The flour smell rolled out thick.
From the gap, a man's voice spoke at a normal volume, like he was standing in a storeroom and not inside a wall.
"You can leave the craftsman out here. She has done enough. The rest of you can come through. I oiled the latch in the annex, as I said I would. Guests should be asked."
Mesterica did not answer him.
She slashed the dark once to prove there was no neck in reach, then kicked the broken panel shut.
Erna nailed a slat across it hard enough to split the wood.
"Talk through that," Erna said at the board. "I'm not climbing in after you."
The voice laughed under the slat, still ordinary.
"You pointed the bell. That was the work. This is only the house noticing itself. Lord Rigel, your iron is cold because it already did what iron does. You can stop carrying it like a wound."
Rigel put his palm on the slat.
"Come out on this floor. Hands first. You get one chance to have a body."
"I have several."
