Ten minutes later, Captain Kray of the Municipal Guard marched back up the marble stairs of the belvedere, his heavy leather gauntlets smeared with red lead paste and coal dust. In his right hand, he carried a heavy iron wheel-lock that had been cut clean through with a potion-made cold chisel, its broken shackle dripping with greasy water.
‘The valve was open forty-two turns, Councilman,’ Captain Kray reported. He dropped the cut lock onto the dark wood desk before Vesk. ‘The bypass line is roaring like an express train. The water level in the water tank is four inches from the roof arches. We had to wade through two feet of scalding sulfur backwash just to reach the spindle.’
A roar of outrage erupted from the aldermen. Merchants who had applauded the water shield fifteen minutes earlier were now backing away from the stone railing. Their faces were pale with fury and panic. Alderman Corin of the High Wharf strode forward, pointing an accusing finger at Sorell.
‘You invited us to sit above a ticking boiler, Sorell!’ Corin shouted, his fur collar trembling. ‘You told this Senate that the Hollow Crown had removed the flood danger! You were using our lives as props for your funding renewal!’
