From the bottom of the second zinc transport chest, beneath three bundles of yellowed customs manifests, Ivara Quill withdrew a large, four-fold parchment blueprint.
The sheet was three arm-lengths wide and two arm-lengths deep, made from heavy royal drafting thick parchment backed with bleached linen gauze to prevent tearing along the creases. It was dated Month Three of Year Minus Eleven. The exact week Chancellor Morn had ordered the sky shield erected over the borders of Rookvale.
Ivara spread the thick parchment across the cedar drafting table. She used four iron track-nuts from the mining hoist to hold down the stiff, curled corners.
Beside her right elbow, Len Vey adjusted the tin animal fat candle. He cast its warm yellow circle of light across the sharp-angled grid. Geth Marr stood behind them, his black oilcloth register still cradled against his leather apron. Meanwhile, Bram Ash barred the timber door with his iron-shod stave.
For twelve years, every land-mapper, town clerk, and citizen within the province had believed the sky shield was a defensive outer edge. An inverted hemispherical dome of tightly packed sight refraction designed to mask heat signed names and deflect heavy artillery bombardment from a fictional war engine.
