Neri arrived in Caldrin on a wagon carrying three doors and a bathtub.
It was the five hundred and twenty-fifth day, four days after the exchanger repair. The forge had waited for a matched pair of tested lifting jacks still committed to another heavy job. They had arrived the previous evening. Senna’s crew had kept the shores and pawl under paid watch; the ring waited cold rather than wasting fuel on a machine that could not yet strike. Iven had used the interval for his accepted union review and the exchanger’s permanent bearing race, which Vara’s crew fitted and tested at the controlled setting.
The bathtub occupied most of the wagon bed. The doors stood upright beside it, tied together with rope and padded with folded blankets. Neri sat on the front bench with the driver, holding a rolled drawing across her knees. She saw Iven waiting at the yard gate, raised one hand, and immediately looked past him at the forge stack.
“Is that smoke supposed to be black?” she asked as the wagon stopped.
“Only when they’re making something.”
“Are they making something?”
“An argument about a hammer.”
“Then it’s a successful morning.”
