Before launching the timber sled across the gulf, Corvin Hest made one final try to reach his former master through the direct platform bell wire that still functioned along the western bridge pillar. He stepped to the brass sound trumpet, cranked the magneto handle three times. Then he spoke into the horn with the clear, steady pace of a royal judge.
“Master Davin Sorell,” Corvin’s voice boomed across the platform from the brass speaker horn mounted on the stone stand. “This is Examiner Corvin Hest. Listen to me through your own instruments. Look at your suction gauges. The turning basin water chutes have diverted twelve thousand gallons a minute into the lower meadows. The Third Gate is breathing. Your Hollow Crown has no water left to pump. The machine is spinning on air.”
Sorell’s head jerked toward the horn like a startled bird. “Corvin? You speak to me through a wire like a common court guard? You were my best student! You sat in my lecture hall for four years! Tell those traitors to close the lower water chutes! If you give me back the water, the Crown will stabilize!”
“The water isn’t coming back, Master,” Corvin answered, his voice heavy with deep, sorrowful regret. “The river is finished with your Crown. In ten minutes, that platform will shear its final rock layer seam and plunge sixty feet into the turbine pit. Surrender the counterseal key, step back from the wheel, and let’s bring the timber sled across for you…
