Nikha cocked the Czarp as the door swung on silent hinges. It opened just a few inches, something pale and spidery reaching around it-

A hand, its skin the gray of old linen and bony to the point of emaciation. Its fingers were inhumanly long, extra-jointed, tipped with three-inch nails. The arm it was attached to was just as stretched out and thin, curling back around the door with too many bends. Its proportions were viscerally wrong in a way that put an ill feeling in Nikha’s gut.

It waved at them.

“Cover your ears, Kemp.” Nikha put her sights over it, a disgusted frown on her face.

“Nikha, don’t-“

She pulled the trigger, and the gun’s crack was accompanied by the slam of a door. Nikha reloaded and peered through the thinning smoke. She’d done nothing but put a small, splintery hole in the heavy door. Even as she watched the splinters pulled back together and the hole disappeared. Eyes narrowed, she aimed again and waited. She hated missing shots.

Then Kemp came up beside her. “Don’t. At least see what it is first!”

She looked over at him through slitted eyes, not moving the gun. “It’s a monster, Kemp, and it’s in our way. If it comes out again, I’m going to smoke it.”

“Not to impugn your skills, Nikha, but it just dodged a bullet from about ten feet away. Are you sure you can hit it?”

She gritted her teeth. It was true. She hadn’t even seen the thing move. It was there one moment, then behind the door the moment her gun flashed. And if playing rock-scissors-paper with it or whatever Kemp wanted to try didn’t work, well, she could always shoot it afterward.

She lowered the hammer and sighed. “No, I’m not sure. We’ll see what it has to say, or-you know what I mean.”

“Good,” said Kemp, wiping his brow. “Thank you. Whew.”

“You don’t have to treat me like a dangerous animal, Kemp,” said Nikha, frowning.

“I’m not! Even if you are dangerous-“

The doorknob clicked and they both turned toward it, Nikha keeping her gun at low ready.

The monstrously gaunt hand reemerged. A lefty, she noticed. It extended its freakishly long index finger and waggled it back and forth in an easily interpreted gesture. Naughty, naughty.

She scoffed, disgusted all over again. “Really? Scolding me? You’re the one trespassing, you ugly-“

“What my friend is trying to say,” Kemp broke in, “is that we’d very much like to get by your door and, um, you. Do you think you could let us by? Please?”

The fingers rhythmically tapped the edge of the door, as might a person’s while they thought. The long, cracked nails clicked on the wood like snare-drum rimshots. Then it put itself palm out and waved back and forth. No thanks.

“Well, negotiations have broken down,” said Nikha as she took aim. “Time to-“

Kemp shoved her gun back down. “Is an ounce of patience too much to ask?”

“Don’t ever do that again!” Nikha hissed, practically vibrating with anger.

“Why are you so-Look.”

She did, trying to calm down. She was unsure why she’d gotten so suddenly furious. The hand had switched pantomimes. Now it rubbed its fingers and thumb together with a papery sound.

“It…wants to get paid?” asked Kemp incredulously. “I don’t have any money.” He looked at her expectantly.

“I don’t either.”

“Aren’t you rich?”

“Yes, but I don’t go anywhere. What would I spend it on?”

“Well, I didn’t know that! But fair point.” He rubbed his chin, watching the hand.

“What would a creepy arm do with money, either?” Nikha mused. “Could you ask it what it wants?”

“You can talk to it too, you know.” But he did it. “Ah, we don’t have any money for you, but is there something else you want?

It gave them a thumbs-up, then began scratching something into the door with those spadelike fingernails.

“A toll road,” said Nikha, her face a moue of scorn. “I do hope it’s got the proper writ from the Emperor.”

Kemp let out a startled chuckle. “Not bad. Maybe you can join a troupe with me.”

She snorted. “I haven’t met that many people, Kemp, but I think you’re the only one who finds me funny. I suppose Papa does too, sometimes. And Rulia and Jyatis laugh at me, but that’s different.”

