Edda would not let them call the northern tank a city supply.
“It’s a tank,” she said, standing above its cleared inlet. “First we find out whether it can hold water. Then we decide whose mouths you’re drawing around it.”
Iven rested his hands on the cold masonry. Three days of shoring, clearing and ventilation had turned the gallery from an alarming dark space into a work site. Fara’s supports stood beneath the damaged arches. A canvas duct carried clean air from the upper road, driven by a borrowed station blower. Thessa tested the low sections each shift. The washout remained closed except during controlled flushing, with the discharge led away from houses and the working spring.
The crabs had not returned. Pet declared that proof his traps were excellent. Kesh said it was proof the barrier was still fitted. Both checked it when they came past.
Above them, the source had given Thessa good results so far. Its flow was steady through the measured days, its sampled water showed no immediate reason to reject it, and the old channel could bring a useful portion to the tank without taking the livestock trough dry. It would not supply two hundred thousand people by itself. Thessa had said that before anyone asked her to say anything else.
