The control stronghold of Flood-Lock 014 smelled of machine-grease, sour wine, and burnt incense.
Built into the thick dark rock stonework of the eastern pier, the stronghold was an eight-sided castle wall forty paces across, lined with heavy bronze levers and copper indicator floats that displayed the water levels of the outer basins. At its center stood the master rope winch—a massive rig of linked iron cogwheels designed to override the high-pressure balance of the sea-gates.
Standing before the rope winch, his hand resting upon the handle of a four-foot serrated cleaver forged from void-iron, was Grand Elder Tie Kui of the Iron-Hull Void Guild. He was a massive man, his chest wrapped in black cast-iron plates bolted directly into his collarbone, his beard braided with copper wire. His eyes were dark with the cold, calculating cruelty of a heavy-duty warlord.
Behind him, the heavy oak door of the stronghold had been shattered off its hinges.
Yan Zhiqiu stepped through the broken doorway, her black glass harpoon held level, her courier coat spattered with the black grease of the outer winches. Behind her walked Qiao Ming, his bare feet leaving wet, five-toed tracks on the dusty hard speckled rock floor, his knotted horsehair line coiled loosely in his right palm.
