Chapter 7: Structural Integrity
The sun hadn't even risen yet, but my eyes snapped open.
I sat up and exhaled. A cloud of white mist formed in the air. It's freezing inside, I noted. The internal temperature is barely higher than the external temperature.
I got out of bed and walked around the shack, pressing my hand against the walls. To anyone else, it was just a crappy house. To me, it was a math problem that needed solving.
Assessment:
North Wall: Rotting timber. Structural integrity compromised by 40%.
Roof: Pitch is too shallow; water pools instead of draining.
Foundation: Uneven settling. The whole house is listing three degrees to the left.
"It's a death trap," I muttered. "One bad storm and this roof comes down on their heads."
I couldn't sleep. Not in a building that violated every safety code I knew.
I grabbed a handful of silver coins and slipped out. By the time the sun began to peek over the horizon, I was back, dragging a cart I had rented. It was loaded with cured oak beams, a bucket of iron nails, a saw, a heavy hammer, and sacks of clay and lime.
I took off my coat, rolled up my sleeves, and looked at the sagging main beam in the center of the room.
"Let's fix the skeleton first," I whispered.
CRACK!
I used the hammer to pry a rotting plank off the wall. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet morning.
"Brother?!"
Elara screamed, bolting upright in her bed. Finn scrambled backward, covering his head with his arms. They were used to waking up to the sound of things breaking—usually bottles or plates thrown in anger.
Elara stared, her eyes wide. She didn't see a drunkard stumbling around. She saw me standing on a stool, shirtless, muscles tensed, expertly fitting a new oak brace against the ceiling beam.
"Hand me that nail," I said, my voice calm and focused. I didn't look down. I held the heavy beam in place with one shoulder.
"W-what?" Elara stammered.
"The nail, Elara. On the table. This beam is under tension; if I let go, the roof sags."
She didn't move. She was frozen in shock.
"Finn," I called out to the boy. "You want to be useful? Grab the nail."
Finn looked at Elara, then at me. He saw the sweat dripping down my back. He saw the focus in my eyes—not the glazed look of a drunk, but the sharp, intense look of a man at work.
He scrambled out of the blankets, grabbed a long iron nail, and ran over to me. His small hand shook as he held it up.
"Hold it steady," I instructed. "Right there."
I swung the hammer. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The nail sank in perfectly. The new brace held. I stepped down and wiped the sweat from my forehead. The creaking sound the roof usually made in the wind stopped instantly. The triangulation had distributed the weight.
"One down," I said, looking at the stunned children. "About fifty more problems to go. Finn, mix that clay with water. Elara, we need to strip the moss off the south wall. We're re-insulating."
"You… you know how to build?" Finn asked, looking at the sturdy beam with awe.
I looked at my hands—calloused, rough, and now capable.
"I know how to keep things from falling apart," I said. "Now move. We're losing daylight."