The crate seal was intact in the morning. The parts inside were not in the same order.
Dessa noticed first. She had laid the guide pins in a row by length before they closed the crate. Now the longest pin sat between two shorter ones, and the retaining clips had been wrapped in a different piece of cloth.
Dorel looked into the crate and shrugged. “Someone moved them when they checked the count.”
“Who?” Neri asked.
“The night watch, perhaps.”
Tavin called the watchman over. He was an older man with a gray beard and a cup of tea balanced on the landing rail. He said he had checked the seal twice during his shift and had not opened the crate.
“Did anyone else?”
“Not while I was here.”
“When did your shift end?”
“An hour before you arrived.”
Dorel pointed to the seal. “It hasn’t been broken.”
Neri examined the cord. The knot was tight. The wax mark showed Krail Haulage’s symbol, pressed cleanly into the surface. The cord itself had been tied around the crate handles in a way that allowed the lid to lift a few inches without disturbing the wax.
“Someone could reach inside,” she said.
Dorel tested the lid. It rose enough for a hand. “Someone could. That doesn’t mean someone did.”
“No. It means the seal doesn’t tell us what you think it tells us.”
Krail was not present. His foreman had authority over the installation, and he wanted the cage back in service before the afternoon. Tavin wanted that too. The difference was that Tavin intended to make sure the parts would hold first.
“We check the pins again,” he said.
They laid the pieces on the landing. Iven took the longest pin and measured it. The diameter matched the work sheet. The second pin also matched. The third was a fraction narrower near its head than at its tip.
“Is that within tolerance?” Dorel asked.
Iven showed the gauge to Neri. She checked the figure against the assembly drawing. The difference was small enough to fit the stated range, but the gradual change was not expected on a pin that should carry an even load.
“We can test it in the guide block,” she said.
Dorel folded his arms. “You tested it yesterday.”
“We tested a pin yesterday.”
“You think someone changed it?”
“I think this one isn’t uniform. That’s enough to test.”
Jem brought the guide block from the covered work area. It had been cleaned and inspected after removal. They placed it on a stable support and passed the pin through the hole. Near the tip it fitted closely. Near the head it moved a little.
“Not much,” Dorel said.
“No,” Neri agreed. “But the load won’t be spread evenly.”
She asked for a second pin. It fitted with less movement. Iven marked the narrower pin with a piece of chalk and set it aside.
Dorel picked it up. “It meets the drawing.”
“The drawing gives a range for diameter. It doesn’t say the pin should taper.”
“The cage has run with worse.”
Tavin stepped closer. “That’s not an argument I want to hear.”
Dorel put the pin down. “We can use the other one.”
“Where did this one come from?” Iven asked.
“Krail’s supplier.”
“The mark is difficult to read.”
“Then ask the supplier.”
Iven turned the pin toward the light. Two lines had been stamped on its head. A later impression crossed the first, making several letters difficult to distinguish. He could make out part of a name, but not enough to be certain.
Neri studied it beside him. “The mark on yesterday’s pin had the same overlap?”
“I think so. I didn’t record the position.”
“Then we can’t say it’s the same.”
“I know.”
She gave him the chalk. “Mark the one you suspect. We’ll keep it separate.”
Dorel objected. “It’s company property.”
“Then keep it in your sight,” Tavin said. “It isn’t going into the cage until we know it belongs there.”
The foreman placed the pin in a separate box and tied the lid. Iven watched the knot. This one could not be opened without untying it, though he knew a knot was no proof against a determined hand.
The work continued with the remaining pins. Neri and Jem checked the guide block’s mounting surfaces. Dessa cleaned the bearing housing while Iven inspected the ratchet teeth. The burr he had filed away had not returned. The handle moved freely, but one mounting bolt had loosened after the previous day’s test.
“Did you tighten it?” he asked Dorel.
“I watched Jem tighten it.”
Jem came over. “I did.”
They checked the sleeve fitted into the corrected hole. It sat slightly proud of the plate. When the bolt had been tightened, it had pressed against the sleeve instead of the plate. The joint felt secure without actually clamping both pieces together.
“My mistake,” Jem said.
“No,” Neri replied. “We all checked it.”
They removed the bolt and filed the sleeve flush. This time, when the bolt tightened, the plate and support came together without a gap. Iven marked the bolt head with chalk and made a matching line on the plate. If the bolt moved during testing, the two marks would separate.
Dorel watched. “You do that on every bolt?”
“On the ones I want to see move.”
“What about the others?”
“I check them too.”
The foreman leaned against the rail. “You think we’re trying to make the cage fail.”
“I think someone wants the work finished quickly.”
“That’s true.”
“And I think a hurry can hide a bad part.”
Dorel looked toward the covered crate. “Sometimes a part looks right and comes from the wrong box.”
“Did that happen here?”
“I didn’t say that.”
He walked away before Iven could ask more. Neri had heard the exchange. She waited until Dorel was out of earshot, then said, “Don’t turn that into an accusation yet.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“I can think without announcing it.”
“That’s a relief for everyone.”
Before the first test, Neri asked Jem to examine the hole in the removed guide block. He threaded a clean cloth through it and drew the cloth back. A narrow crescent of dark residue marked one side.
