

This is Lord Amazluek, stasiarch of the Kilts. Another mechanism struck a gong on the hour.

The bucket wheel drove a gear train connected to the shafts of the four clocks on the four sides of the tower. At the bottom of their travel, the buckets tipped, spilling their water into the trough, whence it ran to the sump.

As each bucket filled, the escapement released the wheel, allowing it to rotate just far enough to bring an empty bucket under the spout. Water ran from this reservoir through a pipe to a large wheel bearing a circle of buckets. The shaft driven by the horse mill on the ground floor rotated, driving the pump that raised water from the sump to the reservoir above.
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On the clockwork floor, the machinery was in full noisy operation. Will you kindly mind your business, whilst I-Īh, well, we cannot diet down in time for this ride. I believe I was conversing with Master Jorian, when you cut in, Amazluek, said Vegh. Pray explain this to me, good Master Jorian. We have not been up here in years, heh, heh, said King Ishbahar, raising his voice to be heard above the clatter and splashing. How should he know the glories of our ancient traditions, which my association cherishes and upholds? Be advised, young sir, that if you would fain make your way amongst people of the better sort here, you ought to abandon those barbarous nether garments. The poor fellow has but lately arrived in Iraz. Well, heh heh, one stalwart soldier ought to suffice.īah said Amazluek. The squad of guardsmen clattered up the stairs, keeping pace with the lift. He jerked his cords, and the lift rose, groaning. Like the tower, Saghol, the ground-floor lift attendant, had been cleaned up for the occasion.
