Caldrin’s heat works were still running when Brin arrived.
He heard them before the caravan reached the receiving yard: the steady low movement of drives beneath the sharper sounds of people unloading metal, food and ordinary household goods. Warm vapor rose from a roof vent and thinned in the morning air. A worker on the upper walk changed a board, checked the answering mark and went back inside.
Nobody was waiting for Brin to make the city function.
That pleased him more than the sight of a familiar banner would have done.
High Mile’s train had left Stonewake thirty-two days earlier. Now, on the thousand and thirty-sixth morning, Vara Holt brought it into the Caldrin receiving ground and gave each owner the local unloading order. Some loads ended here. Others would change their supports before continuing east. New goods had been booked in advance, with no assumption that a departing customer left a free space anyone could fill without an account.
Brin and Jora had a day to rest, inspect their equipment and make the next route marks.
They found Mara at the union workshops after sending a message from the public receiving window. She came down with her sleeves rolled, a dark line of oil on one wrist and an expression that improved when she recognized them.
