The road lead’s name was Dema Rusk, and she counted Iven’s pack twice.
Not its contents. Its fastening points, the way the tool roll lay against his back and the empty pressure vessel where it would not strike his ribs when the ground grew steep.
“Good,” she said. “If you buy more iron between here and Caldrin, you carry the new weight.”
“I’ll try to buy interesting iron.”
“It all weighs interestingly.”
Six people left the upper yard on the five hundred and first day, with two pack animals and their places booked along the light road. Dema led. Two returning riggers walked together behind the animals. An instrument merchant kept checking the little case inside his coat, while a paid courier used the first easy ground to eat the breakfast he had been too late to finish.
Iven walked near the rear, full reserve steady beneath his sleeve. Plate, spring, piston and conveyor drive were seated. The new lateral movement had become familiar enough to choose without testing it at every smooth patch of stone.
They passed the lower ravine turn before the town had finished its first meal.
