They split off and began searching, though Nikha wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for. A hidden lockbox? A false bottom to a drawer? She sifted through the coals in the bottom of the forge, pulled the drawers out of the filing cabinets, scoured lockers full of raw material. Soon she’d gone over her whole half of the room and found nothing- so she went over it again even faster. Then she thought there was perhaps a trapdoor, so she began dragging tables aside and stomping on the floor, listening for hollow spots. Still no luck. She was not the most patient person in the world under good circumstances, and these circumstances were not. Growling with frustration, she stalked over to Kemp.

“I hope you’ve found something, because I haven’t. Why are you only halfway down your side?”

Kemp extricated himself from under a table and gave her a frank look. “Because I’m actually looking, Nikha. It takes time.”

She crossed her arms and glared at him through narrowed eyes. “I looked at everything I possibly could have. It might be that some people just work faster than others.” She leaned back a little and closed her eyes. That ought to show him-

“Alright, then, why don’t we switch?” Kemp said. She cracked one eye and glanced down at him. “Since you’re so fast, you can finish this side, and I’ll go double check yours. Deal?”

“Sure,” she said warily. She got down to look at whatever he’d been checking under the table and called over her shoulder. “You aren’t going to find anything, you kn-“

“Nikha, look at this!”

She couldn’t help muttering a dirty word under her breath as she got up and went to see what Kemp was talking about. He was over by the little forge in the corner.

“Look at these marks on the floor. See?” He indicated the brick just in front of the forge. It was rather dirty with soot and cinders, and she saw what he meant immediately: a pattern of straight scratches leading under the forge. How in the Blazes did I miss those? She was embarrassed, and annoyed, and more annoyed because she could only blame herself for it.

“It looks like it can slide or something,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t make fun of her.

He didn’t. “That’s what I thought. There’s got to be a catch or something somewhere. What’s this valve do?” He turned a small dial at the forge’s base, and air began to blow across the ash left inside.

“Power blower,” Nikha said. “It’s so you don’t have to pump bellows.”

Kemp’s mouth fell open, and he stared as if at a work of art. “Holy Martyrs bless…” He shook his head. “Okay. As great as that is, that’s not it.”

They went over the forge with a fine-toothed comb, and this time it was Nikha who hit the jackpot. She fished a finger between the structure and the wall, and almost by chance flipped a tiny lever. The forge popped up and out a little bit.

“That did it!” said Kemp. “Watch out.” He gave it a pull, and the whole brick and ceramic structure slid away from the wall as if on oiled rails, silent but for where it scraped the spilled coals. Nikha eagerly looked behind it, and saw the blued-steel door of a safe. It was a type she hadn’t seen before, with the digits one through nine laid out in a row on ivory keys.

“That’s not good,” Kemp muttered, but Nikha was already thinking, staring at the door with a pensive frown on her face. If it was anything like a dial safe, it was probably a three-digit combination…her father’s initials, turned to numbers by alphabet sequence? No. Seems too obvious…His unit in the army had been the First Kheritsyn Hussars, so no dice there. Then she remembered some of the music recordings she’d found with the Dictavox and had an idea.

“Oh, you know the combination?”

Nikha didn’t answer immediately, focused on punching in numbers. “One…five…four.” There was a tiny click, and with a bit of trepidation she threw the lever-and it moved! The thick door opened on glass-smooth hinges.

“Lucky guess,” Nikha finally said. “154’s the opus number of his favorite piece of music. The Pale Morning Fugue by Suvurova, if you’re curious.”

Kemp shook his head. “We’re lucky you know him. I couldn’t even tell you what ‘opus’ means.”

“It’s just the hundred-fifty-fourth piece that she-Oh.” Nikha was struck silent by the contents of the safe. First of all, there were several stacks of gold and silver bullion. On top of them was an old-looking gold ring topped by an emerald the size of her thumb. What really caught her notice were the photographs. Only two, both agnotypes sealed between plates of glass. The one on top was of her father next to two other men, all smiling. They stood in front of three barded horses, wearing armor and full kit. A picture from the war. She’d never known Papa had any.

The one beneath it was even more shocking. It showed a younger Papa seated next to a woman, tall and pale and beautiful. Nikha’s mother, with whom she had never had a real conversation, with whom she rarely even visited due to her sickness. In this photo her face was lit up with joy, rather than drawn and still. She cradled a small bundle in her arms. An infant. Me. Mama had come down sick soon after Nikha’s birth. Then Papa moved them from the city of Kheritsyn to his family estate at Eldergrave, in order to give Mama peace and isolation. Nikha wondered how she would have grown up if none of it had happened. I’d have less use for a rifle in the city, that’s for sure.

