In the Shadow of Lightning

16

The first twenty-four hours in the Ivory Forest Glassworks left Thessa an exhausted husk. She plowed through it, working late into the night, catching a few hours of sleep in the dormitory she shared with twenty other prisoners, and then got up early enough to watch the assistants light the reheating chambers in the morning. She worked through the midday meal to catch up on the previous day’s quota, finishing both her own work and Axio’s, only to immediately start on the current day.

She daydreamed about the phoenix channel as she worked. Her time in the back of that wagon had allowed her to grasp the project pretty well, and she bounced ideas off herself to keep her mind occupied. That cannon-like sorcery converter floated in her head, turning this way and that, allowing her to imagine every aspect – and the small changes she’d need to make to improve it.

If the other prisoners noticed that she was covering for Axio, they said nothing. In fact, Thessa was left almost completely unsupervised. The quotas were given, the prisoners worked to fill them, and that was it. No interference by the guards or the other prisoners. Barely anything but a nod from the hired assistants and laborers. It was as if Thessa – and the other siliceers working the furnaces – was nothing but a machine to be occasionally greased and otherwise ignored.

It was dehumanizing. Humiliating. Thessa let those two words repeat over and over again in the back of her head, fueling her work with her fury. They wouldn’t break her. She wouldn’t allow it. She would use their dehumanizing tactics against them to plan her escape and, if there was any chance at all, she would find justice for both herself and the others forced to work here.

Axio did not learn quickly – nobody became a practicing siliceer overnight – but he helped her gather information. He was a second pair of eyes and ears, making mental notes of guard positions, work rotations, sympathetic laborers, and even the other prisoners. They spoke in hushed tones, exchanging information, and Thessa cast it all to memory as she worked to fill both their trays with godglass.

Heat, pinch, snip, shape, listen, repeat.

Heat, pinch, snip, shape, listen, repeat.

She fell into a trance, transferring tools between hands and the workbench with speed and efficiency. Heat, pinch, snip, shape, listen, repeat. She was deep in her own thoughts when they were interrupted by an older woman with gray-black hair and a limp standing immediately next to Thessa’s workstation. Thessa jumped, catching her breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

The woman was one of the other prisoners. None seemed interested in sharing their names, so Thessa had labeled them with the numbers of their workstations. She herself was Nine. This older woman was Three. Three didn’t meet her eye, instead staring straight at the floor as she mumbled apologetically, “You’re working too much.”

“Excuse me?”

“If you continue to work as much as you do, you’ll get glassrot. Take breaks when everyone else does.”

Thessa inhaled sharply, realized the mistake she’d made. One of her greatest advantages in a glassworks was her sorcery aphasia. Most siliceers needed to be judicious about the time they spent working, but not her, and she’d used it to her advantage to catch up on the quotas. It hadn’t even occurred to her that other people would notice.

She pretended to scratch at some nonexistent glassrot on her forearm, trying to be nonchalant. “You’re right, I should. Thanks for the warning.”

The woman shuffled back to her workstation without another word. If anyone else had taken note of their conversation, Thessa could not tell. She glanced back at Axio, who continued to go through the motions, making forgeglass pieces that had no resonance. Periodically Thessa would remove them from his tray, replace them with her own, then melt his down in her own crucible to be worked again. It was inefficient and wasteful, but the ruse seemed to be working.

A whistle was blown, signaling the top of the hour. The other prisoners immediately began to rack their tools. Some knuckled their backs, others bent over their workstations to weep quietly. Most just trudged outside. Thessa’s nerves had tightened with Three’s warning, and she knew she had to take that advice before someone else noticed her lack of glassrot. It would slow her down but it couldn’t be helped.

She and Axio left their stations and stepped out into the courtyard, where dozens of prisoners from several different furnace rooms were taking their break. The air was thick with smoke from the belching furnaces, the light dim from the setting sun, but it did feel nice to be out of the heat.

Thessa sank to the ground just outside, rolling her shoulders, swearing to herself softly. Axio came to sit next to her, his head raised, looking at the guards up on the walls. She should be doing the same, she knew, but she needed this breather. Let him do the reconnaissance. Had it been only a day in this place? It felt like weeks. She couldn’t help but wonder how long some of these prisoners had been here. Months? Years? How did they keep going every day?

Muted conversations filled the courtyard, and some of the woodsmoke was mixed with the scent of cigarettes begged from guards or laborers. Only two people had books, and they held them protectively whenever someone walked by. There were no newspapers or entertainment. She thought she heard someone mention a weekend cudgeling match between guards.

Dehumanizing. The word rolled on her tongue as if she were about to spit it at a tribunal. Was this what all prisons were like? Did anyone deserve this? Thessa didn’t even know if her fellow siliceers were thieves or murderers, or if they’d just had the same bad luck to be on the wrong end of an Ossan war.

“That side door over there,” Axio whispered, “only has one guard. They use it to bring in firewood. Might make a good exit.”

