The mill was dying.
I heard it in every creak of the dried beams, in the strained groan of the main shaft, which Zeno propped up with his shoulder, having turned into a living support.
"Iron... more. Haul more," I leaned against the riveted grain tank, feeling the heat starting to seep through my jacket.
Ephraim tumbled into the doorway, dragging an armful of broken boards mixed with rags. His face was gray, his eyes sunken, and his hands shook so badly that splinters flew across the floor. He hadn't slept for two days. Hauled, sawed, hammered—and brewed under my instructions.
"Kid... this is the last from the annex," he wheezed, dropping the load. "There's nothing left to burn. Unless we start taking apart the mill itself."
"Then take it apart," I didn't even open my eyes. "If we don't raise the pressure to ten atmospheres, these walls are done for anyway."
Completely different numbers floated before my eyes.
Water temperature: 92°C. 95. 98.
I made Ephraim wrap the main vat with copper tubes torn from Zeno's insides and the cooling system of my equipment box. We smeared every crack with resin mixed with horsehair and tar.
Zeno became the regulator. His jammed knee no longer allowed him to walk, so I chained him to the mill frame. Now his reactor was working beyond safe parameters, heating the water through our improvised heat exchanger, while Ephraim fed the furnace below.
"Iron," Zeno's voice vibrated, shaking dust from the ceiling. "The seal on the left flange will not hold. Critical degradation of the gaskets. The probability of vessel rupture at the current pressure growth: thirty-four percent."
"Hold it, Zeno," I spat. "Clamp the pipes with your hands if they leak. We need an impulse. One powerful discharge."
"My manipulators are losing precision due to thermal expansion. I am experiencing... discomfort."
Hans appeared in the doorway. His gaze darted from Ephraim, shoving the remains of someone's table into the fire, to me—and to Zeno.
"They are on the slope," Hans said quietly. "I saw the light."
"Leave, Hans," I straightened up, leaning against the vat. "Lead the people to the caves past the stream. If this blows, nothing will be left here."
Hans crossed himself and left quickly.
I checked the pressure gauge, assembled from a bent tube and a mercury thermometer from Richter's medical kit. The needle trembled on the red mark.
"Ephraim," I stepped closer. "When I yell—drop and cover yourself with the trough. That oak one. Understood?"
"Understood."
I stepped out onto the balcony. The wind hit my face, smelling of ozone.
Below, the forest glowed blue and gold. A phalanx of the Hounds of Light. In front—two inquisitors in heavy armor. They began to form some kind of "Circle of Purification." Threads of energy stretched between them; a dome began to pull together over the mill.
"Naive bastards," I whispered.
I returned inside. The temperature had crossed fifty degrees, breathing hurt.
"Zeno, status!"
"Pressure: fifteen atmospheres. Water supply from the channel has ceased. The coil is dry. Forty seconds until the pipes begin to melt."
"We wait," I grabbed the main lever.
It once was the brake lever for the mill wheel. I turned it into a release valve. My left palm slipped from sweat. The prosthesis hung uselessly, and with a growl I pressed it against the lever, using my whole body as a counterweight.
"Ephraim! Down!"
Static electricity raised the hair on the back of my neck. The dome contracted, superheating the wooden walls.
"Now..." I looked at Zeno.
"Pressure!"
"Seventeen atmospheres. Critic—"
I yanked the lever down.
For a split second, nothing happened. But then...
The mill shook so hard. The main valve, directed toward the trail, was torn out with the meat. Superheated steam burst outward. Steam with a temperature of nearly three hundred degrees under pressure blasted forward, instantly expanding into a dense white cloud.
Through a crack in the wall, I saw what happened to the first rows of mages.
The steam passed right through the barriers. Enveloped the bodies. Seeped under armor, into seams and visors. The first line didn't even have time to scream. Skin peeled off in shreds. The air turned into boiling water. Those standing behind went blind instantly. The dome shattered into pieces.
"More!" I roared. "Zeno, everything you have!"
Zeno arched, fingers digging into the pipes, directing the flow. At that moment, one of the internal copper flanges burst. A jet of boiling water hit my right shoulder.
"AGH! — fuck."
[CRITICAL TISSUE DAMAGE]
Third-degree thermal burn.
Loss of consciousness in 5... 4... 3...
The mill began to collapse. The beams sagged from the heat and moisture. Steam filled everything around.
I lay among the debris, unable to feel my right side. My lungs burned.
"Ephraim..." I wheezed.
The old man climbed out from under the chest, covered in gray dust and wet soot.
I turned my head. Zeno stood by the shaft. The lens had gone dark. His hands still gripped the torn pipes.
"Zeno?.."
Silence.
2... 1...
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