Climbing the small rise beside the river branch, the view below shouted a single word: potential.
The side channel drifted lazily, like the breath of an old dog napping at noon, while the main flow was broad but shallow. Power without focus.
Mnex spoke in my head as though studying a map. "Two choke points. If you narrow the flow here, the main channel takes the pressure. Current strengthens, bed scours, depth increases. But if you misplace the stonework… you'll have a flood inside two weeks."
"We don't want a flood in two weeks," I said aloud.
Below, Theo and Jideon moved among the workers while Doyle stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed on me. I raised my voice so they could hear:
"This branch won't be sealed entirely! Some of the water will keep flowing, but most of it will be forced into the main channel. Speed and depth, ours to control."
Theo frowned. "And if it rises too much?"
"If it rises," I said with a half-smile, "our future ships get free momentum. And we'll have a system in place to control overflow. My plans don't include 'accidental catastrophe.'"
Doyle muttered, low enough only I caught it. "Those clauses usually add themselves…"
I looked back at the current. For now it seemed sluggish, but redirected water had a power of its own. If we did this right, it wouldn't just be a barrier, it would become the artery of trade itself.
By noon, the rattle of supply carts broke the forest quiet. The lead wagon carried a massive drum covered in canvas, its sides bound with metal rings, runes carved between each brace.
Gareth, guiding the sweating horses down the slope, wiped his brow. "Getting it here… was not easy."
"Worth it," I said. "Rune-powered mixer. Keeps the slurry turning until it cures. No settling, no waste. Buys us all the time we need."
Two of the masters secured rope harnesses to the runed bands. Mana surged from the portable core into the drum, and the great cylinder began to turn, gravel and sand and lime grinding together in a steady rhythm.
I barked orders:
First, drive the piles into the bed.
Wedge the larger stones between.
Pour fresh concrete from the mixer to seal the gaps.
The carpenters worked at the shore, saws biting through timber for formwork. Theo and Doyle placed guards along the bank, while Jideon waded out, gauging depths with a marked pole.
"Not bad. Even in your old world, this pace would've turned heads. But honestly, Henry, a little magic and your men wouldn't be blistering their hands for you."
"Both magic and engineering," I said, ignoring his jab. "Together, they move faster."
Workers waded in, clearing rocks from the bed where the first piles would go. The moment the timbers touched water, the current bent against them. Progress was slow, until an idea struck me.
I planted my feet, lifted my hands. Mana hummed at my fingertips, and a seam split across the water's surface. The current parted, peeling back in two sheets. A dry corridor opened down the middle of the branch.
Mnex's voice was immediate. "What are you, Moses now? Grow the beard, I'll fetch you the staff."
Shut up, I told him, though it was hard not to laugh.
With the corridor exposed, the workers set piles twice as fast, wedging stones and pouring concrete. The sharp smell of wet lime mixed with the river's cool spray.
Theo watched with arms crossed. "At this rate, we'll reach the trunk tomorrow."
"Exactly," I said, eyeing the setting concrete. "Today we lay the bones of the dam. Tomorrow, the muscles."
By sunset, the branch's level had dropped visibly, while the main channel's roar grew louder. Strength was shifting to where we needed it. The men were exhausted but satisfied.
Gareth slumped on the bank, pulling off his boots. "Once this is done," he said, "swimming here will be a death sentence."
"You already tried once," I reminded him. "And nearly drowned without me. But a stronger current, a deeper bed, that's the key to trade, defense, even fishing."
Mnex muttered, "And if you hadn't been around in the first place, Gareth wouldn't have been here to drown. So really, still your fault."
By the time we halted work on the side channel, dusk was setting in. Theo approached, pointing toward the city's silhouette.
"Don't forget," he said, "before the autumn rains hit, we need to shore up the riverbank."
The banks of Godfrey's Cross still carried the remnants of the villagers' old handiwork. Calling it a "wall" would've been generous, it was little more than a crude revetment, rough stones stacked without mortar in uneven rows. Years of erosion had pried gaps between them, some sections had slumped, others tilted. When the current grew strong, the whole thing would scatter like paper before a flood.
The next morning, we gathered at the river's edge with the foremen and workers. The rune-reinforced mixer stood ready once again, its rotating drum humming a metallic note that carried through the morning air.
The first task was clearing the surface of the old stonework. Laborers scraped away moss and loose rubble with their picks. Gareth stood with his arms crossed, back turned toward me, watching in silence.