“Are they your-“ An insistent rapping from the door interrupted him. The hand had finished writing its demand. Nikha and Kemp both squinted at the carefully scratched letters, still unwilling to get closer.

“Cake?” said Kemp, confused.

“Cake.” said Nikha flatly.

The arm tapped the letters once more and gave a thumbs-up. Cake.

Nikha crouched down and put her head in her hands. “Unbelievable.” She was definitely going to shoot this thing.

“I think I know what you’re thinking, Nikha,” said Kemp seriously. “I don’t think you should try it. What if you miss, and it decides it doesn’t want to negotiate?”

She wished she could say something to prove him wrong, but she couldn’t come up with anything. She had no idea if she’d ever be able to hit the thing. She just wasn’t good enough.

“Alright,” she ground out. “Let’s go make a cake, then.” The hand gave them a cheeky wave as they departed.

Getting back to the sitting room proved easy. The only oddity they encountered was a patch of thickened air, perfectly breathable but with the consistency of water. Pushing through it was strenuous but otherwise uneventful.

“This way to the kitchen, you said?” Kemp pointed down the hall they hadn’t taken yet. She nodded and they kept going.

“I’m sorry for shoving your gun like that,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t know it would make you so mad.”

“Nor did I.” She hesitated. “I apologize for biting your head off. I’m always being told not to let my temper get the better of me. I’m still not sure why it made me so angry.”

“I understand-well, not why it got you heated, but I understand.” He smiled a little. “Sometimes my da sings this nonsense song while we work. You know, ‘Catch a little rabbit, hit him on the head. When the summer sun’s a-shining, his fur will all be shed.’ That kind of thing.”

She giggled. “What in the world does that mean?”

“Who knows? It’s nonsense, like I said. But for whatever reason it annoys me to no end. Even if I can’t hear him over the hammers, just knowing he’s singing it is enough! And I’ve got no idea why. You aren’t alone, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Thank you, Kemp.” She smiled at him and he gave her a firm nod. She thought on it a little while longer while they walked, and it took her several minutes to come to a conclusion. There was the invasion of space, of course, and the fact that she didn’t like other people touching her rifle. But mainly…There are certain things I expect to have control over, and I don’t like that control being taken away. She didn’t say it out loud-it sounded a bit childish, she thought. But she turned the thought over in her head awhile as she pointed the way to the kitchen.

Before too long they reached the double doors, which had porthole windows set in amidst their quilted leather padding.

“This is it.” said Nikha. She decided to fix her bayonet; there was no knowing what might be inside. Kemp took a deep breath and drew his pistol. “Ready?” He nodded. They shoved through the swinging doors and looked all around.

“Oh, boy,” breathed Kemp.

Nikha let out a put-upon sigh. “It could be worse, I suppose.” The kitchen seemed in fine fettle, clean but for the marks of normal use. The only problem was the giant spiders-a whole crowd of them, ranging from rat-size to cat-size. They were black and shiny as patent leather, with big yellow eyes and pointed legs that clicked jauntily on tile and counter alike. They hardly seemed to notice the interlopers in their midst, instead continuing to weave webs wherever they walked.

“I’ll take the left side, you take the right?” she asked. Kemp gulped, nodded, and took his place. Most of the kitchen was divided into two aisles by a long central workbench, and they split up to either side. Spotting targets was easy; the spiders’ dark shells contrasted starkly with the bright white tile and pale wood that covered most of the kitchen’s surfaces. Nikha’s first victim was one of the larger specimens, about the size of the inbred pygmy dogs some noble ladies kept as pets. It was going back and forth between the center table and the wall, trailing web behind it. She crept up on it slowly, bayonet ready. It stopped moving, and she thrust.

The spider launched itself at her face.

“Eep!” She stumble-jumped backwards and landed flat on her backside. She turned and scowled at the spider; it had flown right past her on a pair of heretofore-hidden wings and landed on the floor. It got right back into its meandering progress, stringing web across the aisle.

“Are you okay, Nikha?” She felt her face redden. Kemp was leaning over the workbench, looking confused.

She scrambled upright and smoothed down her skirt. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“What happened?”

