THE ALCHEMISTS OF SAINT JUDE

CHAPTER 2

The Iron Ascent

The leather inside the black carriage smelled of oil, crushed velvet, and cold silver.

It was a suffocating kind of clean.

Lyra found herself missing the smell of the Sinks.

Coal smoke.

Wet stone.

River mud.

Burnt copper.

Even the awful smell of the distilling plants had been comforting compared to this.

Here, everything smelled expensive.

Expensive things made Lyra nervous.

She sat stiffly on the edge of the velvet bench, keeping her hands folded in her lap.

Across from her, Julian Vance sat with his spine impossibly straight.

His white-gloved hands rested flat on his knees.

He hadn't said a word since they left the Sinks.

Lyra had tried not to look at him.

She'd failed several times.

There was something irritating about the way he sat.

Perfect posture.

Perfect uniform.

Perfect hair.

Perfect expression.

He looked as if someone had carved him from a block of pale marble and decided emotions were unnecessary decoration.

Outside the carriage window, the Sinks slowly disappeared.

The familiar streets became a blur of wet iron and flickering gas lamps.

Lyra saw people she knew.

A baker pulling down his shutters.

A woman carrying a crying child beneath a torn umbrella.

Two factory workers hurrying home before the Shadow Watch patrols changed shifts.

She wondered if any of them had noticed the black carriage.

Probably.

Everyone noticed Imperial carriages.

Especially when they came down into the Sinks.

Lyra turned her face toward the window.

Maya.

She pictured her sister lying beneath that ragged blanket.

The silver vial was beside her.

The medicine should hold the Rust back for a little while.

A little while.

That was all Lyra had been given.

She swallowed.

"How long will the blue wax hold her?"

Julian didn't look at her.

"The tincture I left with my guards will suspend her Rust progression for forty-eight hours."

Lyra's fingers curled into her skirt.

"Forty-eight?"

"If you prove useful by Thursday night, she receives another dose."

"And if I don't?"

Julian's eyes remained on the window.

"If you prove disappointing, she does not."

Lyra stared at him.

There was no hesitation in his voice.

No guilt.

Nothing.

"You talk about her like she's an equation."

Julian finally turned his head.

"She is a variable."

"A person."

"A variable."

"Her name is Maya."

His expression didn't change.

"Names do not change outcomes."

Lyra felt heat crawl up her neck.

"Do you ever say anything that doesn't sound like it came from a textbook?"

"No."

She blinked.

For half a second, she thought he was joking.

His face remained completely serious.

She almost laughed.

Almost.

Then she remembered Maya.

Her amusement vanished.

Lyra looked down at her hands.

They were empty.

That bothered her.

They had taken everything before putting her inside the carriage.

Her brass scales.

Her iron cleaver.

Her glass vials.

Even the small knife she kept sewn into the lining of her skirt.

She had been searched twice.

The second guard had apologized while doing it.

She'd hated him more for that.

"Where are my things?"

"Confiscated."

"My scales?"

"Confiscated."

"My tools?"

"Confiscated."

"The Grade-Four scraping?"

"Destroyed."

Lyra's head snapped up.

"You destroyed it?"

"It was unstable."

"It was worth more than this carriage."

Julian glanced around.

"This carriage costs less than one ounce of refined Grade-Four."

Lyra stared.

"Of course it does."

Julian turned back toward the window.

Lyra looked down at her skirt pocket.

Empty.

She had developed the habit of touching the pocket whenever she was nervous.

Now her fingers moved there automatically.

Nothing.

She felt strangely exposed.

"You'll receive new equipment at Saint Jude."

"Will I?"

"If you earn it."

Lyra leaned back.

"And what exactly am I supposed to be earning?"

Julian's gaze returned to her.

"You've been admitted as an indentured Scholar of the Onyx House."

"That sounds pleasant."

"It isn't."

"I noticed."

"You will be given access to basic materials."

"Basic?"

"Enough to keep you alive."

"Generous."

"You should be grateful."

Lyra laughed.

It was a short, humorless sound.

"I'm being held here because your grandfather threatened to kill my sister."

Julian's expression hardened.

"Lower your voice."

"Why?"

"Because the carriage listens."

Lyra stopped.

"What?"

He nodded toward the ceiling.

Small silver markings had been carved into the wood.

She hadn't noticed them before.

"Imperial listening wards."

Lyra's stomach tightened.

"Wonderful."

"They record everything said inside."

"Then let them record this."

She leaned forward.

"I don't care who hears me."

Julian's eyes narrowed.

"You should."

"Why?"

