The total, dangerous honesty of Pella’s answer didn’t destroy her credibility. It solidified it. The merchant senators, men who had built shipping fleets and managed warehouse syndicates, recognized the clear tone of an honest engineer who refused to promise an impossible miracle.
Councilor Vesk turned her gaze from Pella to Master Davin Sorell. ‘Master Sorell. Pella Rook tells us that safely disarming your rig needs four days of sequential de-escalation and lawful relief channels. You told us an hour ago that the Crown needs no relief channels at all. Which of you is telling this Council the physical truth?’
Sorell’s composure cracked for the split second. His fingers gripped his golden medallion until the links dug into his skin. ‘The apprentice is describing an imaginary nightmare to justify town interference!’ Sorell snapped, his high-born veneer giving way to sharp anger. ‘The College built this rig! The College understands its spiritual stonework! If you subject our work to common laborers carrying wrenches, you will be responsible for the ruin of this city!’
‘This Council is already responsible for forty thousand citizens who live beneath your leaking pipes, Master Sorell,’ Vesk replied, her voice ringing with cold court finality. She picked up her gavel and looked at the eleven senators seated beside her. One by one, every senator raised their right hand in favor of the decree.