“The spiders fly, Kemp. They have wings.”

“Ah. That explains it.” He seemed to understand what had happened without being told. “Appreciate the warning.”

“Of course.” She turned back to the spider, hoping her embarrassment wasn’t too obvious. “You cheated death once,” she muttered at it, “but no more!” She got closer, and this time she was ready. When the spider took to the air she lashed out and speared it through the abdomen. Sickly greenish fluid trailed down her bayonet as its feeble struggles ceased. She scraped it off the blade with a triumphant grin, then realized she probably shouldn’t be so proud to have killed a bug.

The rest of the extermination went quickly. Despite their size the spiders were entirely non-aggressive. Flying away seemed to be their only defense. Perhaps killing them wasn’t truly necessary, but she refused to cook while surrounded by dog-sized arachnids-and if they’d hidden their wings, who knew what else they could do.

Kemp met her across the center table, having made out well with his borrowed knife. “All done?”

“I think so.”

“Good…but we might have a problem.” He drummed his fingers on the counter, uncomfortably reminding her of the monstrous hand.

“W-what’s that?”

“Do you actually know how to make a cake?”

She was taken aback. “Wwwell, I thought you did.”

“Why in the world would I know that?”

She frowned, scuffing her boot on the ground and feeling a bit foolish. “I don’t know…don’t you have to make your own food when you’re a peasant? Meaning no offense…”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I help my ma cook sometimes, but we don’t eat cake! I’ve only had it once!”

“Really? What do you have for dessert, then?”

“Fruit pancakes.” He put an exasperated hand to his forehead. “But most of the time we don’t eat it at all. You and I have lived very different lives, haven’t we?”

“I…I suppose so, yes.” She was confused by this apparent non sequitur, but powered on. “Well, I might be able to figure something out. Yesika used to bake for me, and she’d talk about it.” Pacing back and forth, she tried to remember. “We need sugar, butter, milk, eggs…does that sound right?”

“I think. But cake is kind of like bread. You need flour and yeast too, don’t you?”

“Yes! Except Yesika said to use baking powder. Yeast will make it taste funny.” She put her hands on her hips. “Alright! I, um, actually I don’t know where any of that stuff is. So let’s look for it.” They scrounged through cabinets and iceboxes and eventually found everything they needed. Kemp also grabbed a bowl, whisk, and other utensils, while Nikha discovered some buttercream icing.

“Okay, batter first. Hm.” She had no idea in what proportions to mix everything and Kemp offered no suggestions, so she winged it. “A stick of butter, that ought to be enough flour, plenty of sugar, two eggs…” She made a frustrated noise as she cracked one of the latter too hard and got some on her skirt. “Do you think there’s an order you’re supposed to mix these in, Kemp?”

“Probably,” he said with a dubious glance at the batter. “Too late now, though.”

Nikha added milk and whisked as hard as she could until the mixture attained what seemed like the right consistency. She couldn’t help chuckling when she poured it into the pan. The only one Kemp found was in the shape of the Annoumenos’ holy symbol: a circle with a segment removed at the bottom.

“We’re going to give a monster a cake shaped like the Broken Circle. I hope it’s not too offended.”

He shrugged. “Honestly, it seemed strange to me you’d eat something shaped like that at all.”

“I admit I don’t always pay attention in semichka class, but I don’t think the Synod’s made any laws regarding pastries.” She finished filling the pan, lit one of the smaller ovens (luckily, the phlogiston still worked) and shoved it in. “Now, how long should that cook for?”

“Until it rises? Why do you keep asking me? I told you I don’t know how to make cake.”

“You still probably know more than I do.” She peered at the pan through the oven’s thick glass porthole. “And now we wait.”

Kemp sat himself up on the table, legs kicking back and forth. “Should we make some meringue for it, you think?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That’s what this icing’s for-and do I look like I know how to make meringue?”

“You didn’t do too bad with the cake.”

“That remains to be seen. Besides, meringue goes on pies, not cakes.”

