Pella touched the copper wire to the end-post. That let the restored coordination set flow through her hands into Senn’s mind. It wasn’t an order. It was a reminder. She showed the spirit the working drawings. The Three Gates of Lathmere, dressed in Roman stone, lined up to the natural curve of the river gorge.
She showed it the First Gate at the turning basin, taking the heavy surface silt. The Second Gate at the eastern marsh, bleeding off the moving head. And the Third Gate beneath the museum, opening its throat wide to let the deep, clean current glide to the sea. The set was so natural, so beautifully proportioned to the hydraulics of the valley, that the spirit recognized it instantly, like an old craftsman recognizing the balance of his favorite hammer.
Across the gorge, the three gates responded with a timed together, harmonious shudder that rang through the bedrock. The water seemed to gather itself into a single, majestic breathing rhythm, the rough churning subsiding into smooth, smooth-flowing sheets of brown silk that slid across the aprons without a single spray of bubbling blast foam.
Across the gorge at minute 57 and 15 seconds on the Courtesy Arch clockwork dial, with 33 minutes left before forced recall, cold mountain runoff carrying heavy mountain sleet swirled against the bronze-bushed trunnions. It sent a smell of wet ash-wood across the timed together bell-wire. Pella Rook remained anchored at Overhead Copper Line (a deep hum Carrier). Then she checked the…
