Two levels below the Grand Furnace Plaza of the Nine-Cauldron Alchemy Guild, iron wheel-hubs squeaked softly through the sulfurous gloom of the subterranean coal vaults.
A single oil lantern cast flickering yellow light across rows of stacked pine crates.
Young Master Orson Junior adjusted the cuffs of his embroidered silk robe, wrinkling his nose at the smell of coal dust.
Beside him stood the head furnace-keeper of the testing halls, a squat man with soot-blackened forearms and yellow teeth.
“Is the path clear?” Orson asked, his voice barely louder than the drip of water from the ceiling stones.
“The night guards took their wine half an hour ago,” the keeper replied with a greedy grin. “Stall Forty-Four is wide open.”
Orson reached into his sleeve and produced a heavy leather pouch that jingled with the dull ring of spirit stones.
Fifty Low-Grade Spirit Stones changed hands, vanishing into the keeper’s greasy leather apron.
