The boiler room was never quiet, but today it sounded angry.

Pistons hammered in uneven rhythm, like a clock that had learned anxiety. Pressure dials jittered instead of sweeping smoothly. Somewhere in the walls, steam hissed in short, petulant bursts—too sharp, too frequent. The air tasted of iron and wet coal, hot enough to prickle the skin but not hot enough to be right.

Alric Vane stood in the middle of it with his coat unbuttoned, goggles pushed up into his hair, listening.

“Don’t just stand there,” Inspector Hollis snapped. “The message tubes are spitting invoices into the tram schedule again.”

Alric tilted his head slightly.

“…and now it’s doing it every nine seconds,” he said.

Hollis stared. “I don’t care how often it’s wrong. I care that it’s wrong at all.”

A brass tube overhead coughed, then spat a rolled slip of paper into the wrong chute. The slip fluttered down and landed at Hollis’s feet.

He picked it up and read aloud, jaw tightening.
“Passenger delays due to ledger reconciliation.”
He crumpled it. “This is the fourth time today. The Exchange is furious. The trams are furious. I’m furious.”

Alric finally turned toward the main console: a cathedral of valves, copper pipes, and punched-brass logic plates. A faint tremor ran through the frame, like the machine was shivering.

“How long has it been running continuously?” Alric asked.

Hollis scoffed. “Since the Founders cut the ribbon. That’s the point. It’s a civic engine.”

Alric reached out and rested two fingers on a pipe. He winced.

“That pipe shouldn’t be warm,” he said.

“Everything in here is warm.”

“No,” Alric said calmly. “That one should be hot.”

Hollis crossed his arms. “So you’re telling me the entire city’s communications network is failing because something isn’t the right temperature.”

“Yes.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.”

Alric crouched and opened a small access panel near the base. Inside, a brass flywheel spun—slowly. Too slowly. Condensation beaded along its edge.

“There,” Alric said. “Secondary governor isn’t engaging.”

Hollis leaned over his shoulder. “That’s brand new. Installed last month.”

“Installed,” Alric agreed. “Never tested.”

The engine hiccupped. Somewhere above them, a whistle screamed briefly and then cut off.

Hollis straightened. “Can you fix it or not?”

Alric stood and dusted off his hands.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“But you’re not going to like how.”

Hollis narrowed his eyes. “Try me.”

Alric walked to the main shutoff wheel—a massive iron ring bolted into the wall, painted red, with a warning placard engraved in five languages.

DO NOT STOP UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY.

He put his hands on it.

Hollis lunged forward. “Absolutely not.”

“It needs a full pressure collapse.”

“You stop this engine and half the city goes quiet.”

Alric nodded. “Briefly.”

“You can’t seriously be suggesting we turn it off and on again.”

Alric paused, then looked back over his shoulder.

“In so many words, yes.”

Hollis let out a sharp laugh. “That’s not engineering. That’s superstition.”

“It’s a thermal logic engine with mechanical state memory,” Alric said. “The governor latched during a pressure spike. It won’t unlatch while energized.”

“So you hit it with a hammer.”

“No.”

“You recalibrate the plates.”

“Already did. Didn’t help.”

“You replace the governor.”

“Eventually. Not today.”

Hollis stared at him. “You’re telling me the fix is to panic the city.”

“I’m telling you the fix is to let the machine forget.”

Silence settled between the hisses and clanks.

A tube coughed again and spat out another message—this one stamped for the Aqueduct Authority.

Hollis exhaled slowly.

“…how long.”

“Thirty seconds,” Alric said. “Forty-five if it sulks.”

Hollis pinched the bridge of his nose. “If this makes things worse—”

“It won’t.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I’ve heard this noise before.”

Hollis hesitated, then stepped back. “Thirty seconds.”

Alric turned the wheel.

The engine protested immediately—valves shrieking, pistons slowing, pressure screaming through relief vents. Lights dimmed. The great flywheel shuddered… then stopped.

For the first time, the room was quiet.

Not peaceful. Just empty.

Steam drifted and cooled. Dials fell to zero. Somewhere far above, a clerk likely screamed as his tube went dead.

Alric counted under his breath.

“Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty.”

He opened the restart valve.

Steam rushed back in with a deep, satisfying whoomph. The flywheel spun—fast this time. The pipe under Alric’s fingers grew properly hot.

The engine settled into a smooth, confident rhythm.

A message tube overhead whirred and delivered a single slip—correct chute, correct destination.

Hollis picked it up, read it, then stared at Alric.

“…it’s fixed.”

“Yes.”

“You turned off the most important machine in the district.”

“Yes.”

“And that solved it.”

“Yes.”

Hollis was quiet for a long moment.

Then he said, very carefully, “If I tell anyone about this, they will think I’m the idiot.”

Alric pulled his goggles down over his eyes. “That’s why you don’t tell anyone.”

Hollis watched the engine hum contentedly, like a beast that had finally gone back to sleep.

“…you’re all mad,” he muttered.

Alric smiled, just a little.

“Only when things are working.”