Cage Seven stopped between landings with six people inside and a sound coming from its left guide wheel that Tavin had never heard before.
“That isn’t on my list of acceptable noises,” he said.
The cage hung a short distance below the clinic level. Its passengers included two injured workers on stretchers, an assistant from Sera’s clinic, and three people who had helped carry them. The cage’s frame was sound, but the left side had dropped enough to make the floor slope toward the outer gate.
Iven leaned over the landing rail. “Can you hold it there?”
“I am holding it there.”
“Can you keep holding it?”
Tavin looked at the brake lever in his hands. “For as long as this stays attached to the wall.”
Neri knelt beside the guide track. The movement of the saddle had twisted a bracket near the upper landing. The wheel had climbed against it instead of rolling cleanly through the curve. A metal shaving lay on the deck below the bracket.
“The bracket’s moved,” she said. “The wheel may be damaged too.”
“Can you get to it?”
“From the maintenance ledge.”
The ledge was narrow, with a handrail on its outer side and a drop beneath the track. Iven took his tool roll and a length of rope. He seated plate brace, ratchet hold, and hook cast. Spring step and the others remained available, but the ledge offered little room for jumping.
Tavin tied the rope around a fixed post and checked the knot himself. “I don’t want you attached to the cage. If it moves, I want you attached to something that doesn’t.”
“That’s a good preference.”
“It’s a rule.”
Iven clipped the rope around his waist and stepped onto the ledge. The guide wheel sat just below him, its rim pressed against the bent bracket. He could see a fresh gouge in the wheel’s outer edge. A fastening bolt had loosened, allowing the bracket to rotate into the track.
Below, one of the stretcher bearers looked up through the cage roof. “Are we falling?”
“No,” Tavin called. “You’re waiting.”
“For how long?”
“Until my mechanic tells me I can move you.”
Iven glanced back. “Your mechanic?”
“I’m willing to pay you in compliments if the cage runs.”
“That sounds expensive.”
He crouched beside the bracket. The bolt could not be tightened while the wheel pressed against it. The cage needed to move downward a few inches to relieve the load, but Tavin could not safely release the brake without knowing whether the wheel would slip farther off the track.
Neri studied the frame from the landing. “Can you hold the bracket away from the wheel?”
“Not with my hand in the gap.”
“Use the short bar.”
Dessa passed him a steel bar on a rope. He wedged it between the bracket and a sound part of the frame. A small plate brace spread the force over the contact. The bracket moved a fraction, enough to free the wheel’s rim.
“Down a little,” he called.
Tavin eased the brake. The cage descended the width of two fingers. The wheel rolled clear of the bent edge. Iven set ratchet hold against the bar to keep it from springing back, then signaled Tavin to stop.
The passengers had gone quiet. Iven could feel their attention through the cage roof. It was easier to work when he treated the wheel as a wheel rather than a container of people, but he did not allow himself to forget why the wheel mattered.
He loosened the bracket bolt, straightened the bracket against the frame, and found that the bolt’s threads had been damaged. Tightening it would hold for a moment and then fail again.
“New bolt,” he called.
Neri passed one from her pouch. It was longer than the old bolt. Iven checked the clearance behind the frame and found enough room for a nut and washer. He removed the damaged bolt, fitted the replacement, and tightened it while Neri watched the bracket’s alignment from above.
“Another quarter turn,” she said.
He did. The bracket sat square.
The guide wheel still had a gouge. Iven ran a finger along it. The outer lip was rough, but the load-bearing surface remained intact. He could file the sharp edge while the wheel was clear of the track.
“How long?” Tavin asked.
“Long enough to stop it cutting the bracket again.”
“That wasn’t a number.”
“Three minutes if no one asks me for another number.”
He filed the gouge, checked the wheel for a crack, and wiped away the filings. The wheel turned under his hand. It did not wobble.
Neri signaled for a test. Iven released the ratchet hold and removed the bar. Tavin moved the cage down another inch, then up. The wheel followed the track without striking the bracket.
“Again,” Neri said.
Tavin repeated the movement. The wheel held its line.
“Bring them up,” Iven called.
The cage rose slowly. Iven stayed on the ledge until the wheel passed the repaired bracket, then climbed back to the landing. The passengers emerged one at a time. The clinic assistant thanked him while helping the stretcher bearers through the gate. One injured worker offered him a coin; Iven declined it.
“Give it to Tavin,” he said. “He’s charging in compliments.”
“I’m not,” Tavin said. “That rumor is damaging my business.”
The second stretcher carried a young man with a broken collarbone. He grimaced as the bearers lifted him, then pointed down the lane.
“My mother is still at the lower landing.”
“Name?” Asa asked. She had arrived with a fresh list.
“Ressa Dorn.”
Asa found the name and marked it. “She was seen near the storehouse an hour ago. We’ll send someone.”
“Don’t send a child,” the man said, looking at Brin.
Brin opened his mouth. Asa spoke first. “I’ll send an adult and Brin will carry the message. Both of them know the lane.”
That answer satisfied no one completely, which often meant it was the most practical one available.
Neri inspected the repaired bracket again. “The cage can run, but only at reduced load. No more than one stretcher and two attendants until we replace the wheel.”
