Jay spent all morning coming up with a name for this stupid town. The straw mat he lay on itched like hell, spreading a rash up his thigh and down his butt crack. No, seriously, how did human beings live like this without it being some kind of experiment?

  For many nights, he had lain awake on his straw mat, looking over at Mari asleep on the rickety bed, wondering what pills the woman had taken to sleep in a place like this. There were rats in here, creeping along the walls like some kind of mutants. Just behind their wall was a urinal, and the cracks let in the smell from time to time — sometimes soft, sometimes powerful enough to light his eyes amber.

  The names he came up with could not do justice to what he felt in his heart. Shit Town. Trash Valley. Dirt Villa. He’d fought this peculiar battle far longer than anyone knew. Putting thoughts into words was a process more daunting than constipation.

  Giving up, he lay on his back, staring at the beam bars crisscrossed beneath the roofing sheet. This was the shack Santa Mon had given him and Mari. He was her only son, wrecked from the war in the Midder-Lands, deluded into thinking he was the real Jay Arson. Because of his condition, Mari worked alone to pay off their debt to Santa Mon.

  Jay didn’t care much for Soden money, which made it impossible for him to grasp the value of their debt. Losing three men in the police raid had been a hefty blow — one Santa Mon was sure they’d never repay. Mari took extra shifts at the town’s factories just to keep them both alive.

  Days turned to weeks since the skinny boy who’d been with them disappeared. He’d given Jay the phone without explaining what to expect — the right choice, in hindsight. Jay spent most hours staring at the screen, waiting for a text. Anything to help him plot his next move.

  A sick feeling had begun to take root in his gut, whispering that Salomae was making a joke of their plan. Maybe the swayer had found Ezra long ago and was already on her merry way back to Solvaria.

  If he were Salomae, what would he do?

  He would read Jay’s mind first — find out where the card was hidden. Discovering it was either with Anna-Lisa or somewhere in town, he’d go after Anna-Lisa. But her location was a mystery, and finding her would take time. Let’s say he did find her. After reading her mind, he’d learn that the card was actually still in the town. She could’ve texted Jay and revealed the location at any point during the search. By the time he returned, Jay and Mari would be gone, the card with them.

  The smarter move was to stay in town and search for it himself. Or wait for Anna-Lisa to reveal the location, then steal it at the last moment. Risky — but less wasteful than a wild chase.

  But why not simply sway someone to find Anna-Lisa for him? Because of the weakness swayers never wanted anyone to discover — their power depended on proximity and the strength of a person’s will. Soden policemen weren’t naturally inclined to shoot Bannermen, so forcing them had been difficult; their will pushed back. Swaying them to search for suspects in Shit Town had been easier — they were already inclined to obey that kind of order.

  When the order came to fire on civilians, Salomae hadn’t been in town. Her control had weakened with distance. It would be the same for anyone she swayed to find Anna-Lisa. She’d have to choose someone who was already inclined to do it — Mari, Jay, or Anna-Lisa’s other friend.

  That left one option: sway either Jay or Mari.

  But how did swayers actually sway someone? He didn’t know. He should’ve paid more attention to things like that back in Se Fina.

  Another problem was his thinning muscles. His diet over the past month had been abysmal — the same undercooked rice and watery vegetable soup, day after day. No meat. No supplements. No variety. It wouldn’t be long before the story Mari had invented about him came true. He’d stop being Jay and become the deluded earthen who only thought he was.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, there was the constant clanging — metal on metal, ringing from dawn till dusk. The factory sat on the far side of Shit Town, the part they hadn’t seen that first day. From what he’d gathered, every factory, every warehouse, every workshop in this place answered to the Banner. They manufactured ammunition, vehicle parts, engines — anything the Bannermen demanded.

  Lately, they built only one thing: levithium plates. Demand had exploded since the Sovisansel fallout. The heat waves would only worsen along the Dominus coast, and he imagined residents paying fortunes just to install levithium-induced marker fields around their homes.

  Working for the Banner under any circumstance was unethical. He would not help make the world more unstable, even if it meant leaving Mari to pay off their debt alone.

  A knock rattled the door so hard it nearly brought the shack to its knees. He didn’t bother answering. It was always the same visitor — the girl who brought him food at midday. She pushed the door open and stepped in with her tray, greeting him as always, asking him to set the table, as always. He ignored her, as always. And as always, she grew extra limbs and did it herself.

  She placed the large bowl on the floor, set his plate on the table, and used her utensils to split the food in half. Oh, an upgrade — from rice and vegetable slop to potatoes and vegetable slop. With mushrooms. Delightful.

  “I’m not eating that,” he said.

  “Can I have it?” the girl asked.

  “Suit yourself.”

  She crouched by the window, muttering something about needing to do this quickly. Off came her apron. She tipped water from the gallon over her hands, then dug in with her bare fingers, licking every bit from her skin. When she was done, she filled Mari’s cup, drank the water in one long gulp, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. And to think, he used to call Ursel mannish.

