"What happened in here?" she asked.
"Archaeology. About eleven years of it, give or take." Beorn glanced around the room. "Depends which document you believe. Most of them disagree on the basic facts."
She stepped farther inside, picking her way around the corner of the trash pile before stopping at the desk. Her attention caught on the ledger margin. Beorn watched her work through it.
The charcoal strokes crossed the top of the page, ran down one side, then doubled back along the bottom. Some shapes resembled rectangles that had failed to close properly. Other lines veered away as though the hand behind them had lost confidence halfway through.
One figure near the center had plainly begun as something specific, then wandered when that certainty vanished.
The other half of the page was different. The marks tightened there. The drawing improved. Even where the outlines remained rough, they were at least moving toward a recognizable form.
"What are these?"
"Working notes."
She tilted her head, studying the page again. "They look like failed art lessons."
"Yes." He picked up the charcoal stub, turning it between his fingers while he searched for a way to explain the distinction. "Some of them are exactly that. The others are trying to reach something I haven't found yet."
She reached across and turned the page slightly toward herself. Her eyes tracked the forms.
"This one." She pointed near the bottom. "What's that supposed to be?"
"A furnace. Or the beginning of one. The sketch tracks how air should move through it and how the heat should build."
He looked at the drawing again. "It doesn't work as drawn. I know that already. I can see the flaw. I just haven't found the right way yet."
She looked up at him. "A furnace."
"For metalworking. The goal is to run it hot enough, and steadily enough, to produce consistent output."
He watched her follow the thought.
"Iron, good iron. Made to a standard instead of depending on whether the smith happens to be having a good morning."
"Made to a standard," she repeated slowly.
"Forget it for now." The project mattered, but not tonight. He pointed to another sketch. "This one should be easier."
She studied the smaller drawing near the page's edge.
After a moment, her expression shifted.
"That's a crossbow."
"It's trying to be." Beorn leaned slightly against the desk. "The draw mechanism is wrong, and the projectile path isn't where I want it. It'll fire as it is, but the results vary too much and the accuracy falls apart between shots."
She kept looking at the sketch, turning over what that implied.
"Why redesign a crossbow?"
"That's a version that can fire reliably across an entire production run."
Aestrith straightened. Her expression narrowed.
"Production run. How many strange terms are you going to use?"
"Like I said. Forget it for now."
Her gaze moved on until it found the separate sheet he had set aside earlier. The limestone note. The line reading volcanic ash deposits, underlined heavily beneath a question mark.
"What's that one?"
"Building material. Something better than what Ashmark's made from. Much better, if it works."
She studied the question mark.
"But."
"I need two things I don't have yet. A material I haven't located and a process I haven't fully recovered." He rolled the quill between his fingers, thinking through the problem. "Once I have both, I'll explain what I mean by much better."
She watched him a moment.
Then she opened her coat. From an inner pocket she produced a folded page covered in additions made throughout the day. The original creases no longer matched the layers of notes. She held it out.
Beorn took it and unfolded the sheet. His eyes moved down the list of names.
She stepped away from the desk and sat on the edge of the couch.
He counted them.
"This is longer than the list I gave you."
"Yes."
He looked up.
Aestrith had crossed her arms and turned toward the window.
"The names you gave me were people already tied into local dealings. Most have been in the city long enough that those ties practically define them. I couldn't find a weak point worth pulling."
Her gaze returned to him.
"The ones I marked are the only possible exceptions. Two, maybe three, if the terms are right."
Beorn kept reading.
"And the rest?"
"I expanded the search into the slums."
No room for debate in the words.
"Those people aren't tied into anyone yet. The slums had options the rest of the city couldn't offer. It suits your situation better."
He moved through the longer section of the list. Warehouse district names occupied a few lines at the top. Below a dividing mark, the slum entries stretched farther down. Each carried a brief notation beside it. Skills. Histories. Quick impressions recorded during evaluation.
"Godric."
"Former garrison commander. Cautious, but the caution comes from principles, not self-interest." She glanced briefly toward the ceiling. "Right now he's deciding whether you'll still be here in a month."
A short pause.
"I'd take him if he joins. But he won't commit until he's convinced the government you're building won't collapse."
"Lewin."
"Young. Good in a fight. He has a sister and a mother depending on him."
She paused.
"That means he avoids risks that would destabilize his position. In practice, that makes him more reliable."
Beorn nodded once and continued reading.
The notes were compact. Only a few words per person, but precise enough to compress entire conversations into single lines.
He read each one carefully.
Twice he stopped where the wording allowed two readings. Both times he asked for clarification.
"Nice work."
Aestrith kept staring toward the window.
"Hmm."
Beorn placed the list atop the useful stack.
Two paper piles. The open ledger. The limestone page with its unanswered question.
Somewhere during the reading, evening had arrived. The room had dimmed. The charcoal marks blurred in the fading light. The stone had spent the afternoon giving up its stored warmth. Now the room was cool, and the smell of cold food had taken over.
He should light a candle.
He didn't move.
"Staff first," he said instead. "We need reliable people in the administration before anything else begins moving. Godric if he comes. Lewin if he appears in the morning. After that, the rest of your slums column, in the order your notes suggest."
Aestrith turned from the window.
"And the building material?"
"That's the second problem." He touched the limestone page. "I need to find one thing and remember another."
The quill came down beside the paper.
"Neither is tonight's problem."
She considered that, then looked back at him.
The trash pile still occupied the corner. The small stack of documents sat where he'd left it. The plates still held the dried remains of the day's food.
Outside, a cart rolled along the main street, its wheels echoing faintly through the stone.
"The list goes out tomorrow," Beorn said. "Whoever shows up, shows up. Then we work with what we have."