On the morning of day 1077, the scout brought Cenn a drawing of a cart rather than a count of soldiers.
That interested Iven more than the number would have done. Six armed people could close a road. One competent engineer with access to a loaded line could bring down a room without seeing the people inside it.
The cart stood in an old pumping yard west of First Vent. Its capstan had been connected to a surviving inspection cable, a different cable from the one Rask had safely disconnected three days earlier. The scout had watched the line lift clear of its sleepers. At the other end, Jeth and two station hands were repairing the outer support.
Cenn laid the drawing on a wall.
“Fesk has four technicians, two guards and a Council officer with him. We can approach from the dry channel. My people will hold the road.”
“Has the station answered?” Iven asked.
“A runner is going. Nobody there has accepted this pull.”
Iven checked the gauge at his cuff. Three hundred and sixty-six charges remained beneath a measured capacity of three hundred and eighty. He had eaten, slept and left the morning’s calibration alone. Five functions settled into place: plate brace, boiler jacket, turbine burst, shear edge and track grip. His ordinary spanner hung at his right hip. The brass hook stayed inside his cuff.
