Chapter 182: Fragile Cargo Part 2
"Already staged cold wraps," Sera said, pointing to a stack of gray wool. "Soaked in river water. Won’t hurt."
Lyra walked the perimeter like an archer marking her shooting lanes. Her eyes snagged on a hairline crack in the annex’s ceiling. "You’re sure the braces will hold while we move weight?"
"For an hour," Ves said. "Two if you don’t dawdle. Ground’s settled for now. Tide shifts are—"
The stone under their feet made a short, unhappy sound. Everyone stopped. Dust sifted from the crack and hesitated in the air like it hadn’t decided which way the world would go. Then the moment passed. Corin swallowed.
"—periodic," Ves finished calmly, as if nothing had happened. "Lift smooth. Carry smooth. No sudden drops."
"Chain of custody first," Corin said, feeling safer in paperwork than in geology. He produced a leather folder with triplicate forms. Sera laid a stylus on top. Inigo read and signed where indicated; Lyra initialed each line with crisp, unembellished strokes. Sera countersigned. Wax seals caught the light.
"Alright," Inigo said, rising. "We’ll bring the beast to the door. Got a flat dolly or two?"
"Two," Sera said, already moving. "Wheels greased this morning."
They became a machine. Ves kept nonessential bodies out of their way. Corin fetched and stood pointedly back. Sera and Lyra each took a dolly; Inigo jogged up the stairs, the smell of vinegar and chalk chasing him into the yard.
He brought the JLTV around to the alchemy wing’s side hatch, where a pair of wide doors opened onto a ramp that had been hastily reinforced with planks. He killed the engine, set the brake, and jumped out to drop the tailgate and swing the rear doors open. The interior yawned—clean, square, ready to be complicated.
He pulled out the tie-downs, set anchor hooks into the floor rails, and laid a crisscross of straps ready to cinch. He spread the oilskin tarp along the bay’s floor—waterproof and, more importantly, nonreactive to most of what alchemists thought was a good idea. Lyra appeared a moment later with the first dolly. The crate’s red sigil looked like a scraped wound in the dim light.
"Corner?" she asked.