Behind the photographs was what they were looking for. The detector was a sheet metal box with a wooden handle screwed to one side. On its face were a compass-like dial and two knobs, and slotted into the bottom was a cell of odd-looking phlogiston, sickly gold rather than bright blue. “This must be it, Kemp.” She passed it back to him-and noticed one more thing in the safe: A locket, attached to a fine silver chain. One she’d seen Papa wearing sometimes, in fact. With careful, nervous hands, she popped it open. On one face was a tiny agnotype of Mama, on the other one of her. She remembered sitting for that picture; she’d had a scrape on her cheek that the photographer had to cover with makeup. The full-size plate hung on a wall with other family pictures; Nikha hadn’t known Papa had bought this miniature reproduction.

Suddenly it was too much. She shut the locket and clenched her fist around it as hard as she could to keep from crying. She had to find him, had to. She refused to let their family be torn apart. She took a shuddering breath, sighed it out, slid the necklace into a pocket on her belt and stood.

“I think I’ve got this thing figured out,” said Kemp without looking up from the pathfinder. “This knob on the left turns it on, and then the needle points a certain way, like a compass.” Nikha watched over his shoulder as he turned back and forth. The needle stayed pointed a bit left of the door.

“What about the other knob?”

“I guess sensitivity is the best word for it. Watch.” He twisted the knob and did the same thing. This time, as soon as he turned even a little away from the indicated direction the needle went wild.

“I see. Good job, Kemp.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “For someone who’s never seen phlogistech before, you picked that up very quickly.”

“Oh. Why, thank you, Nikha!” He smiled at her, and she crossed her arms and returned it.

“My father told me that a well-placed compliment can greatly improve the morale of one’s subordinates. I’m glad it worked!” His smile disappeared and she quickly put up her hands. “N-not that anyone’s the subordinate here. Even if technically-“ He gave her a hard look and she deflated. “Okay. No-one is the subordinate, period. Good?”

“Good,” he said gravely-then snickered.

“Oh, come on!” Nikha protested. “I thought I’d actually offended you, you-“

“But you did! I am wounded, Nikha!” Kemp laid his free hand across his forehead and feigned a swoon. “This gentle heart of mine shall be scarred forevermore…”

“I’ll scar you further if you aren’t careful with that thing,” scolded Nikha as she tried not to laugh.

He abruptly dropped his act. “You’re letting me hold onto it?”

“Letting you?” She gave Kemp a haughty little glance. “I just told you I’m not in charge. Besides, I need two hands free.” She patted the stock of her rifle.

“Of-of course. It’s just, you can be a little…forceful, sometimes. I’ll treat it soft as a kitten, then.” Glancing down at the device, he turned it off and frowned. “Suppose I shouldn’t waste fuel. How come this is yellow instead of blue, anyway?” he said, giving the phlogiston chamber a tap with his fingernail.

Nikha could only shrug. “No clue. I’ve never seen any like it either-which means we should assume we won’t be able to get any more. Saving power is a good idea.” The cell had already been down to two-thirds charge when she found it. Hopefully it would be enough. “And speaking of being forceful, Mister Ysantov”-Kemp winced-“I am going to change those bandages if I have to hold you at gunpoint.”

His eyes darted between her and the rifle, and he sat down with a sigh.

——

“That should do it,” said Nikha, giving her work an appraising look. “All clean.” She’d removed the dressings soiled by Kemp’s tumble into the swamp, cleaned the wounds, and replaced them. Kemp kept up his end of the bargain by complaining, but he’d also pointed out the tin first-aid box he’d found while looking for the pathfinder. She now had more medical supplies than she’d started out with. Ideally they would go unused, but prior experience told her not to hope too hard.

Kemp slid his shirt back on and stood, groaning. “Now that you’re done scrubbing me like a floor, can we- oh, are those photographs?” He’d just noticed there was more inside the safe.

“Um, yes.” Nikha had the sudden desire to tell him they were hers, that he couldn’t look at them, but that was irrational. “Do you want to see them?” They needed to keep moving, of course, but this journey had already been a long one and didn’t seem likely to end soon. A minute or two wouldn’t matter.

“Blazes, yes! I’ve only ever seen a drawing of one.” She passed him the two sealed plates. “How ridiculous is that, a drawing of a photo-wow. Unbelievable…” He stared at the pictures with undisguised wonder. Nikha didn’t blame him. She’d had a similar reaction the first time she’d seen an argotype, the image ghostly and almost three-dimensional on its silver plate.

“So this is your pa…” Kemp was muttering. “And this is your pa, your ma, and…you?” She nodded tightly. He admired them a few seconds longer, then handed them back. “Sorry. I know we need to move, but I-“

“It’s fine. I’d want to see too if I’d never had the chance before.” Kemp gave her a smile as thanks, and they left the workshop behind them.

They made it back to the fork without incident, though Nikha thought she noticed a few of the solid gaps in the brick that hadn’t been there before. At the intersection, Kemp halted them a moment. “Just want to try this quick.” He turned on the pathfinder, fiddled with the gain, and turned side to side. Sure enough, the needle pointed down the way they hadn’t yet explored. He powered down the device and nodded to her. “Easy enough.”