"Because once we cross the Threshold, there are rules."

Lyra folded her arms.

"More rules."

"Many."

"Do I get a book?"

"If you're lucky."

"And if I'm not?"

"You'll learn them from punishment."

Lyra studied him.

"You're enjoying this."

"No."

"Could've fooled me."

He ignored that.

"Do not speak unless spoken to once we pass the Threshold."

"Why?"

"Because you are entering Saint Jude as an indentured Scholar."

"I heard you."

"You are not a guest."

"I figured that out."

"You are not a student."

Lyra frowned.

"Then what am I?"

Julian's eyes moved over her rain-soaked linen shirt and the soot still smudged across her jaw.

"A test subject who happens to hold a pen."

Lyra stared at him.

"And what are you?"

He waited.

"The boy who holds the leash?"

A faint, cold smile touched the corner of Julian's mouth.

It disappeared almost immediately.

"I am the boy who determines whether the leash is leather or iron."

Lyra's stomach turned.

"I hate you."

"I've known you for less than an hour."

"You're very efficient."

"So I've been told."

The carriage suddenly lurched upward.

Lyra's stomach dropped into her boots.

She grabbed the edge of the bench.

"What the—"

The air pressure changed.

Her ears popped painfully.

She pressed her forehead against the glass.

The lower city was shrinking.

Fast.

The rooftops became tiny squares.

The streets became threads.

The people became dots.

The factories were nothing more than black shapes beneath a sea of smoke.

Lyra had seen Imperial airships before.

From below.

She'd always wondered what it felt like to be up there.

She regretted finding out.

"This is insane."

"It is transportation."

"It's flying."

"Technically."

"There's no ground."

"There is ground."

"Very far away."

Julian glanced at the window.

"That is generally how altitude works."

Lyra glared at him.

"Do you practice being irritating?"

"No."

"You should."

The carriage climbed higher.

Lightning flashed below them.

For a moment, the entire world lit up violet.

Lyra stared.

The Sinks looked different from above.

Smaller.

Almost peaceful.

That bothered her.

Looming directly above them was the Monolith.

Lyra had seen it all her life.

Everyone in Oakhaven had.

But she'd never seen it this close.

It was enormous.

A jagged spike of black granite nearly three miles high, ripped from the earth during the First Extraction eighty years ago.

Stories said the rock had not been there before the extraction.

Stories also said it had come from beneath the sea.

Other stories claimed the Imperial Alchemists had pulled it from the bones of something much older.

Lyra had never believed any of them.

She wasn't sure anymore.

Copper-and-glass tiers surrounded the Monolith like rings around a dead planet.

Steam poured from enormous vents.

Pneumatic lifts clung to the rock face, carrying cargo cages up and down the sheer cliffs.

Some of the cages were so large they could have held an entire street of Sinks homes.

Lyra watched one climb past them.

Workers inside looked like insects.

"What happens if we fall?"

Julian looked at her.

"We don't."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you need."

Lyra rolled her eyes.

The carriage continued upward.

Four enormous marrow-retorts glowed beneath the floor.

Blue-white light pulsed through them.

The whole vehicle hummed.

Lyra could feel the vibration through her boots.

"It's unnatural."

Julian didn't even blink.

"It is refined physics."

"Flying carriages are refined physics?"

"Alchemy."

"Same thing?"

"No."

He turned toward the window.

"Nature is chaotic, filthy, and inefficient."

His eyes reflected the blue light.

"Alchemy is order."

Lyra snorted.

"That sounds like something written on the wall of a laboratory."

"It probably is."

"You actually believe that?"

"Yes."

Lyra looked outside again.

The clouds were approaching.

The carriage passed through them.

For several seconds, the world disappeared.

Everything became white.

Then they broke through the cloud layer.

Lyra's breath caught.

The gray misery of Oakhaven vanished.

Above the clouds was a different world.

The moon was enormous.

Bright.

Cold.

And Saint Jude Institute shone beneath it like a cruel jewel.

Gothic spires of dark steel rose in concentric rings around a central dome made entirely of thick, green-tinted glass.

Flying buttresses anchored the outer rings to the central stone pillar.

Massive iron bridges stretched between the towers.

Some crossed gaps so deep Lyra couldn't see the bottom.

Others disappeared into the clouds.

Lights burned in hundreds of windows.

Small shapes moved across the bridges.

Students.

Servants.

Guards.

Machines.

Flying messengers mounted on steam-augmented gliders swooped between the towers like metallic hawks.

Lyra stared.

She couldn't help it.

It was beautiful.

She hated that too.

