The ash tore the grey-white sky like razor blades. Their ballet resembled a funeral symphony, marked by incredible violence mixed with unspeakable sadness. On the ground, they formed a dull, compact shroud, which cracked underfoot like ice. Darya didn’t recognize the place. She carefully examined the vast plain, astonished at feeling no discomfort with the ash, and saw, near a small grove of trees, an ancient Heilmann locomotive. She frowned. This type of machine was unknown to her, so how did she know its name? The vision of a model in Niian’s vast library was imposed with disconcerting sharpness. She remembered seeing it, under its duly labelled glass bell, in the middle of Death’s impressive collection. Curious, she walked over to the massive machine—a prototype with two four-axle bogie
