Master Davin Sorell didn’t yield easily. For twenty years he had dominated the Senate committees through superior vocabulary, majestic academy prestige. The implicit threat that without his summoners, the rivers would tear Lathmere from its cliffs. He stepped around the lectern, his scarlet-lined sleeves billowing, his voice carrying the sharp edge of a royal prosecutor facing a mutinous regiment.
‘A single test is meaningless in complex hydraulics!’ Sorell declared, his gaze sweeping the gallery. ‘A speck of dirt in the tiny valve, an accidental bias in the carpenter’s leveling, an errant tilt of the hand—any apprentice could manufacture an anomalous overflow to serve a political vendetta. Councilor Vesk, if the Senate bases town policy on an unchecked test, you will turn civic defense over to superstition.’
Councilor Vesk looked down from the high bench, her face impassive as a limestone top door beam. ‘The Council doesn’t trade in superstition, Master Sorell,’ Vesk said. ‘Nor do we trade in unchecked claims of divine harmony. Inspector Korr Var, can the test be repeated under variable conditions?’ ‘The test can be run fifty times, Councilman,’ Korr Var replied instantly. ‘More importantly, we don’t need to touch the levers. Let Master Sorell’s own test judges set the gate openings.’
