The shift from the light of Entry hall 935 to the gravity well of Entry hall 940 did not announce itself through the eyes. It took hold of the body with a slow, choking heaviness that made the joints of the knees ache and pressed the ribs downward against the pelvis like sacks of wet sand.
Inside Obsidian Diving Bell Number Three, the air remained cold and sweet with wet lime plaster, but Qiao Ming felt the change through the soles of his bare feet. The ribbed bronze floorplate, which had supported his weight with ordinary floating lift, suddenly felt unbending as iron bedrock. It drew his heels down with an irresistible, magnetic drag that seemed to pull at the iron in his hemoglobin. Beside him on the watching couch, Yan Zhiqiu let out a low gasp, her hands gripping the wooden armrests as her shoulders sank two inches into the horsehide padding. Her deerskin-wrapped tablet slipped from her fingers, striking the floor with a heavy, shaking thud that sounded three times heavier than normal stone.
“The weight,” she whispered, her voice strained as her chest muscle labored to lift the extra burden. “Caspian... My arms feel as if they were cast from solid lead pipe.”
