The heat board occupied a room above the old weighing station, where people once brought cargo to be charged according to its weight. The scale had been removed. The hooks remained in the ceiling, and Iven thought they lent the office an appropriate air.
Neri placed her drawing on the counter. “A permanent bracket,” she said. “The line can stay isolated while we install it. Four hours if the material is ready.”
The clerk behind the counter studied the drawing, then checked the notice from the access gate. He was not the stores clerk from the previous day, but he had the same patient expression of a person whose job required him to survive the public.
“The work is already assigned,” he said.
“To whom?”
“Krail Haulage.”
“When?”
He checked the ledger. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“It doesn’t say.”
Tavin leaned on the counter. “The gate is the level route to the clinic.”
“There’s an alternative route.”
“The alternative route is a service road full of broken carts.”
“The board isn’t responsible for carts.”
“No,” Iven said. “Only for closing the route people need when the carts break.”
The clerk looked up. “You can submit a request for temporary passage.”
“Can you approve it?”
“No.”
“Who can?”
“The adjustment supervisor.”
“Where is the supervisor?”
“At the adjustment.”
Neri slid the drawing toward him. “Can you at least send this to the crew? The cracked bracket is taking no weight now, but the hanger needs the proper fixing before another load goes through the line.”
The clerk looked at the drawing more carefully. “You installed the temporary support?”
“My crew did.”
He read the measurements. “This is clearer than the work order.”
“That’s because I looked at the wall.”
He made a copy, pressed a small board mark onto it, and placed the original in a tray. “I’ll send it with the request.”
Tavin glanced at the hooks overhead. “How long until it reaches the supervisor?”
“Depends when the runner comes.”
“Where is the runner?”
The clerk pointed out the window. A young woman was crossing the yard with a stack of folded slips tucked under one arm. Brin was following her, trying to take one of the slips without interrupting her stride.
Iven leaned out and called his name. Brin looked up, saw the three of them, and waved. The runner stopped, accepted the drawing and request through the window, and said she could deliver them before the next adjustment check.
“That was fast,” Tavin told the clerk.
“It happens occasionally,” the clerk said. “We try not to let people expect it.”
They went back to the gate. On the way they found the flour cart clear of the road and its owner sitting on a wall, eating a piece of bread. He lifted it in greeting. Iven returned the gesture and kept walking.
The patient cart from yesterday stood outside the clinic. Its companion was speaking to Sera on the steps. She saw Iven and came over.
“He’s better,” she said. “The doctor wants to keep him until the evening.”
“That’s good.”
“I’m bringing his coat up. I took it home to wash.” She touched the folded bundle in her arms. “I thought I should tell you, after what happened.”
“You don’t owe me an account of his coat.”
“I know.” She smiled briefly. “I wanted to give you a better one than yesterday.”
At the gate, the replacement guard had set the barrier fully in place. Behind it, two Krail workers stood beneath the temporary hanger. One held a ladder; the other was reaching toward the chain with a wrench.
Neri stopped. “What are they doing?”
The guard said, “Preparing the work.”
“By loosening the support?”
The worker on the ladder looked down. “We’re checking the fitting.”
“Then check it without taking the chain off.”
“We have an order.”
“So do I. Mine says that line stays supported.” Neri held up her copy of the work slip. “Wait until I can show you the load path.”
The worker glanced at the other man. “We’re not taking instructions from you.”
“You don’t have to take them. You do have to keep the pipe off the people below.”
The guard stepped between them. “The access is closed. You can’t go through.”
Iven looked beyond the barrier. A narrow maintenance ladder descended from the other end of the platform to the service road. If the pipe fell, it would strike the closed walkway, but the road beneath was not empty. A woman with two children was passing under the structure, and a man was unloading baskets outside a shop.
He called down to them. “Move away from the wall for a minute.”
The man looked up. “Why?”
“Because someone is working overhead.”
The woman took the children across the road. The man moved his baskets more slowly, complaining about dust. Iven could not blame him; he had not yet seen anything fall.
The worker on the ladder put the wrench on the clamp pin. Neri raised her voice. “Stop.”
He turned it a quarter turn. The chain slackened.
Iven reached over the barrier and caught the rail on the other side. With the winch pattern he pulled himself forward, not far enough to clear the gate but enough to lean into the opening. He planted his right foot against the lower bar and called up, “The line will shift toward you. Take your hand off the pin.”
“Get back,” the guard said.
“Tell him to stop.”
The guard looked at the ladder. The worker hesitated. His companion, who was holding the ladder, leaned out to see the chain.
“That’s enough,” the companion said.
The first worker backed the wrench off. Before he could retighten the pin, the old bracket gave a low creak. The heat line had begun its afternoon expansion. The chain took the movement, pulled the half-loosened clamp sideways, and jerked the ladder.
Dessa caught the lower rung. Neri seized the worker’s ankle to steady him. Iven let go of the rail and dropped back onto the landing. For a moment everyone held still, listening to the pipe settle.
“Can you tighten it?” Neri asked.
The worker swallowed. “The wrench slipped.”
“Then use your other hand to hold the clamp. Slowly.”
He did. The pin turned back into place. The chain straightened. When Neri was satisfied, she had Dessa move the ladder away and bring it down through the maintenance access.
The guard opened the barrier enough for the workers to cross. Iven stepped through behind them before the guard could close it.
“You can’t be here,” the guard said.
“Then come with me.”
