The silence that followed the dropping of Sluice-Gate Fourteen lasted only until the air began to ring.
In the narrow, greenstone hall of the Throat of the Whale, twelve tunnel diggers stood huddled against the iron-hard face of the iron inner wall. The air was foul with the smoke of their overturned lanterns, the bitter reek of scorched charcoal from their respirators, and the sharp, coppery tang of their own sweat. Captain Meng stood with his back to the iron plate. His eight-pound sounding-bar was held defensively across his chest, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
“Form a defensive square!” Meng barked, his voice bouncing between the polished hard speckled rock walls in harsh, overlapping echoes. “Check the side joints! Find the high-pressure bypass! An iron gate that drops by a balance weight must have an emergency release pin!”
Two tunnel diggers knelt at the base of the gate, their iron-plated fingers wildly scraping away the crushed granite dust that filled the floor doorstep. They searched for a lever, a chain-pocket, or a bypass port, but their fingers met only cold, seamless metal seated four inches deep into the stone.
Then, high in the top stone ledge where the upright walls met the spring of the barrel vault, a sound began.
