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convictions.
    When the Church in Rome had excommunicated them as demons, the Echelon had burned most of the churches and cathedrals and forbidden the masses from worshipping in public. Most of the working class, however, held private gatherings in secret places to worship. The more the Echelon tried to weed faith out, the more it dug its roots deep in the population.
    Humans might be forced to yield to the blood taxes and their place in the social hierarchy, but they’d be damned if they’d give up their religion. Such a thing, however, was dangerous to speak about in front of a blue blood lord. Only a year ago, the prince consort had ordered ten men flayed for attending such a gathering.
    “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Barrons murmured. As if sensing the foreman’s nervousness, he nodded toward the door. “Do you mind if I observe your men’s examinations of the bodies?”
    Effectively giving Garrett time to question the foreman alone. “Go ahead.”
    The moment he was gone, color began to return to Mallory’s cheeks as though he were unaware that he still stood beside a blue blood. “Do you think he’ll report me?”
    “I think,” Garrett said, “that Barrons is rather more liberal than one would presume. He needs to get these factories rebuilt as soon as possible and keep this one running smoothly. Informing on you defeats his purpose.”
    The foreman breathed a sigh of relief, his fingers twitching as if to make the sign of the cross. “Aye. He’s better than some o’ them others.”
    “I agree.” Garrett smiled. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
    “With what?”
    Garrett retrieved the small, brass recording device from his pocket. “We call it ECHO.” Echometry communications…something starting with H and observations. No matter how many times Fitz told him, he never could remember it all.
    Once the information was recorded, Garrett could play it back over a phonograph in the comfort of his study. Fitz was working on making something smaller that could repeat the information instantly.
    Mallory peered at it. “Why, I ain’t never seen the like. Records me voice, aye?”
    “Clearly enough to fool your wife.” They shared a smile.
    “Aye, well, go ahead and question me, sir. I’d like to hear me voice, I would.”
    Gesturing him through into the factory, Garrett clipped the ECHO to his lapel. “Monday, twenty-first of November. This is Acting Guild Master Garrett Reed, recording a conversation with Mr. Mallory, foreman of Factory Five. So, Mr. Mallory, last night the factory was closed and you arrived at half five this morning to stoke the boilers. Can you explain to me how you found the bodies?”
    “Aye.” Mallory leaned close, speaking slowly and loudly, as if to a deaf man. “I come in through the side door and turned the lights on back there. Didn’t need to light the whole factory, see? Just down here where the furnaces stand.”
    “You may speak normally,” Garrett instructed. “The ECHO has an accurate recording radius of twenty feet.”
    “Aye, sir.” Mallory shuffled in embarrassment, then pressed on. “Through here, sir. You’ll see the row of furnaces there? They’re what we use to purify the blood.”
    The enormous row of furnaces radiated waves of heat in the chilly morning. Gaslight gleamed on the heavy black iron, though almost everything else fell into pools of darkness. The Nighthawks were instructed to leave any scene as it had been found, at least until initial observations had been recorded.
    “So you lit the furnaces? How long did that take?” He could see the wheelbarrow tracks and taste the coal dust in the air. Coal bins were full to overflowing and a shovel still sat in one of the wheelbarrows.
    “Aye, lit them up. Then I went upstairs to boil a spot o’ tea at half six, so I must have been down ’ere an hour.” Mallory gestured to a grimy clock face on the wall. “Been a factory man all me life, sir. It’s habit to keep