Rumi lay flat on the guardroom roof above the cargo ramps, the rescued porter wheezing beside her with soot-streaked cheeks. Two stone ramps climbed toward Captain Brann Keld's platform, one loaded and crawling, the other left empty for returning carts.
"That one," the porter whispered, jabbing a knuckle at the slow cradle, "the key's bolted inside the frame, under the grain sacks."
"Inside a moving box, with an escort," Rumi drawled, ears flattening, "Captain Brann Keld really hates fun."
"Four guards, and every one of them is watching the front of the cradle."
"Course they are, anybody chasing a key would hit the obvious end."
'So I take the end nobody bothers guarding, which is all of the other ones.'
The cradle rolled up its ramp on greased rollers, hauled by a chain that clanked toward the gear house above. Four guards walked beside it with spears, eyes fixed down the ramp toward the court where Nari still stood waiting.