“Seriously? Huh. The only cake I ever ate had meringue on it. Some of the nuns made it for Ma on her birthday.” He leaned back, remembering. “They used the juice of this fruit from way down south. Oranges.”

“I’ve had them. They’re good.” Nikha hopped up on the counter herself, facing him. “You’ve truly only had cake once?”

“Yeah.” He smirked a little. “Suppose you nobles have it breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“I don’t!” she protested. “Papa doesn’t let me eat that many sweets. He says it would make me sick. Sometimes Yesika sneaks me some- sneaked, I mean.” She fell silent, then jumped a little when Kemp reached across to pat her shoulder. She sniffed and kept talking, eager to bull past such saddening thoughts. “There are some nobles that live like you said, though. Maybe even most of them. Rulia and Jyatis certainly do.”

“Are they your friends?”

“Sort of.” Not at all was the real answer, but she didn’t really feel like explaining. “Now, this may surprise you, but I don’t know very much about how peasants live.” She grinned to show she was kidding, and while Kemp rolled his eyes he smiled back. “So, what’s it like?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He looked up at the ceiling, tapping his chin. “I get up early. Bring in some water, get the forge going. And then it depends on what needs doing. Sometimes I’ll help my da on the forge or go hunt with him, sometimes I’ll help Ma darn clothes or cook. If she’s up at the convent teaching I’ll take care of the chickens, too, and look after the garden. After dinner she gives me lessons if I’m not busy with Da. Arithmetic, history, all that. She always makes me tea with strawberry jam.”

“Ha! That’s what Matron Fulgin always drinks. My tutor, I mean.”

“Huh. Funny, that. Otherwise…I’ll play with my cat, give him extra food if he’s killed any mice. Sometimes I play ball with the Borisovs- they live down the road from us. Oh, and our house isn’t like this, that’s for sure. Just a few rooms, the forge…” He smiled to himself. “The field behind us is full of purple lilies. I always wake up smelling them in the summer. We don’t eat cake every day, but we get by. It’s a normal life.”

“You make it sound so nice…”

“It is. I hope to get back soon.”

Nikha leaned back, a pensive frown crossing her face. A normal life, he called it. Not for me. He got to spend all day with his parents, while Papa was often so very busy. He also had to live with the knowledge, though, that tomorrow might not be safe, that he might not always have enough. That was a strength she’d never had to develop.

“What about you?” asked Kemp, jolting her from her reverie.

“What about me?”

“What do you do when you aren’t eating all that cake, I mean.” He leaned forward.

“Mmm…” She rocked side to side on the counter, thinking. “I get tutored, like I said. Writing, and arithmetic, and history and religion and literature. They gave up trying for etiquette a while ago, luckily.”

“I can tell.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and continued. “Other than that, I’m usually hiking, exploring…just being outside. And hunting, like I told you.”

“What all do you hunt, then? ‘Round Afansk we’ve got deer, mostly. Sometimes bears. And once I found some prints Da said were tiger tracks.” He held up his hands, demonstrating the size.

“Red deer and elk. Moose, too, but I’ve only ever seen a few and never shot one. Oh, and shaggy aurochs, but we aren’t allowed to hunt those.”

“Why not?”

“Only the Imperial Family’s allowed to. It’s the law. What else…Papa took a good-size bear a few years ago, and one of my great-aunts shot a snow leopard once. The rug is in one of the sitting rooms, wherever it’s gone.”

Kemp slid off the table and squinted into the oven. “Nothing yet. So, you go hunting with your da?”

Nikha tossed her hair and leaned forward, resting her chin in her hands. “If he’s feeling well and he isn’t busy. His leg still hurts him, sometimes. So I go by myself. And if I don’t feel like it, I’ll practice shooting or read my adventure stories.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Some of that literature you were talking about?”

“No. Better. Adventure books are about people going exploring, grand expeditions, heroes and villains! Adventure, you know? Literature is about a bunch of stuffy sad people who’d feel better if they just went outside every once and a while.”