Tavin counted the people waiting. “That doubles the trips.”
“It keeps the wheel on the track.”
He looked at the damaged rim and nodded. “Reduced load.”
The next trip went down empty except for Iven and a stretcher. Tavin wanted another pair of hands at the lower landing, and Iven wanted to see the track from the cage as it moved. The guide wheel rolled through the repaired bracket with a slight hiss where the file had left fresh metal. It did not climb.
At the lower landing, the queue stretched along the wall. Some people needed medical care. Others wanted to reach relatives, tools, or homes. Tavin’s assistant had divided them into groups with chalk marks on the deck, but the marks were beginning to blur under passing feet.
A woman near the front held a baby wrapped in a blanket. Behind her, two men supported an older worker who could not put weight on one leg. A third man argued that his broken arm should take priority because he had been waiting longer.
Tavin listened, then pointed to the clinic assistant. “You decide medical order. I decide what fits in the cage.”
The assistant examined the older worker’s leg and the man’s arm. She sent the worker first. The man with the broken arm swore, then helped lift the stretcher when asked. Iven marked that as a victory for the assistant, not for the argument.
The cage returned upward. Iven remained at the lower landing to help organize the next load. Kesh arrived with a group from the heat line. Brell was among them, her forehead bandaged. She carried the time sheet in a waterproof pouch.
“The upper control room still hasn’t given us a clear answer,” she said. “Harl’s crew says one cylinder is shut and another is leaking.”
“Anyone still below?” Iven asked.
“Two workers went to close a local valve. They should have been back.”
Kesh looked toward the service stair. “I can check.”
“You won’t go alone,” Iven said.
Tavin’s assistant objected. “We need you here.”
“You have a working cage and a load plan. If two people are below, they need a route out.”
Brell gave him the location: a valve room one level beneath the landing, connected by a passage that had been clear before the turn. Iven took Kesh and a worker who knew the door. They tied a guide rope to the landing rail and carried a lamp.
The stair had shifted but remained passable. At the bottom, a fallen pipe cover blocked half the passage. Iven and the worker moved it aside. The valve-room door stood open. Inside, one worker was trying to turn a wheel while another held a cloth against a cut on his leg.
“The wheel’s jammed,” the first worker said. “We thought if we closed it, the leak would stop.”
Iven checked the pipe. The wheel controlled a branch leading away from the regulator return. It was already partly closed. Forcing it farther might break the spindle and leave them unable to reopen the branch.
“Leave it,” he said. “Can you walk?”
The injured worker stood with Kesh’s help. The other hesitated. “The leak—”
“Is it reaching anything electrical?”
“No.”
“Is the pipe under pressure?”
“Low pressure.”
“Then we can mark it and bring the right crew back. We can’t repair it with you bleeding on the floor.”
The man looked at his companion and finally released the wheel.
A scrape sounded behind the pipe cover. Kesh raised her shield. A pale creature emerged through the gap they had opened, its body low and its armor marked by dark fluid. It looked toward the injured worker, then toward the leaking pipe.
The worker backed into the valve room. Iven moved between him and the creature. He had plate brace, ratchet hold, and hook cast seated. The passage was too narrow for a useful hook cast; he released it and seated piston strike while Kesh held the creature’s attention with a careful tap of her shield.
The creature lunged. Iven caught its head on the brace and directed it against the wall. Kesh pulled the injured worker through the doorway. The creature twisted free and struck Iven’s arm. The brace took most of the impact, but his shoulder hit the pipe frame.
He drove a piston strike into the creature’s forward joint. It stumbled. The other worker tried to pull the door shut, but the creature’s limb caught the threshold.
“Leave it open,” Iven said. “Get him up the stair.”
The worker obeyed. Iven stepped backward, keeping the creature in front of him. It advanced two steps, then turned toward the leaking pipe. Its jaw caught the cloth that had fallen from the injured worker’s leg. It shook the cloth once and dropped it.
Kesh had reached the stair with both workers. She called Iven’s name. He did not wait to see what the creature would do next. He backed away until the pipe cover separated them, then turned and climbed.
At the landing, Tavin had the cage ready. The injured worker went aboard with the clinic assistant. The other stayed to describe the valve room to Brell.
Iven marked the service stair with a warning: leak and creature below; trained crew only. Brell added the valve number and the time. She sent the report to Vela rather than allowing someone to assume the branch had been closed.
The cage rose again. This time the guide wheel passed the bracket without a sound.
Neri joined Iven at the rail. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Attached.”
“You’ve used that answer.”
“It continues to be accurate.”
She looked at the service stair, then at the queue. “The bridge crew found longer beams. We can reinforce the walking lane before night.”
“Do you need me?”
“I need you to eat and sit down for ten minutes. Then I need you to hold a beam.”
He took Vale’s wrapped bread from his coat. It had been flattened against his tools but was still bread. He sat on the landing step, ate, and watched Tavin’s crew move the next stretcher into position.
The city continued to creak. Somewhere beyond the clinic, a wall was being pulled down before it could fall on someone. The sound carried across the deck in measured blows.
Iven finished the bread. After ten minutes, Neri held out a hand and pulled him up.
“Your beam is waiting,” she said.