The underground sound chamber set up on the floor of Quarry Four smelled of cold sulfur, lamp oil, and wet chalk.
In the center of the underground grotto, Maeve Swift-Ear knelt beside a cluster of four polished brass curved sound-cones.
The cones were five feet in width, machined from sound bronze and mounted on care gimbal tripods.
Their narrow collector necks were coupled to spun-ivory receiver cups that rested directly against Maeve’s large, sensitive vulpine ears.
Her russet fur was ruffled by the cold draft. Her whiskers twitched in rapid, rhythmic tremors as she focused on the low, deep hum shaking through the rock.
Giles Croft stood behind her at a thirty-foot drafting table built from three joined frame stands.
Across the long table lay stretched thirty feet of heavy grid-thick parchment, weighted down with brass paperweights.
Toby Karr stood ready with colored drafting inks. Meanwhile, Captain Kenneth Drake leaned against a timber pillar. He watched the young scout with intense concern.
