The shelter owned eleven scales, and Waddell trusted three of them.
Two came from the kitchen. The third had spent years weighing detergent after someone discovered the supplier's half-full drums. Waddell made Caelin's aide put the same iron maintenance weight on all three, then rejected the kitchen scale that came up two ounces light.
Tyree watched from beyond the second fire door. The damp blanket remained around his arms, though his heat had dried most of it.
"If the road can carry that iron, it can carry part of me without risking anyone else."
Waddell lifted the maintenance weight from the platform scale with both hands. A raised mark beneath the chipped black paint identified it as one pound.
"A scale measures your weight after you arrive. It says nothing about what the road removes on the way."
"Then the road takes my hand first, and I learn what it costs before I follow."