  She covered the remaining half with a plate, thanked him, and left. A few hours later, the food began to reek. The stench filled the whole room.

  He couldn’t take it anymore. Bursting outside, he called out to a group of children playing with a ball in the street, offering them the bowl. They swarmed him like little monkeys, devouring everything in minutes. When they were done, he told them to return the empty bowl to the kitchen girl — the one who came to his place every day.

  Night-time. Mari returned from the factory, carrying in the soot and stench of sweat. When she came like this, she did not say much. After taking a bucket, she would leave to conduct her nightly affairs, returning bathed and in a lighter mood.

  “Where is the food?” she asked after her second return. She would usually fumble around the room to find the bowl. It seemed someone had told her on the way back that there was no food waiting.

  “I gave it to the children.”

  “What children? We don’t have any children.”

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  “It was stinking up the place.”

  “It was not yours to give away.”

  “I’m tired of this nagging, Mari. Let the girl bring it to the factory. I don’t want to eat it anyway.”

  She tucked herself in, facing the wall, scrunched up and quiet. Jay shut his eyes. Any moment now, she would say something again.

  “You can go back home whenever you want,” she said. “Why choose to stay?”

  As far as she should be concerned, he was asleep. He wouldn’t give her the pleasure of a response. He wouldn’t waste time pondering her idiotic questions.

  An hour later, when he was sure she had fallen asleep, he said, “Why do you help me?”

  “I ask myself the same thing,” she answered, surprising him.

  Next morning, after Mari was off to work, Jay went out to take a piss. He did not respect Santa Mon’s rules, so he would choose where he wanted to urinate. He went past the children playing with the ball and around Santa Mon’s mansion, entering the shrubs that grew behind it.

  It was the burial site for the men who had died on the night he arrived. Since that time, there had been no police sightings or any news to suggest they were on their way. Soden was a lawless land indeed. This was what you got when earthens decided to rule themselves. Had it been a Henrikian officer who had gone missing in a town like this, the army would not rest until he was found.

  Beyond the shrubs was the steep cliff that bordered the town from the east end. It was covered with brown wood—long, straight and spacious, with wide branches. On a better day, in a better place, he would have loved to take a stroll through them.

  “Jay Arson.”

  Jay zipped up his trousers. “What can I do for you, Santa Mon?”

  A cackle broke out behind him. Jay turned around to face his landlord and his stooges.

  “You know, they say the real Jay Arson has been missing for a while now. Heard his ship crashed near Donna Maria. A whole fleet of Henrikian navy ships. It might be your chance to take his place, eh?” They laughed.

  Jay chuckled. “How do you still doubt I’m the real deal?”

  Santa Mon waved his fingers around. “The details don’t matter as much, eh. You’re here. You owe me money. Who cares where you’re from? I care when that money isn’t coming in anymore. I heard you’ve been sitting around all day doing nothing.”

  “What do you mean you’re not getting your money? Mari’s working to pay you back.”

  “She was, until she passed out. I had my people take her back to your place. They didn’t find you there. Your rent is due tomorrow, and I would hate to kick you out on the streets. So, why don’t you take over for today to make up for lost time?”

  This factory was a skeleton of what the Third Farm in Henrikia offered. All the sheds were built from scrap—stretches of them. Some welded, some changed oils of broken-down vehicles, some poured molten metal into casts, some placed metal slabs on an anvil, while others struck down with huge hammers. The women worked similar jobs.

  The first set he found were pulling on the rope that was linked to a pulley. The ropes of the pulley drew up a black pestle, raising it higher until he could see the white, glowing marker hex engraved at the bottom. On the count of three, they released the rope, and the pestle struck the metal plate below. The ringing would deafen him soon. Wiping their brows, the women got into formation once again, hauling at the rope to lift the pestle. Once again, it struck the metal plate, engraving the marker hex onto it.

  “Isn’t there a simpler way to do this?” Jay said to Santa Mon. “We can automate their workflow by setting alternating motion fields at a given interval. These women shouldn’t be straining themselves with this kind of labour.” He couldn’t believe this was what Mari had been subjugating herself to. If it had been him, he would have quit after the first day.

  “You think my system isn’t good enough?” Santa Mon asked.

  “It’s wasteful.”

  “You’re welcome to improve it.”

  Jay was stumped. He double-checked Santa Mon’s expression. There it was—the sneaky grin. This man was expecting Jay to fail. Santa Mon stopped the women from pulling the rope.

  “Jay Arson’s lending us his head today. Watch and learn, boys and girls. He’s lending us his superior Henrikian knowledge!”

  The women did not find it funny. The men did. All the hammering, welding, and tinkering came to a stop as workers gathered around the giant pestle to watch a magician at work.