“I…see.” He glanced at the cake again. “It sounds like you don’t have many friends.” Nikha gave him a capital-L Look and he blanched. “N-not that I mean anything by it. It just sounds like you’re alone a lot.”

She scowled, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. There’s Rulia and Jyatis, like I said, but I don’t like them very much. Jyatis acts nice but actually she’s mean, and Rulia is just mean out in the open. Their families are higher-ranked than mine, you see, so that’s allowed. And they make fun of me for being a witchborn.”

“Why invite them over in the first place, then?” said Kemp skeptically.

“I don’t invite them over, Papa does. He says I have to pretend to be friends with them even though I really don’t want to. ‘The noble class must present a united front,’” she grumbled, trying to mimic Papa’s deep voice. “It’s just awful when they come over. All they want to do is sit inside and make snide comments and talk about court gossip even though the Capitol’s miles and miles away. Sometimes I do my best to make friends, but they won’t even try target shooting with me.” She crossed her arms with a huff, frustrated just thinking about it.

“Guess that does sound like a pain.” He yawned massively. “Warm in here. It’s making me sleepy.” Nikha yawned too, wondering what time it was. She’d completely lost track since waking up. “So, it sounds like you do a lot of shooting too. You just try to hit a target, like archery?”

She nodded eagerly. “That’s right! I’ll go for three hundred yards, five hundred yards, seven hundred, a thousand…once I got one on target at twelve hundred! The Oestians have whole competitions, but I’m fine to shoot against myself. I’ve gotten much better since I really started practicing. And, to be honest, I just find it fun. It’s important, too.”

“Important? You were talking about defending yourself earlier…”

“Not just that.” Nikha jumped off the counter, warming to her topic. “Papa says that the gun and the steam engine have done more to change the world than any king or law. A gun makes anyone as strong as anyone else. See?” She rolled up her sleeve and held up her arm. It was in good enough shape, considering it was attached to a noble, but it was still that of a thirteen-year-old girl. “Look. I couldn’t beat a big man in a fight, could I? But with this-“ she flipped her gun into her hands, using a trick she’d spent far too long practicing in front of the mirror- “how about now?” She grinned, finding that she breathing a little hard. She thought it had been quite a speech.

Kemp, meanwhile, had that pensive frown on his face. “I see…but shouldn’t you not like guns, then?”

The look she gave him was frank, quizzical. “Whyever not?”

“If everyone’s strong as everyone else, it means that peasants are strong as nobles.”

She frowned, considering it. “Well…”

“No, really.” His tone was serious, almost intense. “Think about it. Used to be, if you wanted to fight you had to learn the sword or something. You had to get trained for a long time, and eat well so you got strong, and have the money to buy armor and maybe a horse to with the sword too. Right?” He paced back and forth. “But if you’re a farmer, say, and you have to work your fields and husband your animals all day, you don’t have the time or the coin for any of that. You can’t learn the sword, so...so you’re beholden to the man that can. That’s what my ma always told me. But guns, seems like, are a lot easier. Aren’t they?”

Nikha’s eyebrows crept together as she thought hard about it, trying to poke holes in his theory. “Basic competence in a day, proficiency in weeks…” she muttered. It was a line from an old musketry manual Papa had given her, a pamphlet describing an Imperial rifleman’s training in the days of flintlocks.

“Exactly! So if a small man can beat a big one, maybe a poor man could beat a rich one.”

“But…” She was sure there was a ‘but,’ she just couldn’t put it into words-and the smell certainly wasn’t helping. Wait. The smell?

“Kemp!” she shouted as she slammed the oven’s valve shut. “The cake!”

“Shit!” He scrambled to pull on mitts and extract it as she yanked the door open. The pan clanked unceremoniously onto the counter, still sending up a thin curl of smoke.

Nikha wagged a finger at him. “Language.”

His eyebrow shot up as he flicked the scorched carcass of a spider off the cake. “You said way worse just a little while ago. Think I even learned some new ones…” He inspected the results of their negligence. “Salvageable, I think, though I wouldn’t give it to anyone I liked.”