Vey was fitting a hinge when the last courier came through the fae gate.
“Quickly,” she said. “The fog is coming.”
Nara pulled her bag close and stepped into the waiting chamber. Vey swung the gate shut behind her. A white curl slipped through before the iron latch fell.
On the other side of the chamber stood a second gate. It led to the human town, where Nara’s son was waiting for supper. Between the two gates, pale stones glowed in the end walls. They drew the cold fog down through a grate into a sealed pit. When the chamber was clear, the human gate worker could let Nara out.
Only one gate could open at a time. Vey had learned that rule before she learned to lay a straight row of bricks.
She put her hand to the speaking pipe beside her desk.
“One courier, Pell. Clear her through.”
“I can’t.” His voice rang thinly in the pipe. “My stone has slipped.”
Through the small glass window, Vey saw the far stone hanging crooked. Its metal bracket had pulled away from the wall. The near stone still shone, but both had to sit firm before either could drain the fog.
Nara tried the human gate. It did not move.
“Please don’t pull it,” Pell called through his own pipe into the chamber. “I’m here. We have to clear the fog first.”
Nara let go. White mist covered her shoes.
Orr, the watchkeeper, came down the fae stair and unlocked the emergency sealing lever. It controlled a thick stone cap above the human exit. Lowered in its fitted grooves, the cap would cover the whole doorway. Once they sealed its edges, that exit could not open again.
“Seal the human exit,” he said.
“There’s someone inside.”
“And there are houses outside. If that gate gives way tonight, the fog will reach them.”
Vey put her hand on the lever. Through the glass, she saw the cap above Nara’s head. Nara rubbed her arms.
“We can put blankets through,” Orr said.
At deep night, blankets would not be enough. Vey knew it. So did Orr.
“Can I come back to your side?” Nara asked.
Vey looked through the slit beside the outer stair. Freezing white fog filled the fae road now.
“Not safely,” she said. “The fog has reached us outside. If I open my gate, it will fill your chamber again.”
“How long to mend your bracket?” she asked Pell.
“I’ve got a spare. But the bolts face into the chamber. I can’t reach them from my desk.”
Nara leaned toward the speaking pipe. “I can turn bolts.”
Vey looked through the window. Nara’s hands were shaking.
“Not in that fog,” she said.
Orr pressed his palm against the lever handle. A small copper token hung at his wrist. He had worn it ever since his brother died in a raid through an open gate.
“We close it now,” he said. “We don’t gamble with the town.”
Vey took her hand off the lever. She had fitted the near stone that morning. Its bracket was sound. Below it lay a service slot, wide enough for a clamp. Pell had the same slot on his side.
“Pell, can you hold your stone straight with a clamp?”
“For a while. I can’t leave it that way. The slot has to close before the gate opens.”
“We only need time to fit the bracket.”
She took a long clamp from her tool rack. Its jaws could hold a stone through the slot while its handle stayed outside. She pushed it through and tightened it against the near stone’s edges.
“I’ll hold this one,” she said. “You hold yours. Nara, stand on the raised step by the pipe.”
Nara climbed onto it, lifting her bag out of the fog.
Orr caught Vey’s sleeve.
“If the drain fails?”
“Both gates stay closed. The cap stays here, ready. We can try without opening either door.”
He looked from her to the glass. Then he stepped aside.
At the far end, Pell’s clamp came through its slot. The crooked stone rose a finger’s width and settled straight.
Light spread across the chamber floor.
The fog began to sink. It pulled away from Nara’s knees, then her shoes. Frost melted on the grate and vanished into the pit below. Vey watched every corner. When she could see the floor clearly, she called to Pell.
“Clear here.”
“Clear here too. Nara, I’m passing the bracket and spanner through.”
Nara stepped down. Pell slid the tools onto the floor. She put her bag by the raised step and knelt beside the loose stone.
“Which way up?” she asked.
“The notch at the top,” Pell said. “Fit it beside the old bracket first. My clamp is holding the weight.”
Vey could hear metal tapping through the wall. She kept one hand on her clamp. Orr stood at the window, watching the chamber’s far corner.
“My son will have eaten the whole loaf by now,” Nara said.
“How old?” Vey asked.
“Eight. Old enough to leave me a crust. Young enough to forget.”
One bolt rolled across the floor. Nara fetched it without leaving the clear chamber. She returned to the bracket and tightened it.
“Done,” she said.
“We test it before I open,” Pell told her. “Step back.”
Nara picked up her bag. Pell loosened his clamp slowly. The far stone stayed level. Vey loosened hers. Both stones kept their steady light, and the grate stayed clear.
They waited through twenty breaths. Orr counted them aloud.
Then both workers drew their clamps out and shut the service slots. Vey checked her fae gate’s latch once more.
“My gate is shut,” she said.
“Opening mine.”
The far door swung toward the human town. Warm lamplight crossed the floor. Nara walked through, carrying the spanner with her.
“I’ll return this tomorrow,” she called.
“Keep it until the gate opens in daylight,” Pell said.
His gate closed. The chamber was empty.
Orr locked the unused lever. The cap stayed above the doorway. He stopped beside his slate and rubbed out CLOSED FOR WINTER. Beneath it he wrote BRACKET REPLACED. TEST AT DAWN.
“I’ll be here,” Vey said.
He hung his brother’s token on a hook beside the speaking pipe. Then he went upstairs to tell the next watch why the stone cap had stayed raised.
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