“What about that Workshop engineer we kidnapped?” asked Max. “He must know something.”
“Unfortunately, no,” replied David. “The Workshop partitioned the project so that only one or two people have detailed knowledge about all the components. Dr. Bechel only worked on the pinlegs. He knows very little about the dreadnoughts or the process by which the Workshop splits an imp’s spirit in two.…”
Unscrewing a nearby coffee thermos, David sniffed at its contents, sighed, and set it back down.
“Honestly, Max, I’ve never been so frustrated. I feel like I’ve been handed a big jumble of knots to unravel, and every time I manage one, I find that three more have appeared. The Director, Ms. Kraken … everyone’s counting on me to solve this, but I just don’t know. I’ve hit a dead end.”
“Impossible,” said Max, trying to cheer him up. “You’re a genius!”
“Charitable,” said David. “Even if that’s true, I’m not alone. The Workshop has more than its fair share. For example, I have tried everything I can think of to confuse this pinlegs’ settings—block incoming signals, manipulate outgoing signals.…” He trailed off, looking utterly worn and dejected. “Miss Boon is beside herself. Varga too. Dr. Bechel says that they incorporated a slew of poison pills to guard against tampering.”
“What’s a poison pill?”
“A clever defense tactic,” replied David wearily. “Every time we try to crack the pinlegs’ symbolic code, that code becomes twice as complicated to break. We’re now at a point where it could literally take millions of years to run through the current permutations and we’d only be digging ourselves a deeper hole.
I’m ready to scream. We’re all so close to the problem that we’re not even thinking clearly anymore. I came up here to get away from the Archives, sit by the fire, and clear my head. I’m tired of staring at runeglass.”
“How’s Miss Boon doing?” asked Max delicately.
“Better now that it looks like Grendel’s going to make it, but I’m not certain anyone took the attack on you harder than she did. Ms. Richter has absolutely forbidden her to go searching for Cooper. Miss Boon’s been trying to help with the pinlegs, but it’s hard for her to focus. Any sign of Cooper?”
“No,” said Max. “Umbra goes out searching every night, but no luck.”
“Umbra goes out searching,” David repeated with peculiar emphasis.
Max had not yet told David of Umbra’s true identity. He’d only seen his roommate once since the attack in the tent. There had been so much happening that Max hadn’t had the opportunity to speak with his friend in private. And thus he wondered at the wry twinkle in David’s pale, almost colorless eyes.
“What do you know?” asked Max, shifting uneasily in his seat.
“Well,” said David, betraying a ghost of a smile, “I don’t know anything for certain. I can only say that Max McDaniels has been trying very hard to compose some poetry and has been struggling to come up with anything to rhyme with Scathach. He does seem to have the ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ part down pretty well. It’s appeared in every draft.”
Max turned fire red. “I was just using that to get the ideas flowing,” he snapped, before turning about to find that his waste-basket had been moved. “Did you go through my garbage?”
David looked sheepish. “I did,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to, but the pinlegs knocked it over and all these papers spilled out. I was cleaning them up when I glimpsed a few lines. I knew it was wrong to read them, but …” He winced. “Not my proudest moment.”
Digesting this, Max settled slowly back in his chair. “Oh, it’s all right,” he sighed. “I’ve snooped in your stuff plenty of times. I guess the real question is whether you think there’s anything I can use?”
“I’d say you’re building a strong foundation for future success,” replied David diplomatically. “Anyway, tell me about Scathach.”
Max did so, unable to keep the grin off his face. “It’s hard to concentrate when I’m around her,” he confessed. “But it’s even harder to pretend she’s Umbra in front of everyone else.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy,” David reflected. “Perhaps love does conquer all—or at least fear of the Atropos and the threat of invasion. I always suspected there was something between you two.”
“Please,” Max scoffed. “I hardly ever talked about her.”
“Exactly,” said David with a knowing grin. “Anyway, I look forward to meeting her. I only got a distant glimpse of her at Rodrubân. Is she the reason behind the Trench Rats’ recent success?”
“One of them,” said Max. “But lots of people have made the difference.”
“And how are the Mystics in your battalion?” inquired David, casually examining his fingernails. “I’d imagine they must have done some good things.”
“Lucia and Cynthia have been fantastic. During tonight’s simulation, Lucia created an entire troop of deathknights that were so realistic you’d have sworn we were hiding back in the woods near Broadbrim Mountain. Amazing detail!”
“Hmmm,” said David, frowning. “Lucia’s got undeniable talent, but I find her magic—ooh—a little temperamental. Cynthia’s work might be a little less flashy, but every outcome is rock solid and reliable. Utterly dependable in a pinch. There’s real bottom there.”
Max gave him a sidelong glance. “I’ll take your word.”
“It’s just refreshing to know someone like that,” David continued dreamily, swinging his legs up onto the ottoman. “Someone who’s always cheerful, always willing to laugh or listen.”
“She’s a good friend,” Max agreed, thumping his armrest. “A real steady item.”
It was David’s turn to blush. Blinking rapidly, he opened his mouth, but evidently words failed him and he merely stared at the fire in mortified silence.
“We agreed to keep it a secret,” he finally whispered.
“But why?” said Max gleefully. “Love should be shouted from the rooftops! I think it’s great that Toby helped you sort through your special feelings.…”
David moaned, slouching ever lower until his eyes were level with his knees. “Who else knows?”
“Just Sarah and Lucia,” replied Max. “And the Tattler gossip columnist …”
“You are a very witty person.”
“I am very witty,” Max agreed, rising from his chair to stretch. “Not everyone can come up with these little gems and also make a battalion work. It’s not enough to focus on each platoon or even a whole company; all the pieces have to fit together perfectly. If they don’t, you’ll have a weakness, and if you have a weakness—”
“Shhh!”
“You’re much too sensitive.”
“No,” said David, waving him off. “Be quiet—I need to think.”
And think he did, curling into a ball and staring ahead with a preoccupied air that Max knew all too well. The sorcerer glanced occasionally at the pinlegs and then back at the fire, as though they were two separate equations he was trying to reconcile. At length, he got up and began to pace. Max knew he would be late for Bob’s supper, but he could not leave. David seemed poised on the cusp of something truly momentous. Twenty minutes passed before he finally stopped and stared at Max with an expression of profound wonder.
“You’re a genius.”
“I could have told you that in half the time.”
“No,” said David, pacing again. “It’s what you said about all the pieces having to fit together perfectly.” He absently made to knit his fingers together, recalled that he had but one hand, and abandoned the demonstration. It did not diminish his enthusiasm. “The Workshop has somehow split the soul of an imp and embedded one half in a pinlegs and the other in a dreadnought. That’s what allows the pinlegs to instantly summon its other half.”