The representative brought her own hammer.
She set it on the landing beside Tavin’s tool box, took off a pair of oil-stained gloves, and offered him a folded receipt. The black square and white line appeared in its lower corner, the same mark as the wheel reservation.
“My name is Rysa,” she said. “I work for the North Transfer Cooperative. The wheel was held for one of our freight cages.”
Tavin read the receipt. “Why sell it?”
“We found another wheel. Yours is carrying clinic traffic.”
“You could have told us yesterday.”
“I sent the offer through Edren. He doesn’t give out names.”
“He charged us well for the privacy.”
Rysa’s mouth tightened. “He charged you what I asked. Our other wheel cost more than it should have, and our crews need paying. If you think that makes me a thief, you can find one of the men who sold us the first one.”
Iven had expected a Krail clerk or a collector who wanted to inspect the cage for leverage. A woman with a hammer and an account of her own costs was less dramatic. He found that reassuring.
Neri took the receipt and compared its mark with the slip from Edren. “Why do you want to watch the installation?”
“Because the wheel’s bearing seat was cut for our axle. Edren measured it, but I know where the difference is. If your axle shoulder is worn, the flange may sit too close to the guide.”
“It wasn’t on the tag,” Iven said.
“The tag gave the size. It didn’t say what the size assumes.”
“That seems like an important part.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here.”
Tavin considered her hammer. “Are you offering to work?”
“I’m offering to keep you from putting a good wheel on a bad shoulder and blaming my cooperative when it binds.”
“That’s almost a yes.”
“It is a yes. I charge for being misunderstood.”
They set the cage at the lower landing and unloaded it. Its gouged left guide wheel remained functional under Neri’s limit, but the damage had deepened where the wheel ran against the rail. Iven placed a fingertip in the groove. The metal had curled along one edge, forming a sharp lip.
“If this catches under load, it could turn the whole bracket,” he said.
Tavin watched a stretcher party approach the landing. The patient was a gray-haired woman with a wrapped ankle. She saw the barrier, then the replacement wheel, and raised one hand.
“Before you ask,” Tavin said, “we’re taking it out of service for the morning.”
“I wasn’t going to ask.”
“What were you going to say?”
“That I can use the stairs if the boy stops insisting I can’t.”
The boy carrying the front of the stretcher looked wounded. “Sera said you shouldn’t put weight on it.”
“She didn’t say I couldn’t complain while other people carry me.”
Neri asked whether they could wait through the repair. The woman considered the stairs and the state of her bearers, then asked for a chair. Dessa found one and placed it where the group could see the work without being beneath it.
“If it falls,” the woman said, “I’ll be able to describe the sound.”
“We’re hoping for a dull morning,” Tavin replied.
Iven, Neri, Jem, and Rysa built a support beneath the cage frame. The wheel carried sideways pressure rather than the full cage weight, but removing it would allow the guide bracket to move if the cage leaned. They kept two independent lines on the frame and placed a timber block beneath the near corner. Tavin checked the knots himself.
The old wheel came free after Iven removed its retaining pin. He passed it to Jem, who laid it beside the replacement. Up close, the difference in the hub width was obvious. Rysa pointed to the axle shoulder.
“That’s the worn area. If the new wheel sits against it, the flange will rub.”
“How much?” Neri asked.
“Less than a finger’s thickness. Enough to heat the bearing.”
Jem had brought the spacer he had prepared the previous evening. It fitted the axle, but its outer edge touched the flange when the wheel turned. Iven marked the contact with chalk. Rysa took the spacer to the bench and filed the outer edge, checking it after every few strokes.
She handed it back to him. “Your turn. If I do the whole thing, you’ll spend the afternoon explaining why you trusted me.”
“I can already explain that.”
“How?”
“You brought a hammer and an excellent opinion of it.”
“It’s an excellent hammer.”
He filed the spacer until the wheel turned clear. Neri checked the clearance with a thin strip of metal. Tavin replaced the retaining pin with one from Liss’s tested stock. They turned the wheel by hand, then moved the cage a few inches along the guide while the support lines remained slack enough to reveal any shift.
The wheel rolled without scraping. Iven touched the housing. No unusual heat.
“Empty run,” Neri said.
Tavin raised the cage slowly. It moved to the midpoint and stopped. Jem checked the guide from the platform while Rysa watched the flange. The wheel had stayed centered. Tavin brought it back down and repeated the movement.
The gray-haired woman lifted a hand. “I haven’t heard anything interesting.”
“Give us time,” Tavin said.
The first loaded test used sandbags. The second used the sacks and two workers whose combined weight matched the normal passenger limit. They rose to the upper landing and returned without a jerk. Neri inspected the mounting, checked the support line’s tension, and approved a gradual return to service.
“One load at a time,” she told Tavin. “We’ll recheck after the first hour.”
“That’s how I usually do it.”
“I know. I’m saying it for the people who will claim they didn’t hear.”
The stretcher party entered first. Iven helped the woman settle in the center of the cage. She had declined the chair after watching the second test and had spent the time telling her bearers which of them had tied the splint badly.
