By the one hundred and twentieth step, the clean scent of Atlantic salt water and damp lime began to yield to a heavier, more oppressive air. A warm downdraft drifted down the grand shaft, carrying the acrid stench of burning hard coal, boiled away machine oil, and the bitter yellow dust of crushed sulfur.
Above, in the great belly of the Central Round hall, the furnaces of the Scholar were running at full blast.
Qiao Ming did not quicken his pace. He kept the same unvarying rhythm, each pace taking exactly one second, his bare feet adapting instantly to the shift in stone. Here the steps were cut from snake-like marble, greasy to the touch and veined with pale chlorite that looked like rotting reeds frozen in ice. It was dangerous stone when wet, but Qiao Ming’s calloused soles found every tiny ridge left by the ancient masons’ chisels.
The air grew noticeably warmer with every ten steps. The stone, which had been ice-cold on the lower terrace, was now lukewarm, warmed from within by the heat streaming through the floor chimney pipes. Small droplets of yellow water drops, heavy with sulfuric acid, gathered along the edges of the steps, sizzling faintly where they dripped into the cracks between the slabs.
