There were three soldiers working on one of the machines, two of them shoveling
what looked like coal from a large sack that sat on a wheeled cart into a large circular drum, which
was itself sitting on a square platform that appeared to have descended from the rear of the flying
machine on a toothed ratchet mechanism. As Billie watched, the two soldiers stopped shoveling,
gestured to each other, then stood back, while the third grabbed hold of a chain hanging from the
underside of the machine and began to pull. The platform—and the barrel—slowly began to rise up
into the machine. As Billie watched, the Sliver grew increasingly hot, and a yellowish aura appeared
around the barrel and the half-empty sack—the same aura she had seen around Woodrow’s Void-stone
knife, back at the apothecary in Mandragora Street more than a month ago.
It couldn’t be—could it?

Billie stood back, arms folded, a frown on her face. It wasn’t coal the machine ran on. But it
burned something else. She thought back to the overheard conversation between Severin and Uvanov.
They had talked about fueling, and yield of what they had called voidrite.
Or, as Billie more simply knew it—Void stone.