The sound of the first ratchet click was a sharp, clockwork clink that had never before been heard in the thousand-year history of Lathmere. It was the precise, hardened-steel tooth of a modern pawl engaging a heat-treated drive gear. The purple polyester sling snapped taut, squeezing a stream of clear water from its man-made fibers.
‘Click two!’ Jo called out. ‘Click three! Click four!’ With each stroke of her arm, the chain links rose out of the dark water, dripping with yellow silt. The massive oak shaft groaned—a deep, underground creak that shook through the water into Eren’s chest.
‘Click eight!’ The overhead floor beams groaned in answer. A shower of dried bark and flour dust sifted down from the ceiling. It splashed into the rising water around Orson’s neck. The boy let out a low, whimpering moan, his eyes rolling back in terror.
‘Don’t look up, Orson!’ Eren barked, holding the boy’s head steady. ‘Look at me! Keep your eyes on my face! You’re coming out of this pit on your own two feet!’
‘Click twelve!’ Jo grunted, throwing her entire upper body weight into the lever. The man-made slings were stretched tight as iron rods. It hummed with an eerie, high-pitched sound deep ring that cut through the thunder of the flood. Beneath the water, the fourteen-inch shaft shuddered. It lifted half an inch.
