Chapter 11: What the Bell Said

Kael ran his thumb down every strip of the lattice before he touched the split, and Orin let him. It lay on the anvil, twelve iron strips riveted at the crossings in a frame no bigger than a bread board. Tavian's chalk still marked the back: a gate, a bend, a long line. Tavian had had his price. Three nights ago Kael had sat on a barrel across from the East Cut gate from dusk to the dawn bell, counting carts, most of them ore. One was flat, with sacking over the tailboard, and it had gone out at midnight with no lamp and an axle that cried once at every turn. He had given Tavian the count at dawn. Tavian had written nothing down. One strip had split along its rivet line, fine as a hair in a plate. Anyone would have started there. Orin stood at the far…