Brin was late, which meant something had gone wrong or someone had finally made him sit down for a meal. Iven hoped for the meal until he saw Mother Vale looking toward the door for the third time.
“He went to the north deck?” Iven asked.
Vale nodded. “With Rysa’s schedule and a packet for a family in the middle saddle. He was due back before the soup came off.”
“The soup’s still on.”
“Because I moved it back.”
She lifted the lid. The pot smelled of beans, onions, and the smoked pepper she used when the kitchen could afford it. A wooden spoon stood upright in the mixture. Iven had seen thinner mortar.
“Did he say which route?”
“Across the new bridge, then the freight stair. He knows the alternate if the stair is closed.”
“He knows three alternates.”
“That’s why I’m worried.”
Asa came in carrying a crate of cups. She listened while Vale repeated the route and set the crate down without being asked. “I’ll check the bridge and the rooms near it.”
“I’ll go to the north deck,” Iven said.
Vale handed him a wrapped piece of bread. “Eat it on the way. If I have to look for two hungry people, I’ll be annoyed.”
He took the bread and left. Outside, a light rain had begun to fall, turning the dust on the walkway into a paste that collected in the seams. The bridge’s new far plate showed no movement beyond Neri’s chalk marks. Iven crossed it at a walk, watching the bolts out of habit. On the far side he found the boy from the washhouse sheltering beneath an awning with his dog.
“Have you seen Brin?” Iven asked.
“The one who runs?”
“That narrows it down.”
“He went toward the freight stair. A man stopped him.”
“What man?”
“The one with the red cart.”
“Did Brin stop?”
“He did when the man took his bag.”
Iven felt the bread go hard in his hand. “Which way did they go?”
The boy pointed toward the stair. “The man gave the bag back. They went down together.”
“Did Brin look hurt?”
“No. He looked angry.”
“That sounds familiar.”
The boy’s dog sniffed Iven’s boot. He offered it a corner of bread, which the animal accepted without the boy’s permission. The boy looked offended until Iven gave him the rest of the piece.
“Stay here if the rain gets heavier,” Iven said.
“I’m waiting for my mother.”
“Good. Tell Asa where you saw him if she comes by.”
The freight stair descended beside a covered chute used for moving small cargo between levels. At its base, a red handcart stood against the wall. One wheel had been removed. A man in a soaked coat was kneeling beside it with a wrench.
“Did a courier come through here?” Iven asked.
The man looked up. “Brin? He helped me get the wheel off.”
“Where is he now?”
“He went to fetch a pin. Mine sheared.”
“You took his bag.”
“I moved it out of the rain while he held the cart.” The man pointed to the covered chute. “He left it with the woman at the counter. Said he didn’t want the medicine getting wet.”
Iven looked at the cart. The broken pin still protruded from the axle. The man had driven part of it out, leaving a jagged end that would catch the wheel if he tried to refit it.
“Where did he go for the replacement?”
“North deck workshop.”
“How long ago?”
The man glanced at the rain. “Long enough that I was about to go after him.”
Iven went to the counter. The woman there had Brin’s bag on a dry shelf, with Vale’s packet and Tavin’s schedule still inside. She said Brin had left it less than half an hour ago. He had promised to return after finding the pin.
“He does that,” she said. “Takes a job on the way to another job.”
“Did you see anyone follow him?”
“No. The stair’s busy. I wasn’t watching every person.”
Iven took the bag and left his name. The north deck lay beyond the freight stair and a series of narrow platforms used for transferring cargo. He could hear metal striking metal ahead, irregular blows rather than the steady work of a shop. He followed the sound through a passage between two storage sheds.
Brin stood on a platform above the lower lane. He was holding a length of pipe across a gap in the railing. On the other side, a worker clung to the edge of a suspended freight platform. The platform had tilted, leaving one corner lower than the others. A crate hung against the worker’s legs.
“Don’t move,” Brin said.
“I’m not planning to,” the worker replied.
Iven reached them. “What happened?”
“The front line slipped,” Brin said. “He was unloading. The crate shifted.”
