One hundred and forty names filled three pages, and the ink on the last signature was still wet when Rix carried the petition up the Grand Cathedral steps at dawn.
He'd spent nine days collecting them — in workshops and shared quarters and the back rooms of taverns where forge workers drank after twelve-hour shifts and spoke the way men spoke when they were tired enough to be honest. Nine days of conversations that started with Have you seen the Thornwick pamphlet? and ended with Are you willing to put your name on this?
Many refused. Some on principle — the Sovereign provided, the Crucible administered, and questioning the arrangement was not something a man did if he wanted to keep his position and his access to domain-blessed tools and his spot in the weekly allocation queue. Some refused because they were afraid. Some refused because they agreed with everything the petition said and were more afraid of agreeing in writing than of disagreeing in silence.
