The warning was on the other desk.
Lyra saw its receipt before she heard the man calling from below.
The local archive officer stopped beside the canal landing, holding Iven’s inspection authorization. A dockworker in a red cap pointed at the flushing board.
“Routine movement’s started. Lower access should be clear.”
“The custodian went down,” the officer said.
A heavy gate groaned beneath the landing.
The voice below became louder.
Lyra went to the stair rail. Water washed across the lower turn, striking a storage door that had swung sideways across the custodian’s route. He stood beyond it with one hand braced against the wall.