The worker was a young woman with a blue scarf tied around her hair. Her hands gripped the platform edge. One boot was trapped between the crate and the rail. Below her lay the lower lane, crowded with carts that had stopped when the platform tilted. A fall would put her among the wheels and the broken timber scattered there.
“Can you feel your foot?” Iven asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you pull it free?”
“No.”
“Don’t try until the crate is supported.”
He examined the platform’s rigging. Two rear lines remained tight. The front line had slipped through a pulley whose locking pawl hung open. The platform’s low corner rested against a building brace, but each movement of the suspended load made it scrape.
A second worker stood at the winch housing, turning a handle that no longer engaged. He had been striking it with a hammer, which explained the noise.
“Stop,” Iven told him.
“It won’t catch.”
“Then hitting it harder may give us two broken parts.”
The worker stepped aside. Iven checked the linkage. A small connecting rod had come off its pin. It lay beneath the housing, caught in a pile of rope. He could refit it, but only after the line’s tension was held elsewhere. If the pawl closed while the platform moved, it might shear its teeth.
Neri had told him yesterday not to volunteer for every part of a plan. He looked at the people already there. Brin could hold the pipe steady. The second worker knew the winch. A pair of loaders had come up the stair with rope.
“You,” he said to the worker at the housing. “What’s your name?”
“Tal.”
“Tal, take one of them and anchor the front line to the wall ring. Not the pipe. That ring.”
Tal moved. Iven turned to the other loader. “Clear the lower lane. Don’t let anyone stand under the platform.”
The loader shouted down. People below began moving carts back. One driver objected until a jar from the earlier cart wreck was held up as an example of what could fall.
Iven tied his own rope around the crate. The young woman’s boot was trapped beneath its corner, so he had to lift the crate without pulling it toward her. He ran the rope through a ring on the platform’s upper frame and back to a post beside the stair.
“I’m going to raise the near edge,” he told her. “When there’s room, pull your foot straight back.”
“What if the platform moves?”
“Tal is securing the line. We wait until he says it’s held.”
Tal looped the front line around the wall ring and tied it with help from the loader. He pulled the knot tight, then leaned his weight against it. The line held.
“Ready,” he called.
Iven seated winch draw, plate brace, and ratchet hold. The hook would have been useful for reaching the far frame, but the physical rope was already in place. He drew on the winch gently. The crate rose a fraction. The rope tightened against the ring, and the post took the reaction.
The woman’s boot came free.
“Back,” Iven said.
She pulled her leg clear. Brin lowered the pipe toward her. She caught it with one hand, let go of the platform with the other, and hauled herself onto the landing with Iven’s help. Her ankle was swollen, but she could move it.
The platform jerked. Tal’s knot held, but the wall ring shifted in its mounting. A thin crack appeared in the plaster around one bolt.
“Everyone away,” Iven said.
The young woman limped toward the stair. Brin followed her. Iven stayed long enough to engage the ratchet hold against the slipping line while Tal moved a second rope to a sounder anchor. The pattern resisted the line’s downward movement for several breaths. It did not make the wall ring stronger; it gave Tal time to transfer the load before the ring tore free.
The second rope took the weight. Iven released the ratchet. The platform settled against the building brace and stopped.
Tal looked at the cracked plaster. “That ring was inspected last month.”
“Then it needs another inspection.”
“It was supposed to hold a full platform.”
“Today it held long enough.”
Iven examined the winch linkage with Tal. The connecting rod had slipped because its retaining clip was missing. The pin itself was sound. Tal found a replacement clip in his tool box, and they fitted it after taking the strain off the mechanism. The pawl engaged on the first test. On the second, it caught and held the front line.
They did not raise the platform immediately. The crate remained tilted, and the wall ring needed to be replaced. Tal marked the winch out of service and sent the loader to find a foreman. Iven helped bring the young woman down to the landing, where Sera could examine her ankle.
Brin came beside him. “I was going back for the bag.”
“I have it.”
“I told Vale I’d be back before soup.”
“She moved the soup.”
