Roxanna related the events of the last week to Flint for the second time, unbidden, and in great detail. He didn’t question her, didn’t ask if she was sure. Her loyalty and capabilities were never under suspicion. She bore the weight of that with pride, but she wished Flint would take her cautions to heart. He took too many risks at crucial junctions in his plans, as far as she was concerned. In a few moments, he’d do it again.

For now, though, Flint tapped one massive finger on a huge, detailed map of Ettermire. “The warehouse is upriver, here,” he said. “Flooded in the storms last month, unusable until the river recedes a bit more in the winter. It had a dry dock, if these blueprints are still accurate. The Hands will likely have a representative on the ground, under a show of guard, and reinforcements on the scaffolding above. It will be difficult to surround the structure without the Hands knowing, but impossible to prevent a majority of them from escaping when things don’t go their way in the fight. If we are not careful, we will come away from this empty-handed.”

Roxanna was about to respond when a figure in boiled leather hurried in, throwing back his hood. Neither Flint nor his lieutenant were angry at the interruption. No one in the organization would approach the underking without a good reason.

“Radek is bringing someone down,” the messenger said, his voice confident, quick, concise. “Picked up an armed man at the Hangnail asking around about Flint Skovik, knew something about the construction. Details sparse. The elevator is descending now.”

“I’ll come,” Flint said.

Roxanna growled, stepping to intercept him. “Let me go,” she said. “This close to the meeting with the Hands? Now? It’s a trap. He could be rigged up with gunpowder or…”

Flint almost smiled. Almost. “And Radek didn’t smell it? Even if so, who is more likely to survive it? You, or me? Come.”

Flint set off down the tunnels, lowering his head as he passed through the door frame, and Roxanna fell in on his right side. “We should cancel the ambush,” she said. “At least until the base is done and shored up.”

“No,” Flint said.

“They’ll show themselves again. We’ll find them eventually, regardless. Every day we reacquire pieces of Swanra’ann’s network. Someone knows where the assassins lay their heads…”

“We have the opportunity now,” Flint said. “I will seize it.”

Roxanna didn’t say more, as the pair had arrived in the vestibule. It was, like the rest of the base, unfinished. A pair of humming electric lamps were mounted to either side of the elevator shaft, and beams of sickly yellow light were aimed in on the oiled black machinery. The lights dimmed as the machinery shuddered to life, spitting out a cloud of sparks and pressured steam. Somewhere far, far above, Roxanna heard the screech of the brakes as the elevator began to drop down toward them.

The gears clanged rhythmically, the metallic song reverberating and echoing off the naked stone walls. Roxanna looked up at Flint. He watched the empty shaft impassively, crossing his tremendous arms over his chest. Armed elves began to filter into the room. They were off-duty members of the military police, young but capable recruits in need of a little extra cash. By day they guarded the true grahfs, by night they worked for the secret one. One by one they raised their rifles, sighting the empty shaft. Soon there was a semicircle of them, and twenty guns steadily aimed.

The elevator dropped into view and slowed with a whine as the brakes tightened. The car dropped into place with a heave, and then a mad spiderweb of chains began spinning, pulling the heavy metal door of the elevator open to reveal Radek, his gang of four, and a hooded-and-bound young man they pushed out in front of them.

Radek removed the hood without ceremony, revealing a blinking young face Flint did not recognize.