CH160 · Rewrite
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Chapter 160: Confrontation

The problem was the primer.

Everything else about the revolver had resolved itself into good performance — the cylinder rotated cleanly, the trigger reset worked, Anna’s bore was precise enough that the tolerances held under testing. But a cartridge needed something at its base that would detonate on impact and ignite the powder charge, and the most reliable substance he could recall for this purpose was mercury fulminate, and he could not quite reconstruct mercury fulminate from memory alone.

He knew the name. He knew it was impact-sensitive, that it was used in primers and percussion caps throughout the industrial era he’d been born into. He knew the general territory: mercury, nitric acid, reaction. What he could not remember was the right ratio, the right temperature, the correct sequence of steps, or whether additional reagents were involved. Writing out the chemical equation produced something that looked plausible on paper and was almost certainly wrong in practice. Mercury and nitric acid alone would yield a mercury salt and some combination of nitrogen oxides, which was not what he needed.

And mercury fulminate, produced incorrectly, could remove fingers. He was not willing to experiment on himself.

So he needed a second solution. Something that could seal the powder charge from leakage while still allowing ignition — a material that would burn clean and fast when a spark reached it, without requiring the precision chemistry he couldn’t yet reproduce.

Nitrocellulose.

He turned the idea over. It was the right logic: cotton fibers, treated in a mixture of sulfuric and nitric acids, became extremely flammable — would ignite from a spark and burn almost instantaneously, hot enough to light black powder without leaving residue worth worrying about. The chemistry was straightforward by the standards of what he was already doing. He had nitric acid now; he had or could produce sulfuric acid. The cotton itself was stacked in his warehouse in bales, brought back from the duke’s estate months ago.

The problem before nitrocellulose was caustic soda. The cotton fibers carried surface grease that would prevent the acids from contacting them properly; the grease had to be removed first, and the most efficient solvent for this was sodium hydroxide — lye, caustic soda, the same alkaline compound he needed for soap manufacture. He had been meaning to set up soap production for a year. He had never found the time.

And to produce caustic soda efficiently and at any scale, the cleanest route was electrolysis of brine. Which required a direct current generator.

He set down his pen and looked at the chain he’d just built:

Revolver primer → nitrocellulose → caustic soda → DC generator.

One week.

He picked the pen back up.


Ashes walked the riverbank alone and found that Border Town had done something inexplicable to her mood.

Since the other witches had learned why she was here, the warmth of the previous evening had cooled considerably. Not hostility — she registered hostility clearly, had made a practice of it — but a certain careful distance, the social geometry of people who have decided what they value and are quietly protecting it. She could work around that. She had expected it.

What she had not expected was Roland Wimbledon.

She walked the river path and tried to put words to the problem. During her time at Tilly’s side in the palace, she had assessed the fourth prince with the efficiency of long practice: incompetent, self-serving, conflict-averse. The kind of man who caused problems through carelessness rather than intention, which was its own category of damage. He had, on one occasion, made the mistake of approaching her from behind in a palace corridor, reaching — she had turned in time, given him a look, watched him sprawl backward and then attempt to explain the floor as an independent entity. Tilly had heard his version of events and had been quietly furious at him for three days.

That man and the man in the office this morning did not match.

She had seen the aura of command before. She knew what it looked like — in Tilly, who moved through any room as if she owned the intention of everyone in it; in the heads of armies she had passed through. It was not performed. You either had it or you didn’t, and Roland Wimbledon, apparently, now had it.

She did not know what had happened to him. She wasn’t sure it mattered.

What mattered was that she had gone into the negotiation expecting to apply pressure until the thin construct of his goodwill cracked and the witches saw through it, and instead she had found no thin place to press against. He had offered a demonstration rather than an argument. He had turned her implicit threat of force into a structure she couldn’t refuse without looking like the aggressor. He had given her a week of free access to his witches and seemed entirely unbothered by the prospect.

If only I had Tilly’s mind, she thought, and the thought was familiar from a hundred similar moments. Tilly would have already found the seam.

She had walked farther than she intended. The wheat fields had given way to woodland, unclaimed trees beginning the long rise toward the forest line. She was almost ready to turn back.

She felt the magic before she heard anything — the distinctive texture of it, close and moving fast — and turned her head just far enough that the blade missed her cheek and cut the air beside her ear instead. She was already moving before the pain registered from the thin line scored along her jaw.

The other witch had no position; there was nowhere to track, nothing to fix on. She appeared and was gone before Ashes’s hand reached her sword hilt.

Teleportation. Or something close enough to matter.

She drew the sword anyway. One full rotation, fast enough to create wind, the blade sweeping every angle at knee height — the cleanest guaranteed-coverage attack she knew, no dead zones, pure geometry. She felt the sword pass through nothing.

The dust settled. Nightingale stood a few feet away, turning a dagger over in her fingers.

“Should I take that as a warning?” Ashes said.

“Curiosity,” Nightingale said. She slid the dagger back into her belt without looking at it. “I wanted to know what an extraordinary feels like when she’s pushed.”

“It felt like a warning.”

“If it were a warning—” Nightingale paused. “What would be the difference between me and Cara?”

Ashes went still. The name landed with specific weight.

“You can speak to every witch here freely,” Nightingale continued. “If one of them chooses to leave with you, Roland won’t stop her. Neither will I.” She held Ashes’s gaze. “But if you threaten him—” The ghost of a smile. “The next blade won’t miss.” She stepped back. Disappeared between one heartbeat and the next. “Enjoy your week.”

Ashes stood in the settling dust and understood that she had, in fact, been warned.

She was also not sure that the warning was necessary — which was its own information.

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