Neri found the second crack by looking at the first one from the other side.
It crossed the abandoned quarry floor in a shallow curve. The eastern edge stood higher than the western edge, barely enough to catch the morning light. On the path above, it had looked like a place where runoff had cut through old stone dust. Down here she could see the whole curve, and the smaller cracks branching from it.
The quarry was not a hole in solid rock.
It was a roof.
She stood still and listened to the animals drinking at the upper trough. Their feet were on sound ground, well outside the curve. The party had reached the old quarry house after two days east from Bellwether, expecting to fill water and continue before noon. Safa had gone ahead to speak to the seasonal keeper. Iven was helping unload the damaged pack cover beneath the house’s awning.
Neri put a red mark on the path stone and went back uphill.
Safa returned with the keeper before she reached the trough. He carried a basket of little dark plums and the patient expression of someone preparing to explain his prices to eleven strangers.
“There’s a void under your west floor,” Neri said.
