Within an hour, Councilor Elna Vesk had arrived at the cooperage, her dark carriage escorted by twenty mounted guards with drawn swords. She read the highland dispatch, looked at the master slate, and made the executive decisions that the High Senate had avoided for three weeks.
‘Master Sorell’s ritual dedication is officially cancelled,’ Councilor Vesk decreed, signing the executive warrant on the workshop table. ‘The Sluice Crown won’t be consecrated with gold leaf while forty thousand tons of water are roaring down the gorge. Inspector Korr Var, you have full town power to execute the three-point shutdown rehearsal tomorrow morning.’
She turned to Master Galt and Miller Tom. ‘The Watermen’s Guild and the Carters’ Trade ring are mobilized right away. Sixty men with drag-shovels and timber barrows will begin excavating the old Ferry Turning Basin at first light. We must create an open surge tank capable of receiving twelve thousand cubic feet per second before the mountain crest strikes the Third Gate.’
‘And Master Sorell?’ Pella asked, her measuring tongs held tight against her side.
‘Sorell has locked himself inside the High Terrace command room with his senior summoners,’ Vesk replied, her voice cold as ice. ‘He refuses to acknowledge the highland dispatch, claiming the river spirit will turn the water aside. If he attempts to interfere with your shutdown stations, Sergeant Kray has orders to break his doors with an iron ram. You have forty-eight hours, Pella. Save our city.’
