The late afternoon sun was cooling behind the dark granite peaks of the High Tor when Master Founder Orson Vance dragged the cast bronze plaque from the cooling trough. With a heavy, metal splash, the dark water washed away the last traces of black casting sand. That left the metal gleaming in the twilight like wet mountain river stone.
Eren Tal and two apprentices lifted the heavy plate onto two wooden sawhorses in the foundry finishing yard. Auditor Varo Nenn was already waiting, his brass check magnifying glass screwed into his eye, his eight-inch Vernier measuring tongs in his hand.
“Stand back from the light, boys,” Nenn murmured. He leaned his nose within three inches of the bronze face. “The Town Board needs checked space-folding accuracy before this plaque can be mounted upon a civic monument.”
Pella Rook stood beside Eren, her hands tucked into her apron pockets. She watched Nenn’s calliper tips slide along the rows of raised bronze letters. The metal was cool to the touch, smooth as polished slate, burnished with fine river foam-stone until the raised characters stood out with sharp, clean contrast against the matte, stippled background.
Across the top of the plaque, in clean, unornamented letters, was the single stone carving Hal Rook had written thirty years ago in his field journal: NEVER CLOSE THE THROAT · THE RESTORATION OF THE THIRD GATE · DAY 27.