Julian noticed.

"You can stop pretending you aren't impressed."

"I'm not impressed."

"You're staring."

"It's ugly."

"You've been staring for nearly a minute."

"I was checking for structural weaknesses."

Julian's eyebrow lifted.

"Of course."

"I was."

"Naturally."

Lyra crossed her arms.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself."

"I don't."

"You do."

The corner of his mouth moved.

Lyra looked away before she could decide whether it was actually a smile.

The carriage descended.

The marble landing approached.

Lyra's palms began to sweat.

The carriage touched down with a soft pneumatic hiss.

For a moment, she remained still.

Then the door opened.

Cold wind slammed into her.

Lyra stepped out.

The air was thinner here.

Cleaner.

Too clean.

It smelled strongly of ozone.

Her teeth began to throb.

She looked around.

Dozens of other carriages were unloading students.

Some were drawn by mechanical brass horses.

Others floated on blue marrow-globes.

The students wore fine wool cloaks in crimson, emerald, black, and gold.

Some carried leather-bound books.

Others carried elaborate cases filled with laboratory equipment.

One girl stepped from a carriage wearing a necklace of tiny floating diamonds.

Lyra looked down at herself.

Bare feet.

Damp linen.

Stained apron.

Soot on her cheek.

She looked like she had been dragged out of a chimney.

A group of students walked past.

One boy glanced at her feet.

Then at her apron.

He whispered something.

The others laughed.

Lyra's jaw tightened.

Julian started walking.

"Follow three paces behind."

Lyra didn't move.

"Why?"

"Because you're not supposed to walk beside me."

"Embarrassed?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"It's protocol."

"Of course."

He continued.

"If you stray from the path, the perimeter wards will boil the salt out of your blood before you reach the archway."

Lyra stared at him.

"Charming place."

"Thank you."

"I wasn't complimenting it."

"I know."

She hurried after him.

The marble beneath her feet was painfully cold.

Lyra tried not to limp.

Julian noticed anyway.

He slowed.

Only slightly.

She noticed.

She didn't thank him.

Neither did he mention it.

They approached the main gates.

They were enormous.

Bronze.

Covered in ancient symbols.

Above them, carved into the archway, were the figures of the eight original Imperial Alchemists dragging a screaming Calamity from the sea.

Lyra stopped.

She stared at the sculpture.

The Calamity was shaped like something between a whale, a serpent, and a human skeleton.

Its mouth was open.

Its body twisted beneath the chains.

"That's what they found?"

Julian stopped.

"The First Calamity."

"Looks more like a nightmare."

"Same thing, according to the archives."

Above the doors, glowing in liquid silver, were four words.

EX OSSE, IMPERIUM.

Lyra read them.

"From the Bone, the Empire."

Julian nodded.

"Correct."

Lyra looked at the words.

Then at him.

"Sounds threatening."

"It is."

The gates opened.

The Great Ante-Hall swallowed them.

Lyra stopped again.

She couldn't help herself.

The ceiling disappeared into darkness far above.

Chandeliers hung from invisible chains.

But there were no candles.

Instead, each chandelier held enormous globes of swirling golden marrow.

Hundreds of students moved across the marble floor.

The sound was overwhelming.

Footsteps.

Voices.

Laughter.

The turning of pages.

Metal instruments clinking.

Servants calling to one another.

Somewhere above them, a bell rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Lyra felt tiny.

Smaller than she had in the carriage.

Smaller than she had in the Sinks.

She hated that feeling.

A tall, withered man stood at the base of a sweeping marble staircase.

He wore heavy slate-grey velvet robes.

His hands were hidden inside his sleeves.

His face looked almost skeletal.

His eyes were sunken beneath a heavy brow.

He didn't need an introduction.

Lyra knew.

Grand Inquisitor Vance.

Julian's grandfather.

The man responsible for the Imperial marrow monopolies.

The man whose laws controlled nearly every legal alchemical substance in Oakhaven.

The man who had her sister's life written into a ledger.

"You're late, Julian."

His voice sounded like stones grinding together.

Julian immediately straightened.

"The subject was uncooperative, Grand Inquisitor."

Lyra stared at him.

Subject.

Again.

The old man looked at her.

Not her face.

Her hands.

His gaze moved over the acid scars across her knuckles.

The yellowed marrow stains beneath her fingernails.

The tiny burn marks along her wrists.

"The girl who distilled Grade-Four in an iron skillet."

Lyra swallowed.

Vance stepped closer.

The temperature around him seemed to drop.

"No formal training."

He studied her hands.

"No academy."

