Hajin hauled himself onto the roof catwalk as Juna caught the first surveyor's rod above the occupied eaves.
She wrenched its tip off the shutter and slammed the shaft across the ridge, dragging its bearer through roof joints. Below, a porter yanked his document cart into the preservation chamber while his partner fumbled with its flapping canvas cover.
"Gotcha, you spindly bastard," Juna snarled, bracing the rod against her forearm without punching through its bearer.
"Shutters closed, stay under the rafters," she barked down at the porters, "and if anything falls, let the paper wait!"
"Three lamp attendants are stuck in the colonnade," the second porter called back, fastening the cover and reaching for the latch, "they can't get through our locked service door!"
'Locked door, three civilians and six freaks on the roof, sure, let's make it a party.'
