Halvek’s broadcast came at the first bell of the day shift, on every speaker in the Low Brace.
Mara heard it in the yard. She had slept two hours on the cot in the store and come down to find the crew already at the bench and the yard’s gate open, and people in the lane outside: dock workers on their way to the first shift, women with baskets, a knot of children from the dormitory line. The yard’s speaker was bolted to the forge’s eave, an old brass horn that usually carried the shift bells and the weather. This morning it carried the Director.
“Citizens of Cinder,” Halvek said. His voice was smooth, measured, a voice that had been trained to fill a hall. “Let us be precise.”
Mara stopped in the middle of the yard.
“The Directorate has received a technical assessment from the inherited authority that governs the lamps,” Halvek said. “The assessment shows a risk to Cinder’s lamp. It also shows a remedy.” A pause, perfectly timed. “One lamp’s outlet, under a limited consolidation, on a timetable to be published. The consolidation will move load away from Hearth and permit the brace now under test to carry the city safely through the winter.”
