The rain had turned to a steady, quiet drizzle that dripped from the back kitchen roof edges into the water butt with a rhythmic, hollow patter. Inside, the fire in the grate was settling into a bed of glowing orange peat embers, throwing a warm, dry heat across the table where the second sheet of Dutch rag paper lay pinned beneath two iron plumb-bobs.
Pella Rook picked up her father’s measuring tongs. She used the fine brass tips to trace the ruled margins Auditor Nenn had drawn with red carpenter’s chalk. Her face was calm, but the memories of Day Eight were sharp and raw behind her eyes. The sound of the lead pipe sleeve bursting, the cloud of scalding vapor, and the painful cry of Ada Morland holding her burned forearm in the dark museum cellar.
“Article Two must be the cornerstone of the whole structure,” Pella said. She looked up at the three others. “It’s the clause that academy summoners will hate the most. It’s the Absolute Right of Refusal.”
Auditor Nenn dipped his quill, poising it over the fresh sheet. “In standard town contract law, Candidate Rook, refusal to execute an agreed task after entering the premises constitutes prima facie breach of contract, subjecting the builder to wage forfeiture and compensatory damages. If a master builder walks off a bridge site during construction, the court can compel him to complete the arch or pay the costs of delay. Why should foreign specialists possess an exemption from ordinary…
