The quarry’s spare winder stood beneath a roof of its own.
Its drum was clean. Its driving chain had been oiled recently. Beside the brake hung a slate recording the last inspection, with a fresh mark beneath the old ones.
Iven stopped Elian before he could ask why it was not working.
“Someone’s looking after it.”
The quarry’s owner heard him.
“I should hope so. I pay them.”
She came out from behind a stack of dressed blocks, wiping stone dust from her hands. She was small, with a thick gray braid tucked inside her collar and a left boot patched at the toe. Behind her, the active cutting crew worked under an open-sided shelter. Every few breaths the steel struck with a note that seemed to remain in the cold air after the hammer lifted.
“You’re the lift people?”
