Through the archways of the Imperial Foundry drifted the heavy stench of stone coal, hardened animal fat, and stale machine oil.
Lu Chen walked down the inclined ramp, his heavy leather boots crushing discarded iron filings and shattered red roofing tiles into powder.
Behind him, Blacksmith An Ni kept two paces back, her hand resting on the hickory handle of the cold-iron sledgehammer slung across her back.
Her grease-darkened leather apron rustled softly against her boiled ox-hide coat.
Ahead, the passage opened into a vast underground courtyard braced by four-foot-thick pillars of river granite.
Above the entrance archway hung a rusted through bronze signboard bearing the deep seal strokes of the royal government. Ministry of Works, Imperial Armory.
It wasn’t silent.
From the central forge hall ahead came the rhythmic, heavy clanking of water-driven clockwork trip-hammers and the wet, wheezing hiss of leather bellows.
