In the temporary shelter of the lower forge tent, sheltered from the worsening sleet by two layers of scorched canvas, Nessa Vale pinned the master linen survey of the Grand Continental Bypass across a wooden drafting frame stand.
The drawing was four feet long, rendered in waterproof sepia ink and red lead, showing the deep-rock profile of the western canyon flank. At its head sat the dark, crescent curve of the Diverter. Flanking it to the west was the raw, unmortared rock trench of the bypass channel. He dropped through three stepped waterfalls before reuniting with the main river bed four miles below.
Tomas stood over the sheet, his harness straps already tightened over his wool coat, his hands resting on the edge of the frame stand. Beside him, Renn Tal leaned on his cane, his glasses fogged by the steam rising from the forge hearth nearby.
“Here is the bottleneck,” Nessa said. Her brass divider point tapped a narrow constriction in the channel profile four hundred yards below the intake. “The bypass channel was blasted out of solid dark rock forty years ago. But it was never graded to its design depth. The floor is choked with forty thousand cubic yards of quarry spoil, river silt, and fallen talus from the canyon walls.”
