Qinghe followed the freight wagons to the hospital service gate. They turned off the clean public boulevard into a lane with a grated drain running down the middle. Canvas covers on the carts were stained with refinery residue. The people riding on the back held their coats over their mouths.
Porter Huo stood beside the gate, checking a slate. “Keep clear of the loading lane.”
Qinghe showed her medical robe. “I’m visiting from Ashfall. Can you tell me where the injured refinery workers are being taken?”
Huo looked at the robe and then at the group. “The lower-cost ward. It has physicians trained to track industrial exposure.”
“Is the main hospital refusing them?”
“No. The service ward is set up for their treatment. The main hall handles other cases.” He pointed to a white line painted on the stones. “Stay behind that. The carts need room to turn.”
Ning watched a worker climb down from the wagon. He pressed one hand under his ribs and coughed into his sleeve. The porter checked him against the delivery slate.
“Name?” Huo asked.
