The repair crew led them down to the north ward after breakfast. Pema, the engineer, carried a narrow iron wedge and a hammer wrapped in leather. She moved quickly but did not waste a step. Daro followed with the old maintenance page folded into his coat.
At the pylon, a pale crust of salt covered a split that ran from the waterline to the lower ring. The tide sucked at the base. Each time it drew back, the stone gave a small, rough click.
“That sound wasn’t there yesterday,” Han said.
“It was,” Pema replied. “The water drowned it out.” She ran her fingers over the salt. “The ward still holds. A hard storm could widen this before the next tide turns.”
She crouched and tested the gap with the thin edge of the wedge. It sank deeper than she expected. The block shifted beneath her hand.
“Can you pull it out?” Yan asked.
“Not without taking the lower course with it. I need pressure against the face while I set the wedge. Then Han can reset the anchor.”
Han studied the chain leading toward the harbor. One anchor had slipped and dragged a short furrow through the grit. “The chain moved too.”
