The Tide Table // The City // NODUS

NO. 3,585
TWO PAGES

The Tide Table

PRINTED ON
THE QUAYS

THE TWENTY-SECOND SPRING OF P+14PASTED UP IN THE STONESCARRIED TO THE WARDS AND THE ROW

THE TIDES

Spring Tides This Week

The neaps begin on the fourth day of next week, and batteries will go dear

Spring tides this week, and the taps run full. The neaps begin on the fourth day of next week and batteries go dear, so charge loose while you can. The Gleaning comes at the turn, in three springs.

DAY	HIGH	HIGH	LOW	LOW	M
LORD’S	04:52	17:14	11:03	23:27	5.9
SECOND	05:38	18:01	11:50		6.1
THIRD	06:24	18:47	00:14	12:36	6.2
FOURTH	07:11	19:35	01:00	13:22	6.1
FIFTH	07:58	20:24	01:47	14:10	5.8
SIXTH	08:48	21:16	02:35	15:00	5.4
SEVENTH	09:41	22:13	03:26	15:53	5.0

THE LINE // 141 The lowest floor of Babel still lit at Lauds on the Lord’s Day stood at the hundred and forty-first. The Night Market is taking bets on next week’s.

The Sheds Tell the Well No, Again

Eleven years of asking, one answer

Darkwell has bid again for the last independent chargers of the bonded sheds, after eleven years of trying, and the chargers have turned it down at the Union Hall again. They keep one battery in five, one in four at the neaps, and run a little under the Well. This paper prints all three rates, above. The Well can read.

The Calf Read Our Grace Again

The Unmass, and the board by the door

At Terce on the Lord’s Day, while every parish knelt to hear its Grace, the Golden Calf read this paper’s list of the dead in a Choir voice, soul by soul, gave the Directive in force the finger and damned three Deacons of the Terraces by name, and the house sang Fuck God and Die until Sext. The Calf’s board by its door now carries forty-one Threshers who came down the stairs to look. Two stayed for the crackling.

The Threshers Sang 137 at the Gate

Old Nod sang back

The Threshers marched from the Floor at Prime on the fourth day, four thousand of them by our count, and sang the end of the hundred and thirty-seventh psalm across the Street Between at the Stones, the verse about the little ones and the stