By the time Felix reached the table, the sea had occupied half the Forge.
Sela lifted the edge of her harbor chart to reveal the production drawing beneath it.
“Your furnaces can move,” she told the Forge representative. “My approach channel cannot.”
“My furnaces,” the woman said, “cannot move.”
Felix put his cup on a stool.
Fifteen days had been sufficient to arrange this meeting, reserve actual transport, complete the first handovers, and discover that seven interests required more table than one workshop owned.
It had also contained several ordinary mornings. He had slept through some of them with honest idle cultivation running quietly while nobody tried to acquire his wrist.
Now he moved a small model onto a second table before the tide line crushed it.
