Within the Alchemists' Guild, the underground passages were cold and still. All the Pyromancers, wisdoms and assistants alike, worked overtime. That substance could only be transported at night, and nighttime was best for making it, too.
"Has production increased that much? Almost ten thousand already?" Harry asked.
"Yes," the apprentice of the Pyromancer Guild said. "Faster than ever before."
Hallyne wiped his pale forehead with the sleeve of his black-and-red-striped robe. "Why is it so fast now?"
The process of making wildfire was extremely complicated and secret, yet they were now working faster and faster, and production had risen dramatically.
Could it be as the old wisdom suspected? Hallyne wondered.
Harry had still been an assistant then. Hallyne had asked Pollitor why so many of the guild's spells were less effective than the scrolls described. The old wisdom had said that, with the death of the dragons, magic had left the world as well.
"Perhaps the dragons have come back to life?" Hallyne looked thoughtful.
"Store it carefully. I must tell the Hand of the King this good news," Hallyne said, holding a jar of wildfire with great care. "Meanwhile, we must also search King's Landing to see whether any of Lord Rossart's stockpiles remain."
"Yes, my lord."
Elsewhere in King's Landing, the Dragonpit atop Rhaenys Hill had lain abandoned for a century and a half. It was utterly dilapidated. Only the most destitute whores took customers in such a place.
In the darkness of night, a whore's customer accidentally stepped on a rotten floorboard and fell into a deep cellar. Inside were more than three hundred things that looked like jars of preserved fruit.
"What is this? Fine wine?" the drunken customer said. He broke the seal, then opened his mouth and drank a little.
"My lord, are you