Brin looked relieved, then guilty for looking relieved. “The cart driver needed a pin. I thought I could find one quickly.”
“And then?”
“I saw the platform tilt. I couldn’t leave her there.”
“No.”
“I should have sent someone to Vale.”
“Yes.”
Brin looked at him. “You’re not going to tell me I did the right thing?”
“You did. You also left people wondering where you were. Both can happen.”
The boy’s expression changed. He seemed to be considering whether this was a fairer answer than praise or scolding. At last he nodded.
At the clinic, Sera checked the young woman’s ankle. It was bruised but not broken. She bound it and told the woman to keep weight off it for the rest of the day. The woman objected that she was due to finish unloading. Sera pointed to the swelling and asked whether the remaining crates would be safer with her standing on one foot.
“They might,” the woman said. “I’m very good at standing.”
“Then practice tomorrow.”
Iven left Brin at the clinic with instructions to tell Vale what had happened. He carried the schedule to the north deck himself. Rysa received him beside a long row of freight cages, each marked with a different color at the gate.
“Your courier didn’t arrive,” she said.
“He stopped to help a driver, then a worker whose platform tilted.”
“Is the worker alive?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m glad he was late.” She took the schedule. “We can take the morning loads. Two carts, as promised.”
“Will you need the cage back for your own work?”
“After the second trip. Our wheel is being installed this afternoon.”
She pointed to a cage farther along the deck. Its guide wheel lay on a cloth beside the rail. Two workers were measuring the axle shoulder before fitting the replacement.
“You were right about the worn shoulder on ours,” Iven said.
“I usually am.”
“Do you charge for saying that?”
“Only if I have to repeat it.”
He stayed long enough to watch the first cart load. Rysa’s crew checked the wheels, tied the cargo, and counted the boxes. They moved quickly because each person knew which part belonged to them. No one shouted until a driver tried to add a third cart after the gate had closed.
“We agreed on two,” Rysa told him.
“There’s room.”
“There’s also a weight limit.”
“The cage can take it.”
“Have you measured the load?”
He had not. She sent him to the scale. Iven watched him return with a weight that exceeded the limit by enough to make the argument brief.
On his way back, Iven stopped at the red cart. Tal had brought the driver a new pin, and the wheel was fitted. Brin’s bag was no longer on the counter; he had come through after leaving the clinic and collected it.
The driver offered Iven a small coin for the help he had not provided. Iven declined and suggested he pay Tal instead. The driver looked around for Tal, then set off after him.
At Vale’s kitchen, Brin was serving soup with the careful expression of a person trying to demonstrate that he had understood a lesson. Vale accepted the account of his delay and gave him an extra task: deliver bowls to the two rooms above the kitchen after the meal.
“That’s not a punishment,” she told him.
“I know.”
“It becomes one if you eat both bowls on the stairs.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You considered it.”
“Only because they smell good.”
Iven sat with Asa while the rain ticked on the roof. She had found the washhouse boy’s mother and made sure the family had a room for the night. The mason had inspected the passage and expected to shore it the following morning.
“You went after Brin,” she said.
“He was busy finding more work.”
“He learned from the best.”
“I don’t think Sera will appreciate the compliment.”
Asa smiled, then looked toward Brin. “He’s old enough to make choices. That doesn’t make it pleasant when he disappears.”
“No.”
Vale brought them bowls. Iven tasted the soup and found that moving it back onto the heat had done it no harm. Brin carried the first two bowls upstairs without stopping to taste either. When he returned, Vale inspected the empty tray as if looking for evidence of a crime.
“All delivered?” she asked.
“All delivered.”
“Good. Now sit down before someone else finds you useful.”
He sat. Iven passed him the bread he had not eaten on the way out. Brin tore it in half and gave the larger piece back.
“That’s not how sharing works,” Iven said.
“It is when you found me.”
The rain continued outside. The north-deck schedule was in Rysa’s hands, the injured worker had reached the clinic, and a dangerous platform remained closed until its anchor could be replaced. Brin had learned to carry a message about a delay as well as the message he had been given. Iven thought that might save Vale more worry than any repaired wheel.