Olivia

First Stone, direct to Armand Trell, Deputy Bureau Chief of Civil Development. As follows: District Toppled Hill estimates granary is using thirty percent of available storage. Silos are hardened, and defensible by a small troop if necessary. Emergency water systems have been tested in all but four sites. Further updates will be forwarded, priority blue.

It was the ninth message Olivia had sent on to Armand Trell in the last hour. And nine more than she had sent to his boss. The Bureau Chief herself hadn't sent a single comm request since Olivia had sent her last reprimand on an unsecured line. A copy was still tucked away in Captain Dea Turnbull's pocket, and was a source of ongoing amusement for more than a few of the soldiers working the comm lines.

First Stone, direct to Viola Besselton, Bureau Chief of Civil Development. As follows: This is Crafter Olivia Polden. No, the Farhold Barley Ale is not being moved. Nor is the latest berry crop from the northern fields, or the olive oil from Whistlewood Hill. Your allotment for comms has been reduced to a single plug, priority grey. Which will be connected as soon as I have time to find an extension cable. You might be better off waiting for the Gloam to disappear.

Olivia thought it was a touch too subtle, but Captain Turnbull insisted it was the most blunt anyone had dared to be on the comms in a long time. Especially since Olivia had — by sheerest accident she was officially very sorry for and apologized profusely over — left the comm forwarding set to every other Bureau Chief in the City.

A third of her work cleared up after that message. Not that it freed up any news from Barleybarrel.

She flipped a switch on the board, slotted in two plugs, and started typing a message into the receiver. A dozen more messages were coming in from the receivers up and down the row of work stations, their chairs stacked in a corner at the end of the hall. She could write down a dozen messages simultaneously, her Craft flashing over the paper, searing the messages in tight, cramped printing that was difficult to read for people who couldn't see through the flame.

In fact, if she let got of the Craft, she wouldn't be able to read her own writing.

But as much as she could take down a dozen or more messages at once, she could only reply to a single comm at a time. There were low priority messages she hadn't been able to send in hours, sent to her in priority white, grey, and pink. There was one message in the grey pile she wanted to forward rather desperately.

Orderlies Precinct Six, Lower Central, to First Stone. As follows: please forward updates to all outfacing districts; refugee capacity for district is estimated at one million souls, with three times that number in the quarries and mines. Space estimates are for uncomfortable living conditions in confined spaces. Overtaxing these estimates exponentially increases the transmission of airborne illness, and would kill hundreds of thousands.

Somehow, this was less of a priority than requests from the Bureau of Distribution for additional warehouse space in the inner districts of 'miscellaneous goods'.

Another set of plugs, and Olivia started tapping another reply. A quick response to a Colonel on the north wall to let him know the train controller could allocate only one engine and six cars for the evacuation of Willowcrest. Then, a quick walk up and down the row, to move the written messages into their baskets, colour-coded for their priority.

The black, brown, and blue baskets were empty. High priority messages were always dealt with first, and black was only dispatched by the Lord Captain. Green and red were half full, both baskets only ones she could attend to when she ran out of higher-priority messages. Yellow, pink and grey were full, grey already had a second basket in the works. White was empty, but not because she had dealt with any of them. Priority: White messages wouldn't be taken until after the invasion.

The City didn't have enough paper to faithfully chronicle the mountain of pleas that would accumulate from people asking about loved ones on the front lines.

As she kept recording conversations, one in particular shocked her almost thoroughly enough to interrupt her work. It was an incoming comm from the dedicated line set up for the Bureau of Statistical Analysis, from that unusual department of 'Multi-Disciplinary Forecasting'. Up until this moment, five hours in, the line had been dead silent, enough that Olivia had considered re-routing it.

The second surprise was the recipient.

Department MDF, of Stats, direct to Olivia Polden, First Stone. As follows: Do you trust Mackaroy O'Fallow's judgment?

Olivia hesitated, uncertain how to respond. But as the moments she didn't have to waste wore on, she eventually settled on irritation.

Olivia Polden, First Stone, direct to MDF, of Stats. For comms officer servicing the department, as follows: This is a dedicated, direct line. Stop using message headers unless this is a forwarding request. For official filing query, as follows: Explain the context and motive for your query.

Another switch, another three messages sent, and then a reply.

Jian Norvalisam of MDF, direct to Olivia Polden, First Stone. As follows: Mackaroy O'Fallow recently terminated a Crafter by the name of Sally Carathal, the sole survivor of Crafter Garland Kohl's strike team. I understand he's more than a passing acquaintance of yours. Do you trust his judgment, and can I be assured her termination was necessary?

