Roadside Repair

Wallace opened the tool kit.

His three passengers crowded close behind him.

He looked up immediately. "You're blocking the light, gentlemen."

The three clerks took two steps back onto the grass.

Wallace crouched beside the right front wheel and examined the loose spoke.

During driver training in Helmarte, the mechanics had demonstrated how to inspect the running gear. He had seen them tighten the iron spoke collars on the bench. He had even tried it once himself under an instructor's eye.

That had been on a clean workshop floor with spare tools hanging on the wall.

This was an empty turnpike over a hundred kilometers from the capital, surrounded by nothing except open fields, autumn trees, and a low stone wall.

Mr. Fenwick, the senior clerk, peered over his shoulder. "Can we continue as it is?"

Wallace looked at him. "Probably."

Fenwick frowned. "Probably?"

"That's why I'm tightening it," Wallace said.