Bram Möller's Arc

Chapter 45 of 63

The sleet came harder. Bram stood at the rail with one hand on the brass ring and one on the south line. The bag pulled against both pins like a dog on a chain. He could hear the ropes creak through the wind. If either pin tore, the wind would slam the bag down the rock face and drag them with it. Omondi crouched by the north line, squinting through frozen glasses. He put his ear near the pin and listened. "North one's grinding," he said. "The stone's wet. It's working loose." Bram checked the south pin. Its collar was iced but seated deep. The north pin sat in a softer seam. He had chosen it four winters ago in dry weather. He had not thought about wet rock. "How long?" Bram asked. "Minutes," Omondi said. "Maybe less." Cora had the mechanical owl open on her knee, wing joint splinted with a strip of tin. She looked up. "Move the line?" "To what," Omondi said. "There's no third pin." Bram opened his journal on the rail and shielded it with his jacket. Sleet ran down the cracked leather sleeve. He turned to the page for this face. His own margin note read: south pin true, north pin fair, third anchor at cleft twelve feet above north pin, use ring bolt. He had forgotten the ring bolt. He had set it himself, one winter, and never used it. "There's a bolt above," Bram said. "Twelve feet up. I need the north line rerun to it before the pin goes." Omondi looked at the wall. "I can't climb that in sleet." "I can," Cora said. She was already tying the tail of the north line to her belt. "Cora—" Bram said. "I'm lighter. I climb shop ladders every day." She looked at him straight. "Tell me where the bolt is." Bram showed her the sketch. She nodded once and went over the rail. Omondi fed the slack. Bram held the brass ring with one hand and the south line with the other and watched her set her boots in the seam. The north pin ground in its socket. A thin crack ran out from the collar. "Faster," Omondi said, low. Cora found the bolt. She looped the line, cinched it, tested it with her weight. She looked down and lifted her hand. Omondi cut the tail from the north pin. The pin tore free a breath later and swung on the old line. The bag lurched. The new line snapped tight against the bolt above. It held. Bram let his shoulder unlock. Cora climbed back down, hands raw, cap gone. Sleet plastered her hair. "Bolt's good," she said. "But it's one bolt." Bram nodded. They were tied to stone under a storm they had not flown into. The south pin held. The bolt held. The lead north held for now. He closed the journal and put it inside his jacket, against his ribs.