Suli adjusted her breather, coughing at the acrid scent of smoke. “Drake’s breath, if the Princes are gonna make us take shifts in the Nursery, they could at least make sure our equipment works.”
Derk grunted, heaving a load of coal into the nearest furnace. He wiped his face on a grimy sleeve, accomplishing little more than depositing an extra layer of black on his forehead. “Almost hatching season, it is,” he observed. “Wouldn’t wanna offend the Guardians for the sake of us lowly stokers.”
“As if the beasts needed all that much minding. Seems to me they destroy castle property just fine all by themselves.” Suli sniffed and immediately coughed again. She slammed the furnace door unnecessarily hard, creating a mournful toll that shivered dust onto their heads from the low stone ceiling.
Derk stopped short, peering into the darkness beyond the flickering bulblight. “Hey, did you hear that?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, control myself or I’ll bring down the tunnels.”
“No, listen.” A muffled scratching grew louder as the ringing of abused metal faded. A faint glow crawled through the gloom, formless until a sudden burst of sparks accompanied an unmistakable hiccup.
“Now how’d you get down here?” Derk mused, inching toward the tiny winged creature still dripping with albumin.
Suli’s hand fell from adjusting her mask yet again, cough forgotten. “No way! Derk, it’s our lucky day!”
She crouched motionless at the parapet, wondering if the army could even see her from the mainland. The scale of this place was almost beyond belief. She could feel the deep warmth of the setting sun on her face, but closed her eyes in determined effort to resist turning towards it. Absolute stillness, she had been warned; the slightest movement could be her undoing.
The Word Worker 