"Is this really worth the effort?" he finally asked. "You think a pile of rocks like this is going to stop a flood?"
"It won't stop a great flood," I said, "but it will keep the riverbank standing. If the banks collapse, the city drowns even without a flood. This isn't just about holding back water, it's about reinforcing the shoreline. And," I allowed myself a small smile, "it's going to look impressive too."
Mnex cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Perfect for tourism. Imagine the posters: 'Two idiots, one wall, coming soon to a theater near you.'"
Frameworks were set parallel to the bank. Wooden panels and support beams braced against the old stone line. The gap between would be filled with fresh concrete, then topped with a final pour to smooth and level the surface.
The foreman by the mixer filled buckets with the gray slurry, pouring it carefully into the forms. Slowly, the mixture rose between the wooden panels, promising to harden into a shield no flood or passing year could easily break.
Theo glanced at the two guards stationed along the river. "Stay until the forms are cured," he ordered. "Don't let anyone near."
The next morning, the crew gathered by the riverbank with cautious anticipation. Dew clung to the wooden forms that had stood through the night, and inside them the mass of gray concrete waited. When the guards stepped aside, Theo gave the order in a sharp voice:
"Remove the supports. Slowly."
The carpenters stepped forward and pried off the first panels. At first the wall looked proud and solid. But within moments, like soggy bread, the edges began to crumble. A muffled crack followed, and the upper corner collapsed. When the next panel came free, the sight was even worse: large chunks sloughed off and toppled into the water.
A murmur of dismay rippled through the workers. Gareth cursed between his teeth. "It's all falling apart."
I stepped forward and scooped up a handful of the rubble. It sifted through my fingers like sand. When I pressed my thumb into it, it turned to powder.
"This… isn't right," I muttered. "It should've hardened by now. Strong enough to bear weight. But this… this is nothing but mud wearing a dream's mask."
One of the foremen shook his head nervously. "We poured it straight from the mixer, exactly as you said. No additions."
Jideon kicked a fallen lump, scattering it into dust. "All that work… wasted."
I crouched, inspecting the fragments. Gravel was there, sand was there, lime was there, I remembered the rhythmic churn I had heard yesterday. But there was no binding. Too loose in places, too brittle in others. A weight settled in my chest.
This doesn't make sense… The road we built weeks ago hardened just fine. It carried wagons. Why not this?
Mnex's voice slithered through my mind, mocking and smug as always.
"Because the road was above water, genius. Out in the open, even your half-baked mix holds, rain dries, wagons pass, nobody notices the weakness. But here? Inside the river? Whole different beast."
I frowned. What do you mean?
"Water never leaves," he lectured. "It seeps in, keeps everything damp. Without the right silicates, lime can't form a permanent bond. On land you made stone. In water you made porridge. And the moment you pulled the supports…"
Another chunk sloughed off into the current with a wet plop.
Mnex chuckled darkly. "Congratulations, you've just invented dissolving architecture."
My throat went dry. I could feel the workers' eyes on me, all of them waiting, expecting. Then what's missing? What do we need?
Mnex went quiet, savoring the moment. "In your old world, volcanic ash or furnace slag did the trick. Pozzolan, they called it. Here? Not so common. But..."
But what? I pressed.
A sly laugh echoed in my skull. "You already have it. Your soapworks. Those heaps of waste and ash. Same minerals, same properties. Mix that in and maybe, just maybe, you'll get something the river can't eat."
I rose, brushing the gray dust from my palm. All the workers' eyes were on me. My voice had to be steady.
"We'll change the recipe. The first pour failed, but it showed us what we lacked. The next batch will be different. Stronger. No more porridge. Next time, we build something the river can't chew through."
Mnex hummed with amusement.
"Stronger, yes. Or at least less embarrassing. A plan that doesn't taste like failure."
I ignored the jab. My mind was already drifting to the soapworks, to the heaps of ash and waste. During the famine, we had mixed those leftovers with chicken manure and spread them over the poisoned fields to dull the blight. What had once been nothing but a desperate remedy might now become our salvation.
For now, I turned back to the workers, forcing a thin smile.
"Strip the rest. We'll start again."
Grumbles rose; a mix of fatigue and stubborn resolve. One by one, the forms came down, and the river swallowed the debris. Tomorrow, the real test would begin.