The jar rolled against the curb and cracked with a sharp, wet pop.
Yan stopped his cart before its wheel crushed the glass. Pale green syrup seeped from the split and ran toward the drain beside Furnace Three. The smell reached him before he knelt: frostvine left too long in the steep, sour and biting at the back of his nose. A splash could raise blisters. If the syrup reached the wash channel, it could foul the basin where the laborers rinsed their hands.
“Don’t touch it,” he called.
Porter Ren had already bent to pick it up. He pulled his hands back. “What is it?”
“Frostvine. The seal’s gone.” Yan took a broken tile from the curb and wedged it across the drain mouth. The syrup slowed, then pooled against the tile. He called for the waste cart and a sand tray.
Ren went to the tool cupboard. It stuck when he pulled the handle. He leaned his shoulder into it, and the door opened with a groan. A pair of intact gloves sat on the upper shelf, stiff with dust. Ren handed them over.
The jar’s copper collar still held. Yan tested the side with the end of his tool. The glass shifted, and a thin green line ran over the collar.
“Keep the metal,” Ren said. “It’ll be worth more than the jar.”
“Not while the syrup is on it.”
“We’re not throwing it away.”
“I didn’t say we were.” Yan fit the gloves over his hands. The fingertips were too large, but better than skin. He slid the jar into the sand tray, careful to keep the cracked side up.
Clerk Tao came down the lane, ledger tucked under his arm. He looked at the stopped cart and then at the tile blocking the drain. “Why is this count delayed?”
“The jar is leaking.”
“Put it on the waste cart.”
“It’s beside the wash channel. It needs to be separated first.” Yan pointed to the green line on the curb. “The glass can be salvaged once the residue is neutralized.”
Tao bent far enough to smell it, then straightened. “We don’t have time for every cracked jar to become an inspection.”
Ren pointed to the basin. “It runs there. We wash our hands in that water.”
Tao glanced at the drain again. “Use the sand. Don’t let the syrup through. If the collar breaks, it comes out of the tally.”
Yan poured a thin layer of sand over the syrup. It hissed softly where the liquid met the dry grains. The sharp smell weakened. He and Ren waited until the wet patch stopped spreading before easing the collar free with a hooked bar.
Two salvagers had been waiting behind them with a cart of their own. One, a narrow man with a strip of cloth tied around his wrist, pointed at the copper ring. “That’s my meal break.”
“It’ll be there in a minute,” Ren said.
“You said that last week.”
The second worker leaned on his cart. “The line’s backed up. If we lose the break, the overseer won’t add it back.”
Yan looked at the sand, then at the jar. It was possible to lift the collar now, but the glass still carried residue along the seam. “I’ll stay late and sort the remaining metal,” he said. “You can take your break after the cart leaves.”
The narrow man frowned. “That doesn’t make the break longer.”
“No. But it keeps the channel clean.”
Ren shifted his weight. “The basin’s all we have until the next ration. If it’s contaminated, every worker loses more than one break.”
The two salvagers exchanged a look. One pushed his cart aside to make room for the sand tray. The other went to tell the wash crew not to use the basin until Ren checked it. The delay had not made them happy, but it had given them a reason to wait.
The waste cart arrived with a driver who looked at the green stain and backed away. Yan showed him the batch mark, written near the jar’s base. The driver lowered a tray of dry sand from the cart and helped Yan settle the jar inside it. The glass remained upright. The syrup stayed in the sand, away from the channel.
Ren went to the wash basin and opened the tap. Clear water came through. He rinsed the inside lip, then filled a cup and looked at it in the light. No color. No smell. He poured it away and checked again. The water ran clear.
“The basin’s clean,” he called. “The tile held.”
The salvagers returned to their carts. One muttered about the lost time, but he stopped when Tao wrote the delay into the day file. Ren told them Yan had kept the water clean. Their complaints faded into talk about the lunch line.
Tao set the ledger on a crate. “What do you want entered?”
“Damaged seal, batch mark, leak contained. Collar removed after the residue was covered. Channel protected.” Yan pointed toward the sand tray. “The cart has the glass and the neutralized sand. The copper stays on the salvage table until it’s clean.”
Tao wrote it all down, then held out the page for Yan to check. “No injury.”
“No injury this time.”
Tao’s pen paused. “Do you want that in the report?”
“I want the facts in the report. The basin didn’t get hit. The jar still leaked.”
Tao wrote both lines and signed the count. He gave the disposal slip to Yan. “Keep this with the batch tag. If anyone asks why the line stopped, you have the reason.”
Yan read the slip and folded it into his work pouch. “Thank you.”
Tao glanced at the workers waiting behind them. “Next time, block the drain first and call me after.”
“Next time, I’ll do the same thing.”
The clerk’s expression tightened, then eased. He put the ledger under his arm and moved on.
Ren lifted the copper collar with tongs and placed it on the salvage table. There was still a smear of green residue in the inner groove. He did not try to wipe it with his sleeve.
“I’ll bring a brush,” Yan said.
“After your tally?”
“After my tally.”
“You’re staying late anyway.”
“I said I’d sort the metal. I didn’t say I’d scrub it for free.”
Ren laughed and put the collar down. “I’ll find the brush. You find the metal.”
They worked through the remaining carts. Yan sorted the clean copper from furnace nails and cracked hooks, while Ren cleared the empty sand tray and carried contaminated material to the pit. The work ran past the meal bell. The salvage crew brought them both a bowl of thin bean soup, which they ate beside the open yard gate.
The copper collar was clean by then. Ren weighed it and wrote the number on a tag. Tao signed the tag, though he still looked annoyed by the delay. No one had missed the next shift, and the wash basin remained usable.
Yan added a note beside the batch number: leak contained, collar recovered, water channel protected. The words fit on one line. He did not write that the workers had been impatient, or that the water might have been ruined. Those things had not happened. The record showed what they did, not what they had feared.
Ren checked the collar’s weight and handed Yan the scale. “You should write that the porter carried it.”
“You carried the tray.”
“And you stopped the drain.”
“Then I’ll write that both of us did our part.”
Tao took the final count and signed the bottom. The collar went onto the salvage shelf; the jar and sand went to the waste pit. The wash water still ran clear. Yan carried the empty tray back to the cupboard and shut the stubborn door with his hip.
He had not found an answer for the families waiting on transfer records. But the channel was clean, the jar was accounted for, and no worker had to use the tainted water. For a day’s work, that was a result he could point to.