Distant thunder rumbled across the sky that morning over Fundament.

  It had barely rained in recent days, leaving the city's cobblestone streets uncharacteristically free of their usual slick sheen. Still, Semira’s gaze followed the course of a dark, partly dried-up trickle that had adapted to the cracks between the cobblestones and painted a disturbingly even pattern upon the ground. The source of that trickle lay roughly three paces away.

  With a look of disgust, Semira wrinkled her nose as she approached the corpse of the man, slumped against a wall. He was found in a shadowy side street—a narrow crevice far removed from the busier routes where horse-drawn wagons clattered by and gray figures with lowered heads shuffled along. High, oppressive walls of bare brick and peeling plaster jutted up from the uneven ground. Only a single, barricaded window and a bricked-up back entrance opened into the alley. The air reeked of soot. The dim daylight scarcely sufficed to drive away the rats that crawled about in the damp half-light.

  “What do you make of this?”

  Semira turned her head to regard the man at her right—the one who had addressed the question. He wore the uniform of a warden, reinforced with metal plates, yet the badges on his chest and shoulders marked him as a mere foot soldier of low rank. He wasn’t young, as evidenced by the slight wrinkles around his eyes and the graying hair in his curled mustache. How could a man of his age still hold such a lowly rank? Semira strove to keep her expression impassive and refrained from snapping her tongue derisively.

  As for his question, she decided not to answer immediately but instead returned her attention to the corpse at her feet.

  It was a middle-aged man with a bare, sinewy torso. Maybe a farmer? Or a laborer from the mines? No—he lacked the typical calloused hands. He sat on the ground with his legs outstretched, yet the trail of blood on the wall indicated that he had slowly slid into that position.

  Semira had already suspected why she had been summoned to such a remote and filthy place instead of having the Ministry’s murder commission handle the matter as usual—and now her fears were confirmed: In the man’s chest, roughly where his heart should have been, yawned a fist-sized, round hole that pierced through his entire ribcage. The edges of the wound looked charred, as if seared with a hot knife.

  Her gaze followed the smeared bloodstain along the wall to a spot where an almost identical hole was unmistakably embedded, as if melted right into the stone. If the man were to be set upright, that hole in the wall would undoubtedly align with the one in his chest.

  Semira let the sight sink in for a moment before releasing an exasperated sigh and turning back to the warden. “Who else saw this?”

  “Well, aside from the old man who reported the murder, as far as I know only those present here,” he replied. The warden glanced past her and nervously eyed the two men waiting at the alley’s entrance with their arms folded, watching intently.

  Semira leaned aside and caught his gaze. “And that old fellow? Where is he? I hope you secured him properly?”

  “Well… I handed the man over to my colleagues. You must understand, he seemed very intimidated and, well, confused—so I wanted to verify the veracity of his claim first. And when I saw this, I rushed straight to the Ministry to report the incident.” He shrugged and looked uneasily at the corpse at his feet. “Who would have thought that the old fool was telling the truth? A heartrift…”

  Semira stared at him.

  “Those… were his words. You understand, don’t you? There’s this tale of cloud devils that steal hearts—” He abruptly broke off and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean… What I’m saying is: We obviously didn’t take the man seriously. There are more than enough crackpots in this damned city, and so… I can’t promise he’s still in custody at the station.”

  An uneasy silence followed. Unable to withstand Semira’s intense gaze for even a second, he looked down dejectedly.

  “You will tell no one about this,” Semira said coldly after a while. “Every rumor or the smallest mention of this incident can be traced back to you, and you can expect severe consequences—so don’t even think about it. Is that clear?”

  “Uh… yes,” the man replied meekly, glancing in confusion at the corpse.

  “Good. Now return to your post as quickly as possible and find that old man, no matter where he is. Bring him to the Ministry immediately. Speak to no one. From now on, you are under my direct orders.” Semira paused briefly before adding, “Ravil here will assist you.” She motioned over her shoulder with her thumb, and one of the two men at the end of the alley nodded in her direction.

  The warden looked back and forth between her and the man, surprised. With a wave, Semira signaled that his presence was no longer needed, and he reluctantly set off.

  “Oh, and,” she added without turning to him, “reporting this directly to the Ministry was a wise decision. You did the right thing.”

  The men had been explicitly ordered to report unusual incidents such as this one, yet no one had ever specified exactly what qualified as unusual—a point Semira frequently criticized, even though she knew the Ministry had no choice.

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  She listened to the echo of the clattering steps of the warden reverberating off the high, narrow walls as he departed.

  Once he and Ravil were gone, her second subordinate stepped up beside her and shook his head at the corpse. “This is now the fourth one,” said Akeno grimly. He, like Semira, wore dark clothing beneath a black coat, but the pin on his collar shone bronze rather than the matte gold of hers. “Maybe you’re right and this really is a warning.”

  “I have no doubt about that anymore,” Semira replied. “Someone is trying to demonstrate their power here. However, I’m not sure to whom this warning is aimed. Had these people been killed in more crowded places, everyone would be aware of these unnatural wounds. But we always find the bodies in the most remote, secluded corners of the city, so in essence only the Ministry knows the full extent of these murders.”

  Akeno snorted amusedly as he grasped her meaning. “But who would be foolish enough to threaten the Ministry?”