The guard followed, perhaps because he did not want to leave Iven alone near the line. Neri showed the workers the temporary hanger, the cracked bracket, and the proposed replacement points. They were not pleased to receive instruction, but the man who had nearly fallen listened. His name was Peld, and his companion was Vennic. Neither had installed the misaligned cage housing.
“Our foreman said the temporary chain was in the way,” Peld said.
“It is,” Neri replied. “It also keeps the line up. You need to support the line another way before removing it.”
Vennic looked at the drawing. “We were sent with the bracket, not the second hanger.”
“Then you need the second hanger.”
Peld glanced toward the road. “It’ll take an hour to fetch.”
“Better than dropping the line.”
The guard had gone pale beneath his helmet. “I’m reporting this.”
“Please do,” Neri said.
Peld went to fetch the hanger. Vennic remained at the gate with the bracket and tools. He sat on the lower rung of the ladder and rubbed a hand across his face.
“You think we don’t know the work,” he said.
“I think someone sent you without the equipment you needed.”
“Our foreman said the temporary support was tied to the old bracket.”
“It isn’t.”
“He’d know if he came to look.”
Vennic gave a short laugh without humor. “He doesn’t do much of that.”
Tavin had been speaking to people waiting on the road. The cart carrying the patient’s coat had passed; the woman had chosen to walk around rather than wait. Now a line of passengers had gathered at Cage Seven’s lower stop, several of them with parcels for the clinic.
“I can run them up,” he told the guard. “They don’t need to cross the work area if we use the outer landing.”
“The outer landing is behind the barrier.”
“The cage stops there.”
“The order says no passage.”
Iven looked at the gate. The outer landing was separated from the overhead line by a solid wall. Passengers could leave the cage, turn right, and reach the clinic passage without going beneath the cracked bracket. The barrier had been placed across both routes because its sockets were convenient.
“Can we move the barrier to the inner passage?” he asked.
The guard looked at the wall, then at the order. “I’m not authorized to change it.”
Tavin drew a long breath. “Who is?”
“The supervisor.”
“Where is the supervisor?”
“At the adjustment.”
Tavin closed his eyes. “I knew that.”
Brin arrived at a run with the board’s reply. He held the paper above his head as if that might make it reach them faster. The adjustment supervisor had approved temporary passage through the outer landing, conditional on an attendant keeping passengers out of the work area.
The guard read the reply twice. “You need an attendant.”
“I have one,” Tavin said.
“Who?”
Tavin pointed at himself. “I’m standing here.”
With the barrier moved, Cage Seven could carry passengers to the upper stop. Iven stood beside the open gate while Tavin brought up the first load. A woman carrying two medicine parcels stepped out first, followed by a boy with a cage of birds covered by a cloth. The birds made small, offended noises every time the lift moved.
“Are they sick?” Iven asked.
“They belong to my uncle,” the boy said. “He wants them closer to the clinic.”
“Is your uncle sick?”
“He says the birds are lonely.”
“That’s a difficult diagnosis.”
The boy grinned and took the cage toward the passage. Behind him came an elderly woman with a walking stick. Iven offered an arm. She accepted it and then used the opportunity to ask why the gate had been closed at all.
“There was a cracked bracket.”
“Did you fix it?”
“We supported it. The permanent repair is starting.”
“Good. My daughter told me not to come this way.”
“Your daughter was right yesterday.”
“She often is. It makes her difficult to live with.”
By the time Peld returned with the second hanger, three loads had passed safely through the outer landing. Neri and Dessa stayed to watch the installation. Iven helped carry the new bracket up to the platform, then let the Krail workers perform their own work while Neri checked the measurements.
Peld set the second hanger on the sound crossbeam. Vennic lifted the line just enough to remove weight from the temporary chain. They took the old bracket off in pieces, fitted the replacement, and tightened its bolts in sequence. When the line was resting on the new support, Neri checked the clearance for expansion.
“It’s a good bracket,” she said.
Peld looked surprised. “You expected it not to be?”
“I expected to check it.”
They tested the support by letting the heat line warm through another cycle. The pipe moved a fraction along its seat without dragging the bracket sideways. No joint leaked. Neri signed the inspection note, and Peld added his name beneath hers.
The guard took a copy. “Can I open the inner gate?”
“After the line cools and we check the bolts,” Neri said.
He did not argue. Iven suspected the falling piece from yesterday had done more for his education than either order.
At dusk, Tavin brought the last passenger through. The clinic worker with the coat was waiting at the bottom to collect the cart. The boy’s birds had stopped complaining. Brin sat on the rail with a cup of something hot, reading the adjustment supervisor’s reply for the third time.
“Was that your work?” Iven asked.
“I carried it.”
“You found the supervisor.”
“I knew where she eats. Everyone eats somewhere.”
“That sounds like advice for an assassin.”
“Or a courier.”
Tavin closed the cage gate and tested its latch. “Tomorrow I’d like a day when the gate stays where I put it.”
Neri handed him the signed inspection slip. “Put this somewhere dry.”
He tucked it inside his coat. “Now I have proof the gate is allowed to exist.”
Iven leaned against the rail. His arm was tired but steady. He had used the winch to reach the work area and the brace the day before to stop falling metal. Neither had solved the order on its own. The useful part had been knowing when to pull, when to stop someone else pulling, and when to put a piece of paper in a guard’s hand.
That was less satisfying than breaking a door. It had the advantage of leaving the door available for the next person.