The Alchemy of Stone - By Ekaterina Sedia Page 0,84

into the gap. They lifted the thin slab of stone, with grass still clinging to it, and Mattie felt the wet, dark exhale of the shaft mouth, with its familiar scent of stale air and deep underground wet and warm stone.

“Will you come?” she asked the gargoyles.

They shook their heads in unison. “We must go now, but we will see you again.”

Mattie descended underground, not looking back. There was no point in watching the luminous, winged figures soar over the still-beautiful city when one was about to descend into a dark place.

Her new eye could not see in the darkness, and she kept one hand on the wall of the tunnel, feeling her way with one foot. Her progress was slow and laborious, and Mattie worried that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere and was now heading down an abandoned dead end, where she would never be discovered, and would be unable to find her way back. She took mental notes of the bumps on the wall, of any distinguishing features she felt on the ground—an abandoned axe handle, a bundle of rags.

When Mattie saw a weak glint on the walls of the tunnel, she did not dare to believe that she was nearing the end of her journey. It could be the faulty eye or some underground fluorescent life; it could be anything. She did not let the hope take hold until the glint became a steady glimmer, an inviting white dot of light with thin rays radiating from it, and the stale, warm breath of the tunnel brought with it smells of burning lamp oil and sounds of human voices.

She emerged into the light and space with the walls receding at a distance, so suddenly large and free, and she cried out in relief and anguish. Her eye took a long time adjusting to light in the cave, and people around her appeared as blurs. They asked her questions, but their words all buzzed together, like the sound of flies that now swarmed in the streets, and instead she spoke. She told them about the enforcers who went down the other tunnel. She told them that the mechanics knew.

She felt arms wrapping around her, and for a moment she thought that they belonged to the gargoyles, that somehow the transformed creatures had found her in the darkest underground. She squinted and recognized Niobe’s face close to her, with Iolanda just behind. Both women looked changed—their features had grown gaunter, sharper, and their eyes seemed more knowing than before.

“Loharri,” Mattie said to Iolanda. “He knows about the tunnels, and he knows about you and the other courtiers. Don’t let him get to you, don’t let him take your spell away.”

Iolanda shook her head. “Don’t worry about that now, Mattie. What happened to you?”

Mattie’s legs wobbled.

“We need a mechanic here,” Niobe shouted into the interior of the cave. “This woman is ill.”

It was nice to be attended to, Mattie thought. Niobe and Iolanda made a fuss, insisting that she sit down by the wall, on a stack of empty crates. Everything in the cave seemed scavenged from the surface, and the smell of mold and rotten fruit clung to the crates as Mattie sank into them.

“What happened to you?” Niobe asked. And added, in a small whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Mattie told her—she told her about how worried she was, wandering through the burning district; she told her about the assault and Loharri’s betrayal, about the death of the Soul-Smoker and the gargoyles’ transformation.

“That was very clever of you,” Niobe interrupted her story. “I’m glad that you’ve succeeded.”

“Thank you for your aid,” Mattie said. “The things you taught me were beneficial.”

Niobe nodded. “I have to say the same to you. I’ve been caring for the wounded, and I couldn’t have done it without the knowledge of plants. Thank you for teaching me.”

“I hope we will be able to teach each other again soon,” Mattie said. She felt vulnerable now, and clung to the warmth in Niobe’s voice despite her earlier resolutions. “It is so much nicer than . . . this.” Her arm traced an arc in the air.

Niobe smiled at her vague gesture. “Indeed,” she said. “I think everyone is eager for the fighting to end. But I suppose it will be different.”

“They will always need alchemists,” Mattie said. “As long as people get hurt they’ll need us.”

Iolanda listened to their conversation with the impatient expression which she seemed to acquire whenever she was not talking. “This is all well