Except for turns, missing bricks, and a few protruding water pipes, the corridor was featureless. Nikha found it was having the same effect on her as trying to read an exceptionally boring book and skimming the same line over and over. She could hardly tell if they’d gone twenty feet or half a mile.

“So your father’s a soldier?” Kemp’s question brought her out of her fugue.

“He was. A hussar, in fact.”

“Oh, a horseman! So what happened? If, um, you don’t mind,” he finished nervously.”

Nikha stood up straight. Papa was a war hero, and she couldn’t help being proud even if she herself had had nothing to do with it. “He led the charge that broke the Cymdwish line at Timofeyegrad. He-“

“Wait, Tsev fought a war with Cymdwyth? When was that?”

Nikha couldn’t help shaking her head. “My, you really miss a lot out on the steppe, don’t you? It was twenty years ago. Or maybe twenty-five. Something like that.” Kemp had a thoughtful look on his face, but seemed to be done interrupting. “As I was saying, Pa- my father led the charge. He put his lance through their colonel and shot another officer dead. But then a cannonball hit his horse and it fell on him. It broke his leg.”

Kemp’s eyes were wide. “So what happened then?”

“Well, we won the battle. Father caught a fever in the hospital but he beat it, and then they gave him a medal and sent him home. He says he’d rather have his leg than the medal, though.” She wasn’t sure why she’d added that last part, but Papa always said it and it had just slipped out.

“Wait, they had to cut his leg off? That’s-“

“No, no, no. The break healed, but…not right. He had to walk with a cane. And if you have a bad leg you can’t ride a horse or fight, so they mustered him out. And then our generals were stupid, and the Cymdwish got lucky, and even though we won Papa’s battle we lost the war and had to give Kobrolia to Cymdwyth. That was after my father was done with the army, though.”

“Wow. I guess things do just pass us by in Afansk.” He paused, seeming to marshal his thoughts. “It seems funny that I could be living my life, and the whole time people I’ve never met are fighting over a place I’ve never heard of.”

Nikha considered that a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose. That’s just how war works, though.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, Kemp stumbling over a missing brick. “So if he’s not a soldier, what’s your da do now? Some kind of arithmetic, you said?”

“What- oh.” He’d confused her for a moment, there. “Being a polymath doesn’t mean he does math-though he does seem to do plenty of it anyway. It means he’s skilled in multiple fields.” She began counting on her fingers. “He built his own leg brace, and now he doesn’t need a cane. He mixed up a special paint for the arc-lights so they shine brighter and less blue. He modified our steam engines so they use less fuel, and our traction engine so it pulls more-“

“I mean, what does he do for work? He got paid for being a soldier, right? So how does he make money now?”

Nikha frowned. It was a confusing question. Papa was a noble, and nobles kind of just had money, didn’t they? “Wwwwell, he has money from his parents, and some money from my mother’s parents, and he gets the land tax from our peasants…” Kemp looked confused. “Because it’s actually our land they’re farming, you see. It’s like paying rent.”

Now it was Kemp’s turn to frown. “Why don’t they buy the land instead of renting it?”

“I suppose because we aren’t selling, at least for a price they can afford…”

“Or just go somewhere else?”

“They’d only have fees to pay there, too. All the good land is the property of one noble or another, of course. Except way out on the steppe like where you’re from.”

“Mmm…” Kemp still looked thoughtful, but remained silent for a while. The hallway began to slope upward in a wide spiral. Nikha didn’t like it at all. She couldn’t see far enough ahead and the acoustics were strange. The sound of her boots clattered up and down the hall, echoes indistinguishable from the originals. She subconsciously leaned forward, eyes squinted and mouth a grim line. She went for her gun and realized she’d already pulled it into her hands.

“What about your ma?” Nikha jumped and had her gun cocked before realizing it was just Kemp. He saw her standing there with gun in hand, hunkered down all low and shifty-eyed, and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You sca- surprised me. That’s all.” She stood up straight, shaking her head and lowering the rifle’s hammer.

“Ah. Good. Sorry.” He paused awkwardly. “And, um, sorry for asking if you don’t want to-“

“My mother is sick,” she said, tone flat. “She stays in bed. That’s all.”

“O-of course. Right.” Kemp cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”

In the past several hours, Nikha had fired more than a box’s worth of high-powered rifle ammunition in very enclosed spaces and would be lucky to hear an elephant coming before it trampled her. She shook her head no.

“It’s a…kind of a banging sound. Almost like beating something on an anvil, but I shouldn’t be able to hear it from so far away.”

Nikha shrugged. “Only one way to find out what it is.” Eager to leave the subject of Mama behind her, she tramped forward up the slope with Kemp trailing warily in her wake.