"Hold the wet chain," Varn's voice ordered from the wall.
Every delver in the chamber reached for it.
Hest struck their hands away with his broken bars.
"Varn gave me the dry line," he said. "Use the choice he made while we could see him."
Below the sealed street, the real Varn heard his stolen order travel through bronze.
He did not waste breath correcting it.
The corrupt chain had wrapped twice around his bare forearm. Every wet link led down through pale roots to a knot beating under Ninebell. Black-green water entered the knot from three old roads and left through the root that carried the callbody above.
His source hook held that root against the shaft wall.
Each pulse tried to pull the hook free.
Varn wanted every living weight off the street before he answered. He braced both boots, closed his hand over the chain, and waited for the ceiling to tell him who remained.
Above him, the callbody tore a bronze arm from the floor.
