Ku-KlipElla, my girl. Tin… rusts when it cries.

That's what my grandfather used to say. He was a tinsmith, a man named Ku-Klip. Water or tears, it doesn't matter. Once it touches tin, it turns to rust.

It was a nettle field, right after the rain. I fix people whose bodies are made of tin. But one frozen solid, with his axe raised over his head? I stopped short. I'd never seen that. And caught at the corner of his eye… was a single drop of rain.

EllaEasy, little drop. Stay right there. Don't you go in.

I dabbed the raindrop away with a rag and worked in the oil. And the lamps in his eyes, dark until then, flickered faintly back on.

NickThat is Ku-Klip's… oil.

I gasped before I could stop myself. His jaw creaked open, and out came a human voice. But there was no breath behind…