A cool night breeze blew through the iron intake grating at the base of the eastern wall.
The third floor was quiet now. Most of the senior alchemists had retired to their private courtyards to sleep off the fumes, leaving only a handful of drowsy apprentices tending low maintenance fires.
In the rear charcoal alcove, a soft clinking sound came from the drainage chute near the floor.
CLINK.
A black cylindrical briquette rolled through the iron bars, coming to rest against Elder Sterling’s broom bristles.
Sterling leaned down and picked up the briquette. It was made of compressed charcoal dust, but the center had been bored out and plugged with a round cork stopper.
Sterling unsealed the cork, pulled out a tightly rolled slip of silk paper, and handed it to Kaelen.
Kaelen unrolled the slip beneath the glow of a small jade fire-stone.
