They had rooms in the same tenement. The structure was far more substantial than anything RuTing had seen so far. It didn’t rival the architecture of the Union, but the walls were poured concrete and painted a dull beige. There were chips, and she saw white flecks behind the paint.

  “They are using the hardened white crust as aggregate,” Fintan said. Their rooms were adjoining, and they inspected both quarters as soon as Fergus left. The light was dimming outside when they entered, and there were no windows. It was strong and a veritable cave except for the ventilation shafts sucking the mist out of the tenement.

  Fintan took his poniard out of his exosuit. They would be assigned clothing, and he was looking for a place to stash the weapon.

  “We can’t hide our things here,” she said. “This place is searched.”

  They had chairs, a table, and a simple bed—all made of worked wood, but there was no place to hide anything. This room was as close to a cell as she had seen, but the thick door didn’t have a lock.

  Fintan put his poniard in the corner. He concentrated, and the narrow-bladed dagger disappeared. It reappeared a moment later, and he was sweating. She’d never seen Fintan work hard at a manifestation. Even metal didn’t bother him. She’d tried and could produce only the barest amount before her legs felt weak. She’d tried with steel, a common metal, and he had no difficulty producing gold a tenth of an ounce at a time.

  He looked ready to collapse after manifesting a simple idea.

  “The air is dry,” he said.

  “How many gilders did you give them?” she asked.

  “All but one hidden in my belt. As long as I have one, I can make a new copy. I could try making one from memory, but it might not look the same. I can’t manifest anything in here.”

  “Then we have to leave,” she said.

  The light had faded, but Fergus didn’t mention a curfew. He was tired, more tired than they were. The formula that turned him into an ogre drained his strength.

  They left the tenement as Bomb Midges were brought in by stretcher. The fabric stretchers were suspended between two poles, and Midges were stacked on top. Nurses in whites tossed the shrunken humans on beds like stacking wood cordage. Their miniature bodies were frozen in position, and their faces were captured in either a rictus of pain or mad delight.

  RuTing couldn’t tell which. She was trained to be fearless, but her training was for robots. Robots could use psychological attacks: pretend to be human and mimic emotions.

  But she knew the Bomb Midges were human. Her sympathy for them was balanced against the motivation not to end up like them. One of the Midges clutched a bronze spear in his gut.

  “This one got a bonus,” a nurse said. He was burly and carried two Midges in a back sling. The other nurse on his stretcher was smaller, most of the weight was loaded on the heavy side of the stretcher to compensate, but she had a badge on her whites. She was the head nurse. She had her hair tucked under a cap and a bag at her shoulder.

  “That’s our bonus. They are only entitled to keep what’s in their hands,” she said. She brought a hax saw and cut the bronze around the Midge’s fingers. The edge of the blade sparkled.

  “You are going to take off a finger if you cut so close,” the burly nurse said.

  “It’s grow back.”

  RuTing and Fintan didn’t wait to hear more. She’d stayed just out of sight while she listened. Her illusions wouldn’t work in the tenement, but she knew stealth before illusions.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Outside the tenement, gas lamps lit the city of Bannerburg. The pools of light created plenty of shadows, and the curling mist at RuTing’s feet was welcome. She’d felt parched in the tenement, but she immediately manifested water restoring herself.

  They didn’t look like they were being watched, but she wasn’t going to make another mistake. She motioned for Fintan to follow her and walked down the sidewalks that adjoined the road. They didn’t have many petrol motors, but this was as close to a Union city as she had seen, and she wondered what other technology might migrate into the afterlife.

  Fergus was confident this was a trap or jail. She had the impression that was a shared sentiment. He remembered fighting and dying. Wherever Fergus came from was not the Union, and they brought the war with them.

  Inside Bannerburg, they were not at war. The city had an active nightlife. Most shops were closed for the night, but restaurants served food outside. Raucous laughter and loud music drummed in the streets, and servers bustled carrying trays to secluded parasols that reminded her a little bit of Zeusopolis. The cities were so close that there was bound to be some cultural sharing even during wartime.

  Most of what she saw wasn’t new. Decorative trees, shrubs, and flowers were part of the unnatural sculpture of the city and very soothing as you went from office to office. The tables were full, but doctors and nurses throwing back the pints were still in scrubs.

  “Where is everyone else?” Fintan asked.

  “Asleep,” RuTing said.

  It was night, and after a hard day of work, only people who conserved their energy or had high levels would be able to appreciate the efforts of their labor. The rest of the citizenry would toil another day.

  When she found a suitable crowd rambling from bar to bar, she disappeared—hiding herself and Fintan. They went to the shadows. She didn’t mean to come out of those until they returned to the tenement. She cut a wide circle around the city until Fintan stopped her. They cut across streets, staying out of the pools of light. She intended to find a hiding place for all of their belongings, but she wanted it to be closer to the tenement so that when she found a way to escape, they could leave quickly.

  His hand on her shoulder caused her to pause. They were passing by another overly large edifice that appeared inspired by their neighbor. Perhaps not to be unsurpassed, they’d created marble steps and Greek columns. Fintan was pointing at the words across the top, although her eyes were fixed on the statues of lions at the base. Fintan said the Adversary had appeared to him as a giant lion.

  “It’s a library,” he said with awe.

  That could change the game. The map Fintan copied was rudimentary at best. The only points on the map were conflict. It didn’t tell them anything about the Adversary or where they were. It didn’t tell them if there was a portal out of the afterlife.

  It didn’t tell her anything about home. Would the Guannei kill her family? Hanlei had dispatched her without regret.

  She ghosted to the library, careful to maintain her illusion. The doors were solid, not impenetrable, but it would be obvious if they tried to break in. She didn’t know what kind of traps waited for them inside.

  Fintan looked ready to try. They’d both gained levels, and she’d tripled her strength. She could probably knock down this door.

  “We wait,” she said. “Let’s follow their rules and learn more.”

  “If we break the rules on the first day, we could end up as Bomb Midges.”

  “Or worse.”

  Whatever was advertised in public as a consequence was almost always not the worst. Fintan was naive. The Union was a transparent government. Its biggest lie was hiding a history of violence before the peace. RuTing was privy to those details. The Guannei were not recognized as agents of the Union, but they’d kept the histories before that time.

  She maintained the illusion as they worked their way around the city. When she was closer to the tenement, she studied the surroundings. Everything in Bannerberg was painted to cover the dissolution. Their favorite color was green. If she wanted something hidden longer, she needed fresh work that wouldn’t be inspected too soon. She selected an eve about thirty feet off the ground, but Fintan shook his head.

  “The planters are part of the native geography,” Fintan said. “They’ve added their own plants, but the dirt level stayed the same at each island. Over time, everything in the afterlife finds its balance.”

  “They would have to keep removing the dirt or adding to it if they changed it,” she said, catching on to his point.

  “They scraped down to the bedrock for the rest of the city,” Fintan said. “If we hide our stuff in a flower bed, I don’t think they will find it for a while.”

  It was as good a plan as any. She didn’t want to be too close, so she found a decorative island with a polished stone retaining wall a few hundred yards from the tenement. They manifested wooden shovels and dug several feet before rebuilding the row of irises over the top of their metal belongings. She hated seeing her sword go.

  It was dirty work. She’d lived with the Free People as a hunter, not a farmer. She didn’t like digging holes. When they were done, she was grateful to dissolve the tools into mist.

  Let’s hope that’s the last time.