Katavsk was big.

  Mikhail wandered alone down a street wider than any in Kosgrad. The sheer size of the hollowed-out chamber that contained Katavsk overwhelmed Mikhail as he stared up at the towers lining the underground thoroughfare. A network of gaslamps hung from the chamber’s ceiling, casting soft yellow light on the quiet streets. Katavsk wasn’t a fort, it was a city.

  Despite the lateness—or earliness—of the hour, a fair number of people wandered about. How many actually lived here? How could people live here?

  Instead of fleeing from the danger of the gate, life surrounded the very thing that threatened to destroy it. Had the many years of war bred a reckless confidence in these people? Did they believe they were stronger than the dragons that came through the gate?

  If the Alchemist Guild stopped supplying extracts and Alchemtek to the Sentinels, every single soul here would be in peril. A shiver ran down Mikhail’s spine and he winced, painfully reminded of his broken rib.

  Had his recent actions made that nightmare a reality? Had his search for his mother put the nation at risk? What had she done that made deciphering her journal so important to the Alchemists? It couldn’t be a weapon; everything she’d ever made had been geared towards extending life, not reducing it.

  Mikhail shook his head. No time to worry now. Find Dominik and leave.

  Ahead, the ceiling descended until it drew level with the roofs of two buildings flanking the street. A brass, ceiling-high arch curved over the street. Intricate carvings of the original Alchemists covered it, and bold letters proclaimed the Alchemist motto:

  Alchemy Before Life. Discovery After Death.

  Elana had explained that the motto spoke of the Alchemists’ eternal goal to create. Mikhail just thought the Alchemist who wrote it needed his head checked.

  He passed beneath the arch and into the Alchemist Quarter. Gone were the towers, and the vaulted ceiling. Low two-story buildings lined the tunnel-like passage, while pillars of uzhasgart ran down the centre. Support beams stretched at angles from the top of the pillars to the buildings, giving a criss-cross effect to the ceiling. Gaslamps hung from every cross-point.

  Fewer people roamed the street here, and all walked with sombre purpose.

  A sign hanging over a large door announced the entrance to the Alchemist Surgery.

  As good a place to start as any. Mikhail stepped inside and immediately his skin crawled. The ward smelled of antiseptic and soap but felt heavy with pain and suffering. Soft moans resounded from behind the closed curtains surrounding many of the beds that filled the room.

  “Can I help you?” a young, bearded Alchemist healer asked, striding towards him.

  For a second Mikhail contemplated asking for a healing extract for his rib but realised more than six hours had gone by since it’d been broken. Instead, he said, “Yes, I’m looking for Dominik Pozharsky.”

  If the healer found the request strange, he hid it well. “Dominik…” he muttered, tapping his chin. “I think one of the new Alchemists who arrived a few weeks ago was called Dominik. I can’t remember his last name though.”

  Mikhail realised he was holding his breath, and let it out slowly, trying to calm his frayed nerves. “Do you know where he is?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Perhaps the Science Lab?”

  “Thank you, and where’s that?”

  “You’re new here?” the Alchemist asked.

  “Yes,” Mikhail said, glancing behind him to the invitingly open door.

  “Well, welcome to Katavsk. The Science Lab is three doors down on your left.”

  Mikhail thanked him and left.

  After what felt like an eternity of pursuit, was he finally going to discover what happened to his mother?

  It didn’t take Mikhail long to spot the Science Lab. The thick, black cloud of smoke curling from an open door served as a pretty good sign. Mikhail settled his half-mask over his nose.

  Bong!

  He froze, eyes wide. The Nishkuk warning gong. No! Not now. It can’t happen now! He looked down the street towards the Gate Cavern, hoping Klara and Zinaida were smart enough to run. He had to continue though.

  Drawing a deep breath, Mikhail stepped through the door, offering a quick prayer that Klara wouldn’t do something stupid like actually try to fight the Nishkuk.

  The acidic cloud of smoke covered the ceiling, seeking an exit. They really need to fix the ventilation shaft.

  A short figure in a tattered and burnt Alchemist coat charged through the haze. A thick salt-and-pepper beard dominated his face while long, matted hair framed his oversized spectacles.

  “If you’re not here to fix the ventilation, then please remove yourself,” he said, his wild, icy-blue eyes flashing.

  “Dominik Pozharsky?” Mikhail asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

  Dominik stopped in his tracks and squinted at Mikhail. He took his glasses off and rubbed them furiously with the corner of his coat sleeve. “Who’s asking?”

  Mikhail pulled his half-mask off. “Mikhail. Elana Koskova’s son.”

  Dominik’s face turned ashen, and he pushed Mikhail towards the door. “You need to leave. Now. If they find you here, we’re both dead men.”

  “No.” Mikhail braced and pushed back. “I nearly died trying to find you. I’m not leaving until you answer some questions.”

  “I’ve learnt my lesson: never help a Koskov. Now kindly get out.” Dominik struggled for a moment to move Mikhail, and when he failed, he stepped back and crossed his arms. “This doesn’t mean I’m helping.”

  “Look, Mother said to find you—”

  “I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

  “Because,” Mikhail said, his patience evaporating, “she wrote your name in her journal—which is currently in the hands of the Grand Master and Voronin Master.”

  The look in Dominik’s eyes could only be described as unadulterated terror. “What exactly did she write,” he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

  “ ‘Do not trust the Guild, they’re murderers. Find Dominik Pozharsky, he knows the truth.’ It’s in code, by the way.”

  “You yutzi mucker,” Dominik said, his glare returning. “Why didn’t you tell me it was in code first? Instead of scaring the life out of me?”

  Mikhail shrugged. “I needed you to listen.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything.”

  “Dominik, please don’t treat me as stupid…”

  “Mikhail, please don’t put my life at risk!”

  “Tell me what happened, and I’ll go. The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’m gone.”

  “Or I could not tell you, and you’ll leave because you’re a clever boy who knows when he’s dabbling in matters that are too dangerous.”

  “Too dangerous?” Mikhail laughed. “Dominik, I’ve broken out of prison, escaped the Alchemist Guild, infiltrated the Sentinels, endured their training, been hunted by Alchemist soldiers in the wilds, watched two comrades die because of me, and been sentenced to a lifetime in the depths. All because my mother wrote in code in the back of her journal to find you. Believe me when I tell you that I know the danger I’m in. What I don’t know, is why the depths I am in so much danger.”

  Dominik pulled his spectacles off and rubbed the soot around again. Finally, he walked to the door, peered out, then shut and locked it. “This way.” He led Mikhail into a back room—mercifully clear of smoke.

  “Have a seat,” Dominik said, brushing papers off one of two small chairs at a cluttered desk. “Vloysh?” Dominik asked.

  “No, thank you,” Mikhail said as he sat.

  Dominik retrieved a stained bottle and two sooty glasses from a bench running along the back wall then returned to the table. He sat, filled both glasses, and slid one to Mikhail. “Trust me, you’ll need it after I tell you this story.”