A massive rumble shook the subterranean flues of Sector Five as twelve heavy iron coal carts jumped the tracks.
Sparks showered across the basalt flagstones like a fountain of white fire.
Tons of raw anthracite coal cascaded into the lower drainage trenches, burying two steam pipes and filling the corridor with blinding black dust.
“Derailment in Sector Five!” a guard captain shouted down the iron catwalks. “The main flue is blocked! All available enforcers, report to the lower tracks immediately!”
Warden Krahl’s heavy patrol squads turned on their heels, their iron boots clattering as they rushed away from the central foundry.
Three miles away, in the shadowy maintenance corridors of Sector Two, Deacon Vane lowered his hand from a bronze rail switch.
Behind him in the gloom stood fifty conscripted alchemists and martial disciples, smiling quietly in the dim lantern light.
Captains from the Iron-River Sect, the Ashen-Peak Clan, and the Rust-Valley Hall had coordinated the diversion with flawless timing.
