The Salt Works annealing shed was a cathedral of heat, iron, and white quartz dust. Four massive beehive furnaces dominated the center of the hall. Their iron-banded stonework glowed a dull cherry-red around the stoke holes. Above them, a fine, detailed network of overhead crane rails carried heavy iron ladles suspended on chains, dripping molten sodium-heat-proof glass melted rock waste into sand-lined casting beds. The air tasted of bitter salt and scorched copper, so dry that Len felt the moisture evaporating from his lips within seconds of entering.
Every surface in the huge shed—the iron narrow high walkways, the timber tool racks, the broad shoulders of the fire tenders—was coated in a fine, powdery dusting of white bitter salt sand that drifted through the draft currents like snow. The light was harsh and monochromatic, shifting between the blinding lemon-yellow glare of the open fire doors and the deep, soot-black shadows beneath the crane gantries.
Across the dirt floor, teams of six men moved in rhythmic coordination. They pushed iron wheelbarrows heaped with raw quartz dust and ground soda ash toward the batch mixers. Their boots made no sound in the deep, soft sand that covered the floor six inches deep to insulate against spilled glass. The heat streaming from the fire walls was thick fifty feet away, a dry, baking wavefront that caused Len’s damp trousers to steam and stiffen as he walked.