At the upper landing she allowed the boy to help her out, then pointed back toward the wheel. “That was almost pleasant. Don’t let it become a habit.”
Tavin closed the gate behind her. “I’ll do my best.”
The next load included three water cans and a folded support frame. Tavin raised the cage while Neri watched the guide. Iven remained below with Rysa. When the cage reached the upper stop, a shout came from the street beneath the landing.
A cart had broken through a temporary barrier on the service road. Its driver was trying to stop it, but the rear axle had come loose on one side. The cart rolled downhill with one wheel dragging, shedding a trail of small wooden boxes.
A group of workers stood directly in its path.
“Clear the lane!” Iven shouted.
Most moved. One man turned toward the cart instead, trying to catch a box that had fallen near his feet. Iven ran down the side stair, taking the steps two at a time. His shoulder complained at the first landing. He ignored it until he needed the arm, which was the best arrangement he had with most of his injuries.
The cart struck the edge of the road and slewed toward the workers. Iven seated hook cast, plate brace, and winch draw while he moved. The hook had been his last acquisition before the turn; he had practiced with it on the outer deck, but this was the first time he had used it on a moving load in a crowded street.
He cast the short tether toward a sound iron post beside the lane. It caught around the post, its line visible in the morning light. He put the winch pull into the cart’s rear frame. The tug pulled him forward as well as pulling the cart sideways. He braced one boot against the curb and let the post take part of the reaction.
The cart slowed but did not stop. Its dragging wheel struck a stone and lifted. One of the remaining boxes came loose, flying toward the man who had bent to retrieve the first.
Iven raised the plate brace. The box struck it, broke open, and scattered a dozen glass jars across the paving. Most shattered. One rolled against the man’s boot. He stared at it, then finally moved out of the lane.
“Leave them,” Iven said.
The cart continued to turn. Tavin had come down the stairs behind him and now seized the driver’s line. Rysa ran to the front, where a length of chain had dragged free from beneath the bed. She threw the chain around a second post and called for Tavin to pull.
The two anchors held. The cart stopped with its front corner pressed against the low wall. Its driver sat down hard on the pavement and looked at the broken axle as though he had only just met it.
“Was anyone hit?” Neri asked.
The man with the jars held up an arm. A narrow cut crossed his sleeve, but the skin beneath was unbroken. The workers checked one another. The driver had bruised his hip when he jumped, but could stand.
Iven released the winch and let the hook tether settle. The strain in his left forearm eased. He had spent more charge than he intended, though not enough to leave him unable to work. He looked at the broken jars. Their contents smelled sharply of vinegar.
The driver followed his gaze. “Those were for the clinic.”
Sera arrived a few moments later, carrying her case. She looked at the jars, then the driver.
“What was in them?”
“Cleaning solution.”
“How many remain?”
They counted the unbroken boxes. Six jars had survived. Sera examined one and nodded. “That will cover the morning. I’ll find another supplier for the rest.”
The man who had tried to catch the box crouched beside the debris. “I thought I could save it.”
“You nearly did,” Iven said. “Next time save yourself first.”
The man looked at the cuts in the sleeve and nodded.
Rysa inspected the failed axle. One retaining nut had backed off. The other had broken at the threaded end. She did not touch either until the driver had seen them.
“Did you check these before loading?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Did you turn the nut?”
“I looked at it.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
The driver accepted the correction without arguing. Tavin offered to lend him a replacement cart once the road was cleared. The driver objected that he could not pay for the hire. Tavin told him the clinic could settle it later if the remaining jars arrived before noon.
While they transferred the boxes, Neri returned to Cage Seven and inspected the new wheel after its first loaded runs. The flange had remained clear. The chalk marks on the mounting bolts aligned. She allowed Tavin to restore its ordinary passenger limit, with a second inspection scheduled for the end of the day.
“You’ve done it,” Rysa told him.
“We’ve done it.”
“You paid for the wheel.”
“And you kept it from rubbing against the housing.”
She looked at her hammer, then tucked it back into its loop. “My cooperative moves freight from the north deck. If you need a transfer while your cage is busy, send word. We have room for two carts a day until the end of the week.”
Tavin wrote her name in his notebook. “I’ll send a schedule, not a promise I can’t keep.”
“That makes you unusual.”
“It’s a crowded field.”
Iven helped collect the unbroken jars. He found one under the cart, its glass scratched but intact, and handed it to Sera. She checked the seal and added it to the count.
“Seven,” she said. “You saved me an afternoon.”
“I’m learning to count.”
“You’re learning to look under carts.”
“Also useful.”
The driver took the borrowed cart toward the clinic. Rysa left for the north deck after accepting half a roll from Neri. Tavin sent the empty cage back to the upper landing for a load of blankets. The wheel turned smoothly against the rail, a small circle of motion that would let people travel without the long route or a dangerous delay.
Iven went upstairs with the broken axle in his hand. He wanted to see whether the thread had failed from wear or an earlier impact. Rysa had warned the driver that looking was not the same as checking. He intended to follow the advice himself.