The launcher had a white cloth tied to its barrel. Someone had taken care to tie the knot where it would not obstruct the firing mechanism.
Iven stopped at the edge of the upper shelf and finished chewing the bread. The road approached the First Vent junction between a cliff face and a low stone parapet. Three freight wagons had halted there, their draft animals shifting uneasily in the wind. The launcher rode on the second wagon, its frame bolted to a swiveling carriage. A thick metal bolt rested in the firing groove.
Six people stood around the wagons. Two wore the gray coats of the Measure Compact. Three had the patched gear of hired guards. The sixth, a woman in a dark riding coat, held the white cloth’s other end as if she were personally responsible for its honesty.
“You can see why I was reassured,” Tavin said.
Neri came to the rail beside Iven. Behind her, station workers were closing the outer shutters. They did not abandon the repaired relay. Leth and the local crew remained inside with the three controls, and Sera had moved the injured workers to a room below the road level.
“Are they within range?” Neri asked.