He looked at her face.

"No high-born blood."

His expression remained unreadable.

"Yet your yield purity was eighty-two percent."

"Eighty-four."

The words escaped before Lyra could stop them.

Julian's head turned sharply.

Lyra continued.

"If Bram hadn't brought a dirty bottle."

Silence.

Julian's hand shot out.

His fingers closed around Lyra's shoulder.

Hard.

Pain shot down her arm.

She glared at him.

His grip tightened.

"Enough."

Lyra stared at him.

She wanted to bite him.

She genuinely considered it.

Then Grand Inquisitor Vance raised one bony finger.

Julian released her.

Lyra rubbed her shoulder.

Vance watched her.

"Arrogance is a common weed in the slums, Miss Vane."

His voice was quiet.

"Here, we use it for fuel."

Lyra didn't lower her gaze.

"Then you'll need a bigger furnace."

Julian closed his eyes for half a second.

Almost as if he was tired already.

Vance, however, smiled.

It was not a pleasant smile.

"You have seven days."

"For what?"

"To prove your street arithmetic can match the theory of the Onyx House."

Lyra's stomach tightened.

"You will sit the Placement Crucible on Friday."

"What happens if I fail?"

"Your usefulness will be measured."

"That's not an answer."

"It is."

Lyra looked toward the marble staircase.

"And my sister?"

Vance's eyes returned to her.

"She lives as long as you pass your daily practicums."

Lyra felt her stomach drop.

"Daily?"

"Fail once, and she is cleared from the ledger."

"You can't—"

"I can."

The old man turned away.

"Julian."

"Grandfather."

"Escort the decoy to the Sub-Level dormitories."

He paused.

Then added:

"She smells of the gutter."

Lyra's face burned.

Vance began climbing the marble stairs.

His robes trailed behind him like smoke.

Lyra watched him disappear among the students.

For several seconds, she couldn't speak.

Then Julian released a breath.

"You should have kept your mouth shut."

Lyra turned toward him.

"I don't crawl for men who threaten my family."

"You will."

"No."

"Yes."

"Not for him."

Julian looked down at her.

His expression was colder than the wind outside the gates.

"Then you will die here before the week is out, Miss Vane."

Lyra's jaw tightened.

"Maybe I'll surprise you."

"I hope you do."

The answer caught her off guard.

Julian turned.

He started walking.

Lyra followed.

They passed through another corridor.

The walls were covered with portraits.

Dead alchemists.

Imperial scholars.

Grandmasters.

Their eyes seemed to follow Lyra as she walked.

She hated all of them.

She hated the marble.

The uniforms.

The chandeliers.

The smell.

The silence beneath all the noise.

Most of all, she hated the fact that somewhere in this enormous place was medicine that could save Maya.

Julian stopped at a staircase.

Unlike the grand marble staircase above, this one was narrow.

Dark.

It spiraled downward.

Heavy black tapestries hung beside it.

Lyra stared into the darkness.

"Where are we going?"

"Sub-Level dormitories."

"Sounds inviting."

"It isn't."

She looked at him.

"You really don't know how to make a place sound welcoming."

"Saint Jude doesn't need to be welcoming."

"What does it need to be?"

Julian's eyes met hers.

"Useful."

Lyra frowned.

"You're obsessed with that word."

"So are you."

"What?"

"Survival."

He started down the stairs.

Lyra remained at the top for a moment.

She didn't know why that answer bothered her.

Maybe because it was true.

They were both obsessed with survival.

They simply came from opposite sides of the same city.

Julian had learned to survive by becoming untouchable.

Lyra had learned to survive by becoming useful.

Neither of them had been given much of a choice.

She looked down the staircase.

Darkness waited below.

She took a deep breath.

Then followed him.

Julian didn't look back.

"Down here," he said, "pride isn't a virtue."

Lyra stepped onto the first stone stair.

"And what is?"

He continued descending.

"Staying alive."

Lyra followed.

The lights of the academy disappeared above them.

The sounds of students faded.

The marble gave way to old stone.

The air became colder.

Darker.

She could hear the distant hum of machines somewhere beneath the academy.

She didn't know what waited at the bottom.

She didn't know what Saint Jude would demand from her.

She didn't know whether Maya would survive another week.

And she certainly didn't know that the cold-eyed boy walking ahead of her would become far more complicated than the monster she had decided he was.

For now, she only knew one thing.

She had entered Saint Jude.

And there was no way back.

Lyra took a deep, shuddering breath, pulling the cold, ozone-filled air deep into her lungs, and followed him down into the dark.