Quoted By:
You don't actually find the Candlestick Makers place; you barely got the directions down.
It's the smell that twigged you: from three buildings in all directions you pick up whiffs of BOOMputty.
It smells complicated. There's rust and spark mettl and all kinds of rare stuff in there.
Another clue is how all the houses in three directions are empty and quiet, and this one house in particular has all new brick, no paint, no plastry. Gotta be it.
You go to the side door, knock the special way they told you.
>tap-taptaptaptap-tap
>taptaptaptap-tap
>tap-taptaptap
The door opens a few inches, revealing multiple door chains. You smell cannon powder, tasteless dry grime.
You pass the leather square in. The door closes.
While waiting you observe: the heaviest BOOMputty smell seems to come from upstairs lose just the top floor instead of the whole building if something overcooks , sweaty eggy smell; the windows are opaque paned with grills underneath; soot blooms and cracked plastry on the neighboring wall.
Your package gets slid out the door, quickly yet gingerly. Two heavy unmarked unlabled palletwood boxes, generously padded outside and in with straw.
They don't tell you to be careful.
You don't want to Pouch or <span class="mu-b">{POPUP}</span> where you can't be sure no one's watching, so you hup it by hand back to the attic room Seafood rented.
When you get around to Pouching it, you take a good look: big brown-red toobz, wrapped in stamped baking paper: HMX His Majesty's eXplosive, or HiMaX; a Gnomic patent, in plain black block letters.
This stuff's got more BOOM in it than the one you planted in the Cherch stove back in Plague Town; you can smell the yellow in it. It's sweating a little too, something that smells kindy soapy fatty. That's how you know it's <span class="mu-i">gooood</span>.
>HiMaX GETTY
>(3/4' x 1") sticks
>3 x 4 in a box
>2 boxes
>= 24 sticks
You have to go to secondary Candlestick Maker sites to get the wires and detonators, for safety reasons: copper wire and spike-pegs from a musette midget box piano tuner's, a box of extremely fat, bright yellow citron from a specialist grocer's under counter.
You marvel at how sour it smells, even at arm's length. This can't possibly be edible. The grocer glares at you, quietly frantic.
"Don't take it out in public you fool! Cover it up and go!"
You do as he says, not even mad.
When you refused Rhea Operator Support, one of Chai Gravyrun's doodz briefed you on how to set up the high-yield boomcandles you'll be using.
The SOCOM Citron was the detonator.
