The workshop smelled of sawdust and cold grease.
I had the Bone Warden on the bench. The impact with the Chimera had snapped three ribs on the left flank and bent the rear axle pin. It was a mess, but it was a fixable mess.
Gareth leaned against the doorframe, looking grim. He held a requisition slip in his hand.
"Store is closed," he said.
I looked up from the axle. "Closed?"
"Locked. Barred. The quartermaster says the account is frozen pending an 'audit' of the donor funds."
"The Foundation," I said.
"They pulled the money," Gareth said. "All of it. We can't buy wood. We can't buy rope. We can't even buy nails."
I wiped my hands on a rag. This was the counter-attack. They couldn't beat us in the hall, so they were trying to starve us out. It was a classic siege tactic. Cut the supply lines, wait for the garrison to get hungry, then watch them turn on each other.
"We don't need to buy," I said. "We scavenge."
"Scavenge what? The yard is clean."
"The Chimera," I said.
