The southern carrier put a lump of coal on the route table.
Tavin moved it off the map before anyone could mistake the gesture for a proposed destination.
“Price and source,” he said.
“Both on the paper.”
“Then we’ll begin with the paper.”
Iven stood by the open door while a receiving crew rolled empty fuel bins across the yard. The morning of the four hundred and ninety-fourth day was cold enough to make the iron handles unpleasant through thin gloves. He had slept eight hours after the belt trials, eaten well and recovered much of what he had spent. The reserve was not quite full. It was more than enough for the paid cart-placement trial he had promised the store keeper later.
For now, he had been asked to explain the repaired routes’ actual working limits.
The carrier was a woman named Vell Ors. Her family firm handled southern depot traffic through the established Caldrin road. It belonged to the Cairn Exchange’s insurance pool, a fact she stated before anyone could discover it and consider themselves deceived.
