They formed a stretcher from two ash grain shovels and a heavy wool malt sack. Eren and Miller Tom lifted Orson, while Pella supported Bram. Jo brought up the rear with her chain hoist and man-made slings packed into her tool bag. They burst through the back door of the mill into the driving rain of Brewer’s Alley.
As they hurried along the narrow, cobblestone lane between the high brick walls of the malt kilns, the audio speaker on Pella’s slate crackled to life. It was Ada Morland, speaking from her armchair in Harrowby, her voice raspy from lack of sleep but shaking with razor-sharp power.
‘Pella, it’s Ada,’ the plumber said, the faint hiss of her kettle boiling in the background. ‘I have my earphones jacked into Imran’s audio feed. I’m listening to the pipe deep ring in Culvert Four. Sorell just dropped another gate upstream. There’s a sixteen-hertz pulse traveling down the line right behind you. It sounds like a freight train running through a hollow tooth.’
‘How far behind us, Ada?’ Pella asked, struggling to keep her footing on the slick cobblestones.
‘Ninety seconds,’ Ada said calmly. ‘When you hit the corner of the cooperage yard, don’t stop to catch your breath. Get up onto the raised loading dock. The water coming out of that storm drain will be carrying four hundred pounds of water-pressure head.’
