Chapter 686: The Lower Channel

Loccy followed the guards down the yard steps with a honey pastry tucked inside her sleeve for later.

Morning mist hung over the channel mouth, and the long beam sagged above it like an old horse asleep standing. Two guards flanked Hajin, a third shadowed Ferra, and Olan walked last with Wren’s cousin’s token wrapped in plain cloth.

"One fault, the captain said," he called up to the foreman on the gear house steps, "so where do I stand to look at it?"

"Below the beam, with the repair crew, and touch nothing."

"Love that, very welcoming."

The foreman tapped the ledger under his arm and spat into the channel without answering.

Ragged workers crouched beneath the downstream end, hammering wedges under the timber props that kept the beam from dropping further. Ferra knelt beside the nearest prop, pressed her thumb into the grain, and her whole face went flat and dangerous.

"Green timber," she muttered, low enough that only Loccy caught it, "cut this spring and shimmed with pine scraps, damn them."

"So it’s bad?"

"It’s bad on purpose, somebody picked wood that creeps so the crew never gets to leave."

’Somebody built a broken thing on purpose so people stay underneath it forever.’

Olan crouched beside an old worker and opened the cloth, showing the token with its scratched hitch knot.

The worker stared at it, and his chapped lips started trembling before any words came out.

"That’s the sluice lad’s knot, he ties every rope that way," he whispered, "and he’s alive, down below on the night gang."

Loccy’s ears shot straight up before she could stop them, quivering hard.

Then the nearest prop split down its length with a crack like a snapping bone.

The beam dropped a hand’s width, and every worker beneath it froze with both arms over their heads.

"Out, everybody out!" Hajin bellowed, lunging forward until a guard’s club swung across his chest.

Loccy ducked under the sagging timber before the club even finished its swing toward Hajin’s ribs.

She planted both feet on the stone footing and set her shoulder against the beam as its weight slammed down. Worldbearer surged through her four Wings, through the beam, the gear house and down the counterweight chain into the bedrock.

’Feet planted, shoulder on, one structure, now hold still, you rotten stupid stick.’

"Crawl, crawl, I’ve got it, go!"

The workers scrambled out on hands and knees, and Ferra hauled the old man clear by his collar.

Then Loccy felt a second pull far below the gate, dragging the whole frame down toward the yard.

’Something under the yard drinks from this channel, and it pulls harder than the gate.’

"There’s another pull underneath," she grunted, ears pinned flat, "deeper than the gate, under the yard maybe?"

"The overflow," Ferra hissed, slapping chalk against the footing, "so it does go somewhere, the sneaky bastard."

A whistle shrilled from the steps, and the foreman jabbed his ledger toward the wheel crew.

"Test release, show the guest why nobody walks away from this machine."

"Are you fucking kidding me, she’s under it—"

"Then she can walk away too, if she’s able," the foreman drawled.

Four terrified workers threw their whole weight against the spoked wheel, and the chains shrieked up through the gear house. The gate leaf swung out into the current, and the beam twisted against her shoulder like a furious living thing.

The twist shoved her sideways toward the narrow worker plank hanging over the brown water.

’He wants me on that plank, where one more shove dumps me and the beam downstream.’

Two young workers still clung to the plank’s far end, frozen above the current with nowhere left to go.

"Not there, you smug little toad," Loccy snarled, digging her heels into the footing.

She refused the plank, slid along the timber and slapped both palms against the iron frame bolted into solid rock. The anchored frame swallowed the twist and passed it into stone, and the gate leaf stopped dead in the current.

"Off the plank, slowly, along my arm!"

The two workers crawled along the beam above her head, and Hajin dragged each one down by the belt.

"Clear, both clear!"

"Then tell him to close it before I get cranky!"

The foreman stared at the motionless beam, and the whistle drooped forgotten from the corner of his mouth.

"Close it," he croaked, and the wheel crew dragged the gate home with shaking arms.

Loccy eased out from under the timber while Ferra rammed a fresh oak prop beneath it, ignoring the yelling guard.

Her shoulder throbbed with the old familiar ache, nothing new, and she rolled it twice to make sure.

[ IronVanguard: The captain swore nobody could hold that beam, and she held it through a release. ]

[ HearthKeeper: She picked those two kids over the easy footing, that’s my girl. ]

[ Seoul_Tactician: Watch her feet, she refused the plank and took the bolted frame, smart read. ]

"You okay?" Hajin murmured, catching her elbow with surprising gentleness.

"Hungry," she sniffed, "and offended, mostly offended."

Ferra crawled along the frame with her chalk, following the counterweight chain into a stone housing beside the gear house.

Through its barred door Loccy could see a platform hung on chains, the lift that hauled stone up the wall. Two guards sat inside on crates, and the gate frame’s iron ran through the wall to meet the platform’s bolts.

"Look at that, the same bolt seats," Ferra breathed, pressing her face to the bars, "same smith, same pattern, same lazy bastard."

"Meaning what, in hare words?"

"Meaning his flood gate and his freight lift almost touch, and one proper joint turns them into one carried structure."

Loccy’s ears rose slowly while the picture formed in her head, "One structure I can hold."

"His gate can’t swing and his platform can’t move unless you let them," Ferra said, drawing a sharp chalk cross beside the bars.

"So his drowning toy and his stone lift are one toy," Hajin snorted, "and we just borrow the whole thing?"

"Yes, but that joint gets built before anybody swings anything, understand?"

"Understood, boss lady."

The guards marched them out along the sluice wall, and Olan slowed beside a rusted grate set into the stones.

Below it, a ladder dropped to a ledge, and a thin young man sat there wrapped in a sodden blanket. His wrists were rubbed raw, and a heavy padlock hung on the chain that bound the grate shut from above.

Olan lowered the token on its cloth, and the young man’s eyes filled the moment he saw the knot.

"Wren sent that?" he rasped, scrambling up the ladder until the bars stopped him.

"Wren’s fine, and he whistles terribly," Loccy said, crouching low with her nose against the bars.

"I’m coming back through this exact grate myself, with Wren right behind me, so keep your hands warm till then."

His laugh cracked down the middle, but he nodded hard and gripped the bar beside her fingers.

A guard barked, and she stood, memorizing the lock, the chain and every rung of that ladder.

Outside the service gate, Loccy dropped onto the fence rail and finally freed the squashed honey pastry from her sleeve.

"He used green wood on purpose," she grumbled around a mouthful, "so the props creep and people stay under them forever."

"Yeah, I saw," Hajin muttered, picking a crumb off her sleeve.

"I want to bonk his smug head, I really do, but I want the pins more."

He raised an eyebrow, and she counted the steps off on sticky fingers.

"Ferra’s joint, the housing, then I hold his whole stupid machine still while everybody walks out that grate."

"That’s the best revenge plan I’ve heard all week," he chuckled.

She leaned her head against his arm and chewed, ears drooping in smug, sleepy pride.

’The joint sits inside his guarded housing, so we just need a way in there.’