Thessa glanced in that direction but could immediately see that the double doors were in plain view of everything else in the courtyard. All the guards would have to be blind or distracted – and if that was the case, they might as well use the front gate. “Good eye,” she told him. “Keep watching it – but don’t be obvious.” She gave him a quick, reassuring smile. He nodded back, holding his chin up. Since his breakdown upon their arrival he’d been putting on a good face. Whether it was for her benefit or his own she did not know.

Thessa watched one of the laborers – a young woman, tall and sinewy, probably no more than a few years older than herself, with short-cropped brown hair and light Purnian skin – pushing one of the massive carts of firewood across the uneven cobbles. No one seemed to pay her any mind as she struggled with the load. The left wheel hit a rut between two of the cobbles, and the laborer gave a resigned grunt. She pulled, frowned, then pushed. The cart would not budge.

Minutes passed. The laborer looked at the cart from all angles, tried to rock it out of the rut once more, then walked away. She returned moments later, red-faced, muttering under her breath. By now her predicament had been noticed, and the prisoners watched her struggles surreptitiously. Three of the guards on the walls above gazed down, chuckling to themselves. No one came to help.

The laborer tried to get underneath the stuck wheel, shoving and grunting. Thessa watched with everyone else, bemused at the efforts until the wheel suddenly slipped forward. Thessa had a clear view, wincing in sympathetic pain as the wheel rolled across the next cobble and dropped squarely into another rut, trapping the laborer’s hand underneath it. The laborer inhaled sharply, eyes going wide, her face twisting. She didn’t make a sound but threw her shoulder desperately against the cart, trying to lift it.

Thessa looked around. Everyone had seen what happened. Dozens of prisoners, five or six guards. Many of them laughed openly. Thessa scoffed and got to her feet. “It’s not funny when people get hurt in a glassworks,” she snapped at a nearby chuckling old man, then hurried over to the wood cart. “Axio, help me!” Together, they got beneath the cart and managed to get the wheel out from between the cobbles.

The laborer gasped in pain, clutching her hand to her stomach. She made a low keening noise and turned away when Thessa approached.

“Someone needs to look at that hand now,” Thessa said firmly. “Show it to me.” She ignored the shake of the woman’s head and pulled her arm out so that the injured hand was flat in front of her. It didn’t look bad – some redness around her pointer finger and several deep scuffs. The woman tried to pull away, but Thessa could see the shock still in her eyes. Thessa gently touched the pad at the base of each finger, watching carefully for reactions.

“I’m going to lose my hand,” the laborer whispered.

“What’s your name?” Thessa asked.

“Pari.”

“Pari, you’re not going to lose your hand. It only landed on one finger. It’s broken, but a day with cureglass and it’ll be good as new.”

“I can’t afford a day at a healinghouse.” The laborer trembled in pain, but was clearly trying not to show it. Thessa had met plenty of laborers and assistants like her – people from the types of backgrounds where showing weakness would cost them.

“This is a glassworks. They have cureglass on hand. They’d be fools not to.”

“Not for us laborers, they don’t.”

Thessa searched Pari’s eyes, realizing with surprise that she was telling the truth. There was pain there, but there was also fear and shame. Thessa swore softly. She broke a piece of kindling from the wood cart, then tore the hem of Pari’s tunic into a long strip. “This is a splint,” she said. “It’s rudimentary, and you’ll want to see a doctor for something better, but it’ll get you through the rest of the day. If you keep the finger splinted properly, it should heal in around eight weeks.”

The laborer did not object as Thessa bound the finger. Up on the walls the guards had gotten bored, wandering back to their posts, while the prisoners actively ignored the situation. Thessa sent Axio running to the mess hall for watered wine – one of the few luxuries the prisoners were allowed – and finished the splint.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?” Thessa asked.

“I did,” Pari responded petulantly. “Everyone here is an asshole.”

“I meant once the cart fell on your finger.”

Pari snorted. “You’re new. Haven’t seen your face around.”

“I was brought in yesterday.”

“Grent?”

Thessa nodded, glad to finally get the woman to engage with her.

Pari just snorted again. “Then you should know about the Magna.”

“I’ve heard they’re assholes.”

“You don’t show weakness in front of a Magna,” Pari replied.

Just as Thessa had suspected. “You’re not a client?”

The laborer lifted her other hand to show the nail of her pinkie finger. It was unpainted. “I’m not going to sell my soul to the Magna, but I will work for them when money’s tight.” The moment Thessa let go of her hand, she pulled it back as if she’d been burned.

“You’re welcome,” Thessa said.

Pari said nothing. She got behind her wood cart, studying the cobbles carefully before awkwardly leveraging it up on her shoulder and pushing it recklessly across the courtyard. The gamble succeeded, and the last Thessa saw was her disappearing around the corner.

Thessa sighed and looked around. Axio had yet to return – probably arguing with a cook over taking wine out of the mess hall – and the rest of the prisoners seemed to want even less to do with her now. She walked back into the furnace room and around to workstation nine, looking across the subpar tools and the low-quality molten cindersand crucible. She swore again. She didn’t deserve this. She’d put in her licks – lost her family, spent years as an apprentice, worked herself to the bone. She was not a damned criminal.

“Hey, blue eyes,” a voice said.