  “That’s exactly what I don’t understand.” Semira chewed her lower lip anxiously before she could stop herself.

  Akeno crouched beside the corpse and examined the wound in its chest more closely. “By the pillars, I’d really like to know what causes these holes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone drove a glowing iron rod straight through this man’s chest. And through the damn wall behind him.” He tilted his head. “But in this cursed alley you can hardly stand face-to-face. Who in their right mind would be swinging a long weapon here?”

  After a moment’s thought, he carefully raised the dead man’s hands and inspected them. “Doesn’t look like our friend here put up any resistance. No injuries or burns.” Akeno showed Semira the rough, uninjured palms and forearms of the man. “As if he were caught completely off guard. He died before he even knew what was happening.”

  “Or maybe he had already resigned himself to his fate,” Semira mused. Akeno gave her a puzzled look. “Anyway,” she continued without elaborating further, “for now we should try to find out as much as possible about this man. Maybe this time we’ll discover a clue as to where he came from.” Yet, deep down she harbored little hope. From previous cases, she knew these men were like ghosts. No one knew them, no one had ever seen them, and no one missed them.

  “I leave the disposal of the body and further investigations to you. I must speak with Senator Nito.”

  Akeno nodded and wordlessly began to comb the alley for clues. Semira sighed, straightened her shoulders, and set off determinedly to the Ministry. She had had enough of the grime and the stench of death slowly creeping up the bare walls.

  The Ministry was an imposing building that loomed high above the surrounding houses and occupied an entire side of the city’s rectangular main square. The facade had no ornamentation. The windows were darkened, and in front of the large main gate—accessed by a shallow staircase—uniformed guards were always stationed, eyeing the passing crowds with suspicion. Just below the roof gable, the unblinking eye was emblazoned—a symbol identical to the one engraved on Semira’s pin. Viewed from the square, the building seemed to lean menacingly forward, as if subjecting anyone who wished to enter to a meticulous screening. A deliberately created effect, Semira suspected. Many of those who arrived here were either under suspicion or accused of a crime. The intimidating facade offered a foretaste of what awaited inside.

  Semira cast a fleeting glance at the sky. The advancing daylight seeped only sparingly through the black smoke that clung to the city like a dome of gloom and ash. In the distance, the muted clamor of the blast furnaces mingled with the murmur of the townsfolk, their words blending into an amorphous murmur that flowed oily and sluggish through the streets. Many of these people were laborers who tended the fires of the great furnaces ceaselessly and processed the iron that was transported across the river on wide barges. As long as the valley’s iron mines did not run dry, the fires would burn day and night.

  Semira climbed the stairs to the open gate, ignoring the guard’s stiff greeting. Upon entering the lobby, the tangle of voices from outside was replaced by the echo of bustling footsteps clattering over the black-gray marble floor. Everywhere, enforcers—men and women in dark clothes and black coats—moved with resolute determination, as if nothing in the world were more important than their duties.

  And, in a way, that was true. It was the Ministry’s responsibility to maintain order in the world, which would be nearly impossible without its numerous agents. However, the weight of that duty and the accompanying privileges had fostered a certain arrogance in many of the enforcers, an attitude that would eventually reveal itself in their conduct—a fact that Semira constantly disapproved of.

  Opposite the entrance was a broad counter, behind which two rows of ordinary citizens were lined up. They all appeared nervous and intimidated, constantly glancing around and casting sidelong looks at the wardens posted along the walls at regular intervals.

  There was always an abundance of those ready to complain or lay charges against someone.

  Semira walked past the counter, deep in thought, and headed for the broad staircase that arched upward to the next floor. Something the warden had said simply would not leave her mind. Apparently, the man who had found the corpse had described the murder as a “heartrift,” a reference to an old fairy tale that was used to frighten little children. It spoke of cloud devils that prowled near the world pillars, hunting the hearts of those who dared venture too close to the forbidden zone.

  Was it really just the ramblings of a confused old man? If there was even the slightest chance that something more was at work, Semira had to pursue it. It was time she finally found a lead in this matter. Hopefully, Ravil could track down the man…

  Just as she reached the top of the stairs, a bright voice cut through her thoughts.

  “Semira! There you are at last!” A woman approached from the rear of the hall, discreetly beckoning her. A heavy cloud of perfume preceded her.

  “Mother?” Semira asked in suprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “Surely I’m allowed to pay my wonderful daughter a little visit, aren’t I?” the woman replied in an overly sweet tone, punctuating her greeting with a kiss on the cheek. Semira hesitated before returning the gesture. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important?”

  The encounter was so unexpected that Semira shook her head before she could think of a better reply. In truth, she had other matters on her mind. A visit from her mother was something she couldn’t afford at the moment. Moreover, the appearance of the woman usually meant she needed something.

  “How long have you been waiting for me here?” she asked. The plump woman—about a head shorter than Semira—curved her broad mouth, smeared with wine-red lipstick, into a smile. “Oh, it’s not important at all. I don’t mind waiting if I get to chat with you for a while! Or is it that you’re too busy right now to spare a few moments for your dear mother?”

  Semira regarded her skeptically but eventually sighed in resignation. It was hard to refuse her mother. The woman could be incredibly insistent. Apparently, her visit to the Senator had to wait.

  “Come, let’s go to my study,” she said reluctantly. “There we can talk in peace.”