into the hallway.

Another waste of a day, thought Farris, about to follow the two out. What will they have me observe next?

“Excuse me,” said Fionn, just as Farris stood to leave. “Have we met before? Is your name Chester?”

Sorrow panged in Farris’s heart. What was he to do? Humans often confused Simians with one another, but if Fionn was working with the Triad, surely their paths would be crossing again and again….

“Yes,” he said, eventually. “But I don’t go by that name anymore. Call me Farris.”

A slight smile flashed past Fionn’s lips. “I was told another Simian survived the attack. I knew you were still alive.”

“Ah. I can’t say I believed the same of you. The old healer in Roseán said that there was little hope you’d survive.”

“That was true,” said Fionn, the joy leaving his voice. “But things have changed since then. A great many things have changed since then.”

Chapter 15:

What Has Already Been Sown

To those it concerns most,

It is complete. Arrive at midnight.

N

***

Farris clutched the tiny parchment in his fist, not caring if he obscured its ink. Although barely a dozen words long, Farris had read through the message near a hundred times by the time he reached Nicole’s workshop deep in the Steamworks.

Darkness had long since fallen, with dawn further off still. With the factories and mills closed and their labourers retired for the evening, the silence of the night was as thick as the smoggy sky of the day. Still, Farris caught the occasional glimpse of lingering steam in the corners of his vision as he went, though he paid little attention to them.

Surely, I’m not the only one she summoned, he thought, recalling the opening words of the letter. ‘To those it concerns most,’ it said, emphasising the plural. But nothing other than the spectral, smoky remnants the day’s work accompanied the lone Simian through the murky streets.

Eventually, the familiar hangar came into view, its colossal stature even more foreboding than usual in the dark. A chill ran down Farris’s spine, tingling each vertebra. A more superstitious person would have hesitated on that alone, but Farris pressed on, thinking only of the words presently being smudged in his clammy hands.

They’ve finished it. Whatever it is, they’ve finished it.

The pedestrian door to the hangar was slightly ajar. However, the gap could have been as wide as the Eternal Sea to Farris, who was accustomed to the door being bolted and locked.

She invited those without keys, he realised, slipping his fingers between the door and frame. A slight tug was all it took to give him enough room to slither inside without making a sound. But as he moved to return the door to its initial position, a rough, male voice called out to him.

“Lock it behind you,” it said. “You’re the last one here.”

Farris peered through the dim hangar as he let the door click shut behind him. Several figures stood a fair distance off, huddled around a shapeless silhouette. A sliver of moonlight from a window far overhead caught one of those standing in the dark, accentuating the distinctive grey hair of Argyll the Silverback.

The other shadowy figures resolved themselves as Farris approached. Ruairí stood next to Argyll, his arms crossed over a puffed-out chest.

The rest were Simians whom Farris had never met before. He counted eleven in total, which came a surprise given that they outnumbered those in the Silverback’s inner circle.

‘To those it concerns most.’ Is it possible that these strangers know more about what’s going on here than I do?

Another glance at each of the Simians confirmed that they did not. One of them was a young fellow, glancing this way and that as they waited. Another held his arms behind his back in a stance as patient as a Simian Churchguard, but as forced as one true to his heritage.

They’re all frightened, he realised, noting how a particularly dark-furred Simian idly shifted his weight from leg to leg while another curled his fingers in and out of a fist. None dared to speak out of turn while in the company of the Silverback. His overbearing presence of authority still seemed to manifest even with his face barely visible.

The object which the Simians had all gathered around was even less discernible than their purpose. Where once it seemed like a shapeless mound of steel, now there appeared to be something more solid hidden beneath a draped cloth.