Thessa turned to find that one of the other prisoners had followed her in. He was about her height, probably in his early thirties, with broad shoulders and plenty of scars from working the furnaces. She’d already dubbed him Six based on his station number. “What do you want, brown eyes?” she asked.

“You’re a soft one, aren’t you?” he asked, sidling over beside her. “Helping one of the hired pricks. Sneaking godglass in to fill out your friend’s quota.”

Thessa felt her eyes narrow. She wasn’t even surprised or afraid. She didn’t have those qualities left anymore, and all that fury and indignation that drove her had reached a peak. “Walk away and forget what you’re about to say,” she told him.

“No, no. You’re going to fill in for me, too. I’ve earned a break and you’re going to give it to me, or I’ll tell Craftsman Magna that your friend can’t make godglass. He’ll get sent straight to the lumber camps, and I bet he’ll get chewed up like a two-penny–”

Master Kastora always said that a siliceer could show their authority by earning respect, or earning fear. The latter had no place in his glassworks, but Thessa had spent the last twenty-four hours seeing firsthand how effective it could be. She didn’t let Six finish his sentence. The fool had pushed her past her limits. She grabbed the heavy shears off her workbench and slammed them across his cheek, then readjusted her grip to press the sharp end against his collarbone.

He grunted at the blow, swore twice, then gave out a squeal at the feel of the steel on his skin. She forced him back against the next workbench. “Do not mistake my compassion for weakness,” she hissed. “If you whisper a word to Craftsman Magna – if my friend gets flogged or pushed around or sent away because of your loose lips – you will have an accident. You might lose an eye, or a hand, or get locked in a furnace when no one can hear your screams.” She could barely believe the words coming out of her own mouth. They didn’t sound like her, but she continued. “Test me, and you will lose bits of you. That’s a promise. Get it?”

Six nodded carefully, his eyes wide. Thessa jerked her head and stepped back, letting him flee. The moment he was out of the furnace room she felt her knees buckle and had to lean on her workbench for support. Was this going to get worse? Was this what she had to become to survive in here? In Ossa? She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the cool steel plate on the workbench.

“Well that was unexpected.”

Thessa jerked around, the shears still in her hand coming up like a weapon. Pari, the laborer she’d just helped with the wood cart, stood just inside a service entrance. Thessa lowered the shears. “What do you want?” she demanded. The stress inside her was starting to wear through, and for the first time in her life she seriously considered whether she could kill someone in a rage.

The laborer raised her hands, palms out, wincing at the gesture. “I came to say thank you. Had to calm down a little before I did. I’m not going to owe a prisoner a favor, so I’m putting it out once: if there’s anything you need, tell me right now.”

Thessa blinked back at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Something smuggled inside,” Pari explained impatiently. “Some cigars, some spending cash. I can’t do much, but I can get you a little luxury. Then we’re square, right? But you have to tell me now. No favors in the future.”

Thessa glanced around in bewilderment, her mind spinning. “Can you get a message out for me? To someone who might pay my ransom?”

“That’s not going to work,” Pari said, shaking her head. “Too risky for me, and even if I did, no ransoms will be allowed until after the war ends. That’s policy all the way from the top of the government, and even Craftsman Magna won’t break that rule.”

“Then…” Thessa tried to think of something – anything – that would help her escape. It was clear this favor had pretty strict limits. Pari wasn’t going to risk getting killed by Magna enforcers just to help someone who lifted a cart off her. Thessa grimaced. Could she take a greater risk? Did she have a choice? “Craftsman Magna took something important from me. Where would he keep it?”

The laborer raised both eyebrows. “You really are a daring one. I guess it’s cheap information.” She considered this for a moment before nodding to herself. “If it’s a personal effect, one of the guards already pawned it. If it was something more valuable, then it’s in his office somewhere.”

“Really?” Thessa asked. Could it be that close by?

“Yeah. He keeps anything he values here in the compound so his addict brothers don’t steal it.”

“Is his office guarded?”

Pari just shook her head. “I do not suggest doing whatever it is you’re thinking about. The moment they catch you … well, the lumber camps will look pleasant. Don’t try to seduce him either. It’s been tried before and it just annoys him.”

Thessa pulled a face that elicited a laugh from the laborer. “I will not try that.”

“Then we’re square here, right?” Pari said, turning toward the service entrance. “No favors, no nuthin’.”

Thessa took half a step toward her. “Is there anything else you can tell me about the prison offices?”

The laborer hesitated. “Look, I shouldn’t have even…” She sighed. “Piss, I guess I’m heading back into Ossa tonight anyway. Can’t haul wood with this. Need a new job.” She held up her splinted finger, wincing at the motion. “Fine. The offices are rarely locked. The two enforcers on normal guard duty are always there, but they’re sleeping together and I can’t think of the last time they paid attention to anything.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “One other thing: Craftsman Magna is religious. He’s a vehement Rennite. Good luck with whatever it is you’re doing.” Gesturing goodbye, Pari slipped out the service entrance.

Thessa barely noticed her leaving. She was thinking now, planning. That bit about Craftsman Magna being religious might be the key to this whole thing. She knew where the schematics were now. She had to get them out. Maybe even cause the distraction she needed in the process.