Dustborn by Erin Bowman

Author:Erin Bowman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780358469469
Publisher: HMH Books
Published: 2021-04-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

That evening, I convince Asher to introduce me to Bronx the Chemist.

“She likes to work late—and alone. She’s not going to want to see us,” he says.

But Saph is at some mandatory meeting at the defense barracks and Cleo went to see a friend, and even with my aching muscles after a day of harvesting sulfur, anything sounds better than lying on those cramped bed mats alone with Asher. So I insist. Tomorrow marks six days since my mother’s execution, and Alder will die at noon. I’m too late to save her, but if I act now—if I find answers—I might be able to make it back to Bedrock in time to stop the following execution.

As we leave Cleo’s, Powder Town is peaceful beneath a blanket of stars. The sounds of families chatting and laughing flood the streets. Candlelight flickers through slats of shuttered windows. There’s a sense of ease here, of safety. People are truly relaxed. I’ve never come across anything like it, not outside Zuly’s tanker. It gives me hope that even without our gods, people might be able to live together. If we just pool resources—if we work together instead of tearing each other apart—there might be hope of a future worth seeing.

“Those three buildings house the saltpeter beds,” Asher says, pointing. The smallest building is on our side of the glistening Serpent River, and a narrow bridge leads to two larger buildings on the other bank.

“I think I can smell the manure from here,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“You can. It’s a scudding bad job, the saltpeter beds.” He shudders, like he’s shaking off a bad memory, then pauses. “And here’s the kitchen.”

A building nearly as large as Prime Hall looms before us, but unlike the Prime’s meeting quarters, this building has no windows. I expect it to be guarded, but there’s not even a door, just a massive opening where several familiar wagons are stationed—the very same ones that made up the convoy I saw when working the fields in Bedrock.

“I thought it would be more . . . secure,” I say.

Asher shrugs. “Only way out with a wagon is through the front gate. Which is always guarded.”

I glance over my shoulder toward the rocky foothills that butt up against the rear of the town. There’s no wall, but the Serpent River and various rock forms create a natural barrier—one that can only be crossed on foot, and even then, not easily. Plus, there are patrols in the foothills, members serving the Reaper’s pillar who stand watch. I can see a few of their torches bobbing in the dark.

Asher leads the way inside, telling me about the pantry—the cool, dark cellar that holds jars upon jars of powder—and the kitchen on the ground level, where we’ll find Bronx the Chemist. Asher has pulled a candle out so we can see where we’re going, and I try not to think about all the stores of black powder waiting below our open flame. Spare wagon wheels and axles hang on the room’s walls, along with carpentry tools for repairs.

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