“Old grease?” Iven asked.
“Some of it.” Jem rubbed a speck between his fingers. “And metal.”
Dorel took the cloth and held it near the lamp. “The old pin wore against the block. That’s why we’re replacing it.”
“Did it wear evenly?” Neri asked.
“Not perfectly.”
“Then we should check the block again after the loaded test. If the new pin is carrying on one edge, the mark will show.”
Dorel handed the cloth back. “You’re looking for every way this can fail.”
“I’m looking for the ones we can inspect before it carries people.”
Jem placed the cloth in a labeled envelope and tucked it beside the old ratchet. Iven wrote the location on the work sheet. The residue could have come from years of ordinary wear; it could not tell them whether the new pin was sound. It gave them a comparison for tomorrow.
The cage passed its first unloaded test. It rose to the upper landing, stopped, and descended smoothly. The guide block moved along the rail without binding. Tavin tested the maintenance ratchet with the cage empty, engaging it at three positions and checking that it held.
“Tomorrow we load it,” Neri said.
“Why not today?” Tavin asked.
“The support adhesive needs time. And I want the guide to cool after the run so we can see whether anything shifts.”
Dorel checked the sky beyond the roof. “Krail expects the cage open tomorrow.”
“Then he should want it tested tomorrow.”
The foreman went to send a message. Iven stayed to help Neri inspect the old ratchet. Its teeth showed wear from years of use. One tooth had been repaired with a welded patch that did not quite match the surrounding metal.
“Was this in the earlier inspection?” he asked.
“Jem noted the patch. It held during the last service.”
“Could we repair it if the new one fails?”
“Possibly. We’d need to replace the worn section, not just file the tooth.”
He turned the assembly over. The spring behind the pawl was intact. The worn section was confined to a removable segment of the wheel. If they had the right metal and time, they could make a replacement tooth and pin it into the segment.
“Don’t start a second job because you’re annoyed with the first,” Neri said.
“I was thinking.”
“You make the same face.”
They stored the old ratchet near the cage rather than returning it to the company yard. Tavin wanted it available until the new assembly had passed its loaded test. Dorel allowed it after writing its location on the work sheet.
A runner arrived with a message from Krail. The factor would attend the loaded test the next morning. He expected the cage to resume passenger service afterward.
Tavin read the message. “If it passes.”
Dorel took it back. “That’s understood.”
“Write it.”
The foreman added two words to the work sheet: if tested. Tavin accepted them with a grunt.
Later, Iven and Neri walked the upper landing together, checking the route passengers would use when the cage reopened. The temporary barrier remained in place. Beyond it, the new heat-line bracket installed by Peld and Vennic held steady. Someone had painted a small white mark beside the bolts to show they had been inspected.
“Peld did good work,” Iven said.
“Once he had the right support.”
“Dorel may have the right parts.”
“He may.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“I don’t have to be convinced. I have to check.”
At the far end of the landing, they found a basket of discarded packing cloth. One piece matched the wrapping around the retaining clips. Another was stained with dark grease. Neri lifted the greasy cloth with a stick. Beneath it lay a small paper label torn in half.
Iven picked up both pieces. The printed line read guide pins; below it, a handwritten number identified the batch. The two halves did not match cleanly. A narrow strip was missing between them.
“Can you read the supplier?” Neri asked.
“Not from this.”
“Keep it anyway.”
He folded the label into his coat pocket. He would not claim it proved a substitution. It might have been torn when the crate was opened, or it might have come from a different bundle entirely. But if the pin failed, he wanted to know which questions they had thought to ask before it did.
At the lower landing, Tavin was speaking to Asa. The relief kitchen had arranged for food to be delivered to several upper households in the morning, and the schedule depended on the cage reopening. Asa listened to the revised timing without arguing.
“If it’s not safe, don’t send anyone,” she said.
“That’s the plan,” Tavin replied.
She saw Iven and Neri approaching. “Do you need people to carry the food the long way?”
“Possibly,” Neri said. “We’ll know after the test.”
“I’ll arrange them tonight.”
Iven looked at the list in her hand. “You don’t have to wait until the test?”
“If the cage works, the carriers can do something else. If it doesn’t, they’ll already be there.”
Tavin smiled. “You’d make a fine transport captain.”
“I already have a kitchen. I don’t need another group of people telling me what won’t fit.”
She went toward the market. The lamps were being lit again, though the stalls were fewer than the night before. Iven watched her speak to two workers carrying empty baskets. Both nodded and followed her.
Neri folded the work sheet. “Tomorrow we load the cage with sandbags first. No passengers.”
“Agreed.”
“And if the ratchet doesn’t hold, we stop.”
“Agreed.”
She looked at him. “You’re not going to suggest we test it with you inside?”
“I was waiting for you to forbid it.”
“I’ve saved you the effort.”
He laughed. The cage stood at the landing, its gate closed and its guide hidden behind the cover. It looked ready. Iven had learned that ready was a condition to be demonstrated, not a shape a machine could wear.
He went home with the torn label in his pocket and the image of the uneven pin still in his mind.