Of all the questions she could have been asked, this one felt like a blow to the stomach. Mackaroy had killed a Crafter, likely at Wanderwisp. And he had come back from that as if he had just gone out for a stroll.

I trust Mackaroy. Level head, reluctant to kill. There aren't better shadows.

The reply from this Jian Norvalisam was almost immediate.

Any idea why he has gone with the Rangers to Barleybarrel?

And that question trod perilously close to a truth Olivia wasn't prepared to discuss, even on a dedicated line.

Is this important? Weigh your answer against the knowledge that I'm running an entire comm relay.

But Jian was a surprisingly stubborn character, and Olivia had to admit, his thoughts could cut deep.

I'm assessing the odds of successfully evacuating Barleybarrel. Mackaroy O'Fallow, and his compatriot both accompanied the Rangers. Currently recommending to Colonel Dremora that she evacuate the Rangers and leave Barleybarrel to the Gloam. I would like to know if there's an asset I haven't considered in that assessment. Particularly, an asset with a red coat.

Oliva had a hard time fully appreciating the message as it came in. And knew she needed more time than she had to appreciate who this Jian Norvalisam was, and what role he was playing in the City's defence.

You're advising Colonel Dremora?

I am.

Olivia took a deep breath, even as she punched in a response for a colonel asking about a medical train riding parts of the wall that had gone dark. To her surprise, she decided to offer more candour than she was comfortable with.

My apprentice is with them. Vincent Hearthsward.

There was a fairly long pause. At least, on some level, it felt like it. A piece of her hovered near the dedicated receiver line, even as she walked up and down the row, depositing paper into the message bins, and sending replies when she could. A piece of her hovered, waiting, until the machine began to tick again.

Did he go with your blessing?

Olivia replied immediately.

Yes.

Why?

My apprentice needs to step out of my shadow. The Rangers needed help to evacuate Barleybarrel. I was not allowed to accompany them.

Do you expect your apprentice to earn the coat?

I've sent his measurements to a tailor. Should we survive this invasion, he will grow to be Garland Kohl's peer.

Are you Garland Kohl's peer?

We both stood against a Golem. Mine still marches on the City. His is now a ruin.

You live, having thrown your power against one. As strange as it might sound, Crafter Polden, no Golem has ever faced a Crafter that survived a previous battle. I will ensure Colonel Dremora calls upon you, when she makes her own attempt. I have a list of Crafters I've suggested she call for her stand. Bernard Umber, Patricia Valay, Malia Ahe, Omar Eblion, and your apprentice, should he survive his experience at Barleybarrel.

Six. Much like Crafter Howel's companions. But this time, standing with soldiers and Valkyries. A part of Olivia looked forward to it. And the rest of her was afraid of that part.

Jian, what are our odds for surviving this invasion?

There was a long pause. Minutes ticked by, Olivia sent nearly a hundred messages, received several times that number. The pile for priority: grey missives tipped over and spilled onto the table.

How secure is this connection?

It's a direct line. No one relays this at any point between the comms officer typing it in for you.

Right now, I'd give us even odds of surviving this invasion. And the Sixth will destroy us, barring a near miraculous turn of events.

A cold shiver ran through her, despite her power.

We won't survive the Sixth?

Hard to say. Each invasion is worse than the last. But my current forecast has five Golems surviving to reach the City proper. Millions will die, food will be scarce for a decade, it will be fifteen years before we reach pre-invasion development. And so far, each invasion has been worse than the last. If the Golems are able to destroy critical pieces of City infrastructure, such as the Northwatch Granaries, the Channel, the Pipe Kilns, Research's Foundry, or too many of the smelting facilities in The Sprawl or The Rustfields, we won't have a chance to build the City enough to survive the Sixth.

The Foundry is that critical?

Coldstone is revolutionizing the fire distribution network. We could expand the City far enough to double our population in forty years, if the Foundry survives. I don't see a future for us, if Withering Evergreen falls beneath the Gloam.

Neither do I.

Olivia hadn't meant to send that. It came out of her hands in a dread promise, swift and sure, and she meant it. But not at all for the reason this analyst did.

Withering Evergreen was where her orphanage was.

I'm glad we see the situation in a similar light. Thank you, Madam Crafter. I'll be in touch when I have new information. Or new questions.

And strangely, Olivia found herself worried that she had revealed something she shouldn't have. Though she couldn't understand her worries.