King Bifalt made the Magister wait. He could think of another explanation for the enemy’s forbearance. A direct attack on the cannon and gunpowder might well shatter the road leading down from the rim of the cliff to the strand of the sea. If so, it would destroy the enemy’s access to Belleger.

“Very well, Magister,” he said after a pause. “Your offense is forgotten. Answer one more question.

“We have been led to believe that any Decimate can counter the same force. A burning house can be quenched by the Decimate of fire. When a farmer’s fields are parched, the Decimate of drought can bring rain. Is that true?”

“It is, Majesty.” Magister Lambent’s tone hinted at bluster. Yet he remained wary of Malder. “No lightning-wielder can harm me while I am aware of my peril. And there is more. Any Magister can sense the threat of any Decimate as it is summoned.”

In that case, thought the King, he was going to need every wielder of lightning he had to protect his defenses in the Bay of Lights when the enemy attacked.

Not for the first time, he felt a harsh pang at Magister Facile’s departure; her wasted death. She could have done more than counter any Decimate. She could have rendered men like Lambent powerless.

But he did not linger over what he had lost. He had kept the Royal Surveyor too long. Wheal had work to do. As did Crawl, apparently.

To Lambent, King Bifalt said, “Thank you, Magister. You may go.”

Just for an instant, Magister Lambent stiffened. He had come without invitation and did not expect to be dismissed. But a quick glance at Malder changed his mind. With an awkward bow, he muttered, “As you say, Majesty,” and turned away. Walking as quickly as his sense of his own dignity allowed, he left the intersection.

A crowd was growing around the King. People hurried or strolled past him. Some of them stopped to stare. Two or three carts slowed while their men regarded King Bifalt with plain curiosity. Unobtrusively, the bodyguards tightened their cordon around the King, Wheal, and Magister Crawl.

“Now, Wheal,” said the King. He almost added, At last. “What do you have for me?”

“Majesty, I—” began the Surveyor. He glanced at Crawl. “That is to say, we. We have a proposal.”

In a rush, he began.

“As you know, Majesty, we have considered iron. If the forges can make bars long enough. If the bars can be fixed to each other. Erepos assures me it is possible. But the difficulty, Majesty—” Wheal took a deep breath. “We have no means to secure them. The enemy will knock them down.

“There.” He pointed to one end of the diagonal Bifalt wanted, a corner of the intersection. The large, squat structure there housed a prosperous ironmonger’s store: so prosperous, in fact, that the whole merchantry was built of stone. “That can support an iron barricade. But across from it—” Wheal indicated the opposite corner, where a whorehouse rose to three levels. “That is wood. It cannot hold the iron we need.”