Ryan dropped his end of the turnip crate into the thick, sulfurous muck with a wet, flat plop that sent a spray of gray-brown liquid across his already ruined trouser cuffs. "I am simply noting," he said, flicking a stray droplet of mud from his lapel with all the casual indifference of an executive dismissing a quarterly loss, "that a transport route requiring manual excavation with a root vegetable is structurally deficient."Miri wiped her brow with the back of a grime-streaked forearm, glaring daggers at him through the steady, depressing drizzle. "Structural deficiency? Ryan, we are floating on a leaking pile of untreated pine planks through a river that looks like it was rendered by an intern on a Friday afternoon, and you're talking about logistics?""Logistics," Ryan replied, stepping carefully onto a semi-solid patch of shoreline that immediately yielded beneath his weight with a soft, sucking gasp, "is the only thing keeping the universe from devolving into interpretive danc

The river gave a sudden, violent shudder beneath the rotting pine planks of the barge, a low-frequency groan that rattled the rusted iron bolts in their sockets and sent a fresh spray of cold, oily water across the deck.Ryan didn't blink. He simply adjusted the collar of his ruined tuxedo, wiped a stray drop of river mist from his cheek with the back of a salt-crusted wrist, and stared dead ahead into the swirling, gray-brown soup of the current."Well," Miri muttered, scrambling to her feet as the barge tipped at an alarming fifteen-degree angle, her hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of a notched iron shortsword strapped to her thigh. "That wasn't a log. That was a hull. And if the way the water is currently flickering sideways is any indication, we are about to have company."A shadow detached itself from the gloom of the drooping willow branches lining the bank, gliding forward with unnatural, stuttering momentum. A flat-bottomed skiff sliced through the choppy water, carryi

The low stone bridge loomed out of the gray river mist like a concrete jaw waiting to snap shut, its damp arches skimming mere inches above the rotting wooden deck of the cargo barge."Get down!" the barge captain roared from the helm, frantically waving his arms as the vessel drifted toward the obstruction. "If you want to keep your skull attached to your spine, you'll hit the deck right now!"Ryan didn't move fast enough. As the barge slid beneath the ancient span, a jagged protrusion of moss-covered masonry clipped the top of his head with a sharp, hollow thud. He winced, stumbling backward against a stack of damp turnip crates, rubbing his scalp with a grimace."Damn it," Ryan muttered, glaring up at the mossy stonework as it glided past. "Lack of headroom clearance. If this was a properly regulated civil engineering project, there would be a mandatory three-meter vertical buffer and a warning sign fifty yards out."Miri scrambled up from the ducking position, her shortsword clatt

The rusted iron cables sliced through the gray mist above the dark water, groaning with a high-pitched, metallic shriek that sounded less like engineering and more like a dying modem. The abandoned ferry sat stranded in the dead center of the river, its heavy timber hull wedged firmly against a submerged sandbar of shimmering blue pixels.Ryan stopped his rhythmic pacing, his one remaining dress shoe making a wet squelch against the rotting deck planks. He stared up at the snapped cable, which whipped back and forth in the damp air like a loose thread on an old sweater."Well, that’s a structural hazard," Ryan muttered, his voice completely devoid of panic. "If this transport corridor had a competent safety inspector, that cable would have been tension-tested and replaced three fiscal quarters ago."Miri dropped the turnip crate onto the deck with a heavy thud, wiping her damp hands on her leather tunic as she squinted up at the drifting hulk. "It's not just a hazard, Ryan. It's a blo

Ryan pulled the heavy, grease-stained leather ledger toward himself across the sticky oak tabletop, the single tallow candle guttering sharply in the draft as it cast long, flickering shadows against the low wooden beams of the riverside tavern."If you stare at those columns any harder, the ink is going to stage a formal protest and dissolve itself," Miri muttered, dropping heavily onto the bench opposite him with a soft groan of exhausted timber. She shoved a plate of lukewarm, unidentifiable fried roots aside to make room for her elbows. "We’ve been docked here for six hours. The fog outside hasn't cleared an inch, the river is still running backward in stop-motion frames, and you’re auditing turnip shipments from three fiscal quarters ago.""Numbers don't care about your existential dread, Miri," Ryan replied without looking up, his finger tracing a jagged, wine-stained column of figures that looked like they had been calculated by someone having a mild stroke. "And someone has to