Afternoon light filled the timber-framed practice enclosure at the north end of the wheelwright’s yard, where clean river sand had been spread two inches deep over the flat stone slabs to catch any stray sparks or drops of syrup. The enclosure smelled of dry cedar sawdust, warm brass, and bruised mint leaves from the garden border. Junior Examiner Corvin stood beside the timber rail with a small cast-brass hand-bell in his left hand and his tuned pocket watch in his right.
His wool collar was unbuttoned against the mild autumn sun. A streak of white kaolin dust from the morning’s demolition test still marked the cuff of his clerk’s sleeve. A badge of fieldwork he made no effort to brush away. Across the sand pit, Eren Tal stood three paces from a second intact practice ring borrowed from the workshop rack, his eyes fixed on a second consenting garden moth spirit browsing quietly on a saucer of honeyed water.
The purpose of Trial Two was to verify the proxy incapacity clause chiseled into the outer rim of the pre-reform arch. If a visiting specialist was knocked unconscious, pinned under a slipped timber shore, or blinded by steam before their scheduled break ended, could a named local observer standing in Lathmere trigger their thirty-second emergency return without the traveler speaking a word?
