hearth, damping down the fire. Ywa glanced once at her papers, but she didn’t need Crimm to
tell her there was no time to pack them up.
They pushed their way through the door flap and out into the open. The snow was nearly up to their knees, Crimm saw with shock. How could so much have fallen so quickly? And so early ? And
still it came down. When they stepped out of the lee of the house the snow, blasting on a wind straight from the north, came at them horizontally, thick and hard, heavy flakes stinging as they
slapped Crimm’s face. He staggered, and reached for Ywa’s mittened hand.
A few steps away from the house they looked around. Ywa pointed. ‘There. It was Canda’s house.’
The house, or the wreck of it, was barely visible. Crimm saw supporting beams, some broken, sticking out of the heaped snow like snapped bones. But already fresh snow was covering over the
wreckage.
‘We should help them.’
‘No.’ He pointed to figures plodding through the rush of snowflakes. ‘They’re already heading for the Wall. They must be all right.’
She hesitated, then nodded, and they set off.
There was a shortcut to the Wall, a diagonal path, but they were walking through a uniform whiteness. Wary of getting lost Crimm led Ywa to the Etxelur Way, the main road that ran south to north
directly to the heart of the Wall. The Way was cambered and lined with poles where banners flew on festival days; following the poles they couldn’t get lost. He put his arm around Ywa’s
waist, and they pulled their furs up over their mouths, and pushed their way through snow and wind.
When Kia wanted to be nice to Thux, she would tell him she had two sons, him and Engine Seventy-Four. But on a day like today, with her engine struggling, there was no hiding
the fact that there was only one true priority in her life. Still, in a corner of her heart she thanked the little mothers for giving her a son like Thux: smart, strong, flexible, and even handy
with a wrench. He was young yet, but already one of the true mechanikoi , like herself; it must be in the blood.
Now the two of them stood in the engine room, watching the labouring of their steel beast with some anxiety.
This chamber, with its rough plastered-over growstone walls, was entirely embedded within the body of the Wall, not far below its parapet. Shelves were cluttered with the paraphernalia of their
profession: precision screws, gears, transmission chains, camshafts, pistons, valves. The engine itself was a massive cylinder that filled the room. Its big rocking arm converted the heat of
good Albian coal to motive force, the force that helped keep the ground by the face of the Wall pumped dry, and worked elevators within the Wall, and lifted cargo cranes on the sea-facing side. The
whole apparatus was surrounded by condenser pipes and feeds that kept the engine working to its best theoretical ability, and bled steam and hot water off into the body of the Wall to keep its
inhabitants in the warmth and comfort to which they had been accustomed for centuries, even in the hardest winter. Engine Seventy-Four was dumb, but it was big and strong and reliable – just
as Kia liked to say of her son, not inaccurately. But today it was in trouble. You didn’t need to read the liquid-level gauges showing pressure and temperature and steam output and all the
rest to know that; you could feel it, standing in this growstone pen before the labouring beast.
As Kia and Thux stood there bewildered, a few flakes of snow came drifting down the ventilation shafts from the outside world, quickly melting in the heat of the engine room.
‘It’s overheating,’ Kia said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Thux replied. ‘I know it’s snowing—’
‘I’ve never known it to snow so hard before, I have to say. Certainly not this early in the winter.’
‘But the loops should be too hot to be affected by the frost.’ Big radiator loops were embedded in the Wall’s outer surface,
tell her there was no time to pack them up.
They pushed their way through the door flap and out into the open. The snow was nearly up to their knees, Crimm saw with shock. How could so much have fallen so quickly? And so early ? And
still it came down. When they stepped out of the lee of the house the snow, blasting on a wind straight from the north, came at them horizontally, thick and hard, heavy flakes stinging as they
slapped Crimm’s face. He staggered, and reached for Ywa’s mittened hand.
A few steps away from the house they looked around. Ywa pointed. ‘There. It was Canda’s house.’
The house, or the wreck of it, was barely visible. Crimm saw supporting beams, some broken, sticking out of the heaped snow like snapped bones. But already fresh snow was covering over the
wreckage.
‘We should help them.’
‘No.’ He pointed to figures plodding through the rush of snowflakes. ‘They’re already heading for the Wall. They must be all right.’
She hesitated, then nodded, and they set off.
There was a shortcut to the Wall, a diagonal path, but they were walking through a uniform whiteness. Wary of getting lost Crimm led Ywa to the Etxelur Way, the main road that ran south to north
directly to the heart of the Wall. The Way was cambered and lined with poles where banners flew on festival days; following the poles they couldn’t get lost. He put his arm around Ywa’s
waist, and they pulled their furs up over their mouths, and pushed their way through snow and wind.
When Kia wanted to be nice to Thux, she would tell him she had two sons, him and Engine Seventy-Four. But on a day like today, with her engine struggling, there was no hiding
the fact that there was only one true priority in her life. Still, in a corner of her heart she thanked the little mothers for giving her a son like Thux: smart, strong, flexible, and even handy
with a wrench. He was young yet, but already one of the true mechanikoi , like herself; it must be in the blood.
Now the two of them stood in the engine room, watching the labouring of their steel beast with some anxiety.
This chamber, with its rough plastered-over growstone walls, was entirely embedded within the body of the Wall, not far below its parapet. Shelves were cluttered with the paraphernalia of their
profession: precision screws, gears, transmission chains, camshafts, pistons, valves. The engine itself was a massive cylinder that filled the room. Its big rocking arm converted the heat of
good Albian coal to motive force, the force that helped keep the ground by the face of the Wall pumped dry, and worked elevators within the Wall, and lifted cargo cranes on the sea-facing side. The
whole apparatus was surrounded by condenser pipes and feeds that kept the engine working to its best theoretical ability, and bled steam and hot water off into the body of the Wall to keep its
inhabitants in the warmth and comfort to which they had been accustomed for centuries, even in the hardest winter. Engine Seventy-Four was dumb, but it was big and strong and reliable – just
as Kia liked to say of her son, not inaccurately. But today it was in trouble. You didn’t need to read the liquid-level gauges showing pressure and temperature and steam output and all the
rest to know that; you could feel it, standing in this growstone pen before the labouring beast.
As Kia and Thux stood there bewildered, a few flakes of snow came drifting down the ventilation shafts from the outside world, quickly melting in the heat of the engine room.
‘It’s overheating,’ Kia said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Thux replied. ‘I know it’s snowing—’
‘I’ve never known it to snow so hard before, I have to say. Certainly not this early in the winter.’
‘But the loops should be too hot to be affected by the frost.’ Big radiator loops were embedded in the Wall’s outer surface,
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