The copper wire came from an old surveyor’s measuring spool that Cale had found in the bottom of a survey crate, stripped of its rotting horsehair wrap and burnished bright with fine river sand.
Prit sat cross-legged upon the edge of the ash trestle, his small bone claws moving with the relentless, insectoid precision that only an auditor’s imp could summon. With a pair of needle-nosed brass pliers, he threaded the wire through narrow channels that Ossa had ground into the interior curve of the slate ribs, looping each strand through a tiny gold eyelet soldered to the shoulder pin.
“Conduction must be continuous from the sternum latch to the fingertips,” Prit muttered, his tongue protruding slightly from the side of his skull. “If a single solder joint fails when Master Noll attempts to grip a solid object, the feedback will jump the gap and discharge through the hip hinge. That would cause the left leg to kick violently without intent.”
“I have done enough involuntary kicking in my life, Prit,” Noll’s voice came from the ceiling beam. “Mostly when landlords discovered that the trunk under my bed was filled with river cobbles instead of gold bullion. Keep the solder tight.”
