The cellar under the third house was too small for both of their designs.
Neri stood in the doorway with the measuring cord stretched between her hands. Iven held the other end against the far wall. The room contained a coal bin, a drain, a water main, and the existing cartridge housing. A narrow passage ran between the housing and the stairs.
“If we put the two sleeves side by side, the tray hits the stair post,” Neri said.
“Turn the housing ninety degrees.”
“Then the outlet points into the coal bin.”
“We can move the bin.”
The tenant, a retired foundry worker named Mella, looked up from the stairs. “Where?”
Iven looked around the room. The only open wall held shelves of preserved food and three jars of pickled roots. The space beneath the stairs was too damp for coal.
