Chapter 986: Nana Finds Griswald’s Supply Route

The coffin runner caught on a floor seam and dragged Nana’s torn index against the iron curve. She stopped before the split could widen, then shifted the runner onto her living palm.

Chain noise came from the east hall. It rose, stopped, and rose again, each pull ending with a frame striking its guide. Nana followed the sound. Her bundle stayed tied under a black wrap at the runner’s far end. The severed red wire held every fold in place.

The hall opened onto a transfer bay cut into the rock. A brass switch split the rails: one led to an east service stair, the other sloped toward a prison lock. The first iron frame hung from a chain hoist above the switch. A separate sled carrying another iron frame had passed the fork and was rolling down the grade under its own weight.

Two loaders held the first frame level, each braced at a corner. A third worker kept both hands on the switch lever. Halen stood at the hoist brake. Ossa watched from the rail beside him. Someone inside the frame had an arm through a slot in its lid, a leather cuff buckled around the wrist.

Ossa’s brass tab knocked against a clinic seal and a bent route plate at her belt.

"Vask’s plate got my cart across after the main road split," Ossa said. She bent the plate against her thumb. "I paid to straighten the axle. Two quarry hands got their clotting wash before shift ended."

Halen held the hoist brake. "Griswald’s return has the signed prison route. The chain has taken weight; changing it means stopping the whole run."

His slate showed the prison destination beneath Griswald’s return stamp. Ossa held Vask’s bent crossing plate between two fingers. At the fork, the two claims led to different tracks. Down the grade, the second sled’s wheel struck a joint; the hand behind its grille shifted lower on the rail.

He looked past her at the frame, jaw working. His glove had split at the palm. Six unpaid entries filled the slate beneath his name, each marked for the same night shift.

"The foreman added six unpaid shifts after I signed," Halen said. He rubbed the column with his thumb. "Stop the run and he docks the crew. My partner covered rent when the last check came late; this shift was meant to catch us up."

"The cuff is on that passenger. Put your hand on the brake and stop the hoist," Nana said.

Ossa unclipped the bent route plate. "The cart had an order. Did anyone ask this passenger before the cuff went on?"

The cuffed hand flexed through the slot. The fingers had gone pale where the leather pressed them against the frame.

"Can you get this off without rolling me farther?" the passenger asked. "Tell me when the frame is level. I’ll free my wrist if you hold the rail."

The hoist chain pulled hard enough to make the frame creak. Ossa set her forearm beneath the outer rail. "Level it before we touch the pin. The cuff will bite if the frame turns."

The lower sled’s shoe clicked over another joint. The hand behind its grille slid a thumb’s length along the inner rail before finding a hold.

Halen nodded toward the far post. "I can lock the hoist there. Someone has to hold this frame level while I move."

Nana lowered the runner. Its curved end fit beneath the frame’s outer rail. Her damaged index folded at the torn seam; its point scraped off the iron. She braced her shoulder against the runner instead.

The frame settled into her shoulder. Her torn index buckled, and the runner slid across her palm. Nana shifted the pressure to her forearm; the wrapped end stayed turned away from the load.

"Lock the hoist, Halen. Ossa, take the far corner when the chain slackens."

Ossa planted both feet. "I’ll move under the rail when his brake takes the weight."

Halen looked at the six entries on his slate. He closed its cover and put his whole weight on the hand brake at the far post. The chain slackened. Ossa moved beneath the frame’s far corner, lifting until the cuffed arm no longer pressed against the rail.

One carrier kept the switch lever pinned while the other held the outer corner. The ratchet caught the hoist brake in place.

"The pin is under the folded leather on the inside," the passenger said. "I can reach it if you stop the frame from turning."

Nana held the iron beneath the rail. Her torn finger slid, forcing her to brace with the side of her forearm. The seam opened another fraction; she kept the frame level while Ossa freed the leather.

The first push sent the pin back under the folded leather. The passenger waited for Nana to steady the frame, changed the angle of their wrist, and pressed sideways. The pin cleared the slot. Ossa pulled the leather free while Nana kept the iron level.

The passenger drew their arm back. A red track circled the wrist, but every finger still moved. They flexed the hand twice and shook out the shoulder. Ossa offered her glove, palm up, and held it there. The passenger checked its fit, took it by the cuff, then waited for the frame to stop rocking before they stepped away.

"I can reach the stair alone. Get the person in the lower sled," the passenger said. They took the east stair without waiting for an escort.

With them clear, the third worker shifted the switch toward the stair. Halen eased the brake one tooth at a time until the frame’s wheels took the service track. He locked the hoist, crossed out PRISON ROUTE, and signed the reroute beneath it.

Nana turned as a wheel clanged against the descending rail. The sled had cleared the switch and was rolling under its own weight. Through the grille on its frame she saw one shoe and a hand gripping the inside rail. It had rolled beyond the hoist brake’s reach.

Ossa left the first frame and ran to a catch bar set beside the descending track. She hauled it down. The sled’s lower shoe rode over the catch, bending the bar toward the wall.

"That catch holds an empty return. This frame bent it flat," Ossa said.

"How far past the catch has it gone?" Nana asked.

"At the third brace. There’s no other catch before the lock."

Halen tested the hoist brake’s ratchet; the first frame stayed secured on the east rail. He ran after Nana, who dragged her coffin runner by its bare curve with the wrapped end high and away from the sled’s track. Ossa caught the iron beyond the last barb and kept it clear of the wheels.

The descending track ended at an iron gate. The sled’s lower shoe entered the channel and drove the inner bar across the mouth. Its frame hit the stop and settled with the passenger still inside; the bar kept sliding.

Nana reached the lock’s side panel. Through its narrow inspection slit, the passenger’s hand still gripped the rail. The iron beneath the slit carried the same backward curl Nana had seen under Ty’s cloth: his old vessel mark.

"Is there a control on this side that can stop the bar?" Nana called.

Halen grabbed the side wheel and leaned into it. It turned a quarter rotation, then locked. Ossa fitted Nana’s runner into a wall notch, wrapped end above the track, and kept one hand on its bare curve.

"This wheel only slows the bar. The release is on the far side," Halen said.

The passenger’s hand slipped from the slit. Inside the frame, both feet braced against the lower panel and a shoulder drove into the door. The cage shuddered against the gate, then settled back on the shoe. Nana pressed her damaged palm to the side wheel. A raised screw snagged the torn seam; her metal fingers stayed half curled.

Nana wedged her shoulder into the wheel beside Halen. The inner bar slowed, but its lower end kept sliding across the gate.

The frame stayed trapped beyond the gate. The passenger reached for the slit, fingers flattening against the iron. Halen’s palm slipped on the wheel; the bar moved another inch.