  It wasn’t anything remarkable, what he wanted to achieve. He bent over to a workman, borrowing a screwdriver. He had to think over the logic. The problem was that the pestle relied on manual force to rise and fall. So, he would carve out the hex on the supporting beams that held up the pestle. Jay started with the first, then the five other beams.

  He prayed to Geles, goddess of time, to activate the hexes. “For every twenty seconds, negate the direction of motion.”

  The levithium plate that had been lying under the pestle lifted off the ground, spinning with rapid motion. It shot from underneath the pestle, crashing into a workshop nearby. Plasma beams from a broken V1 set off, shooting holes into the workshop’s walls. They dropped to the ground, watching blue bolts fly past, clanking against the metal rods.

  They laughed at Jay.

  “What is my job?” he asked in humility.

  Santa Mon took him to a quarry, where trucks dumped lumps of rock in piles. He joined the men there, pounding the ore into smaller chunks. Another set of workers carried the chunks into trolleys, taking them over to a boiler. It wasn’t long before he figured out what was going on. There was a small stream flowing through the forest where women gathered with baskets, washing colourful gems in the water.

  Astaphite. There must be a mine somewhere. It explained the power behind the Banner—their crafter-powered V1s, their knowledge in ascension. They weren’t just some hooligans pretending to be the former Black Army. They were going to be a serious threat to Henrikia one day if left unchecked.

  “You’re done for the day. Here’s your pay.” Santa Mon dropped three coins into Jay’s hand.

  “I don’t know how much this is, but Mari doesn’t come home with coins,” he grumbled. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Mari’s treatment did not come cheap. And you paid for damages to my workshop. I was supposed to take my rent out of the pay, but you don’t have anything. Mind you, I’ll be coming by this evening to take my rent.”

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” asked Jay, rubbing the coins together.

  “Invest? Gamble? Whatever you can do to make my money back. I’ll see you in an hour, Mister Arson.”

  Jay munched down on yams and stew, boiling. “That man is a crook. One of these days, he’s going to get what’s coming for him.”

  “If we both work, we’ll pay off the debt in no time,” said Mari. “We just have to put in the effort.”

  “No. Giving your best to men like Santa only makes him richer. We’ll put in the bare minimum and get by. Being in good health is far more valuable than the crappy pay you get.”

  She half-smiled. “How will I be in good health without good food, which I can’t have without working for the… crappy pay?”

  “Why do you say ‘crappy’ like it’ll dirty your mouth?”

  “It does,” she said, moving away from him.

  “Say it again. You work a shit job for shit pay.”

  She concealed her laughter and shook her head. The kitchen girl returned for her bowl and tray. “I can’t believe you actually got off your ass to work today,” Miriam said. “I have to tell my mother about this.”

  “Mind your business,” snapped Jay.

  “Treat Miriam better,” said Mari. “She’s doing a lot more for us than we pay for.”

  “That’s right, Jay Arson,” said the girl. “Giving you special treatment doesn’t come cheap. It wouldn’t hurt to show some gratitude.”

  A knock on the door shut them up.

  “Mari, are you home?” Santa Mon.

  Miriam packed her bowl and tray, opening the door and hurrying past the large man standing there. Santa Mon wore a stained shirt and a pair of shorts, without his men behind him.

  “Give us another month, maybe sooner,” said Mari. “You understand our situation.”

  “Oh, I do,” he said, walking in, looking around the place, probing for valuable items. “You also understand my situation. A lot of immigrants coming in looking for jobs. A lot of them need shelter. Economics happens. Market prices rise with demand. I don’t make the rules.”

  “Build more shelters,” said Jay. Mari’s stomp on his foot shut him up.

  “I could,” said Santa Mon, “or I could replace you with an eager, hardworking family that doesn’t leech off my community’s resources. I’m downgrading you to an apartment you can afford. An open-air view with transparent walls. You’ll have to provide your own heating, though.”

  “Santa Mon, please,” said Mari. “My son will work from now on. We’ll be doubling our output.”

  “Future promises do not today’s debts pay.” Santa Mon clasped his greedy little hands together. “Luckily for you, I am an open-minded man. Money is not currency, so I can accept payment in various ways.”

  He was running his eyes down Mari’s body, gazing at her lips and down to her neck. She clenched the bed, stiffened and quiet—unlike the days when Jay would upset her.

  “Will this do?” said Jay, pulling out the phone from his pocket.

  Santa Mon took a while to recover from his trance. He reached out for the phone, inspecting it from all sides. “You’re a thief as well,” he said. “Who did you pick this off? It better not be mine.”

  “Why do you care where I got it from? It’s yours now.”

  Santa Mon chuckled. “You’re not as dumb as you look. Consider your rent for this month paid. Have a good evening.”

  Quiet as they lay, there was a topic for discussion they both avoided. He didn’t want to think about it.

  “Thank you,” said a voice in the dark.

  He had lost them their only window to Anna-Lisa—and she thanked him. She was too stupid to see how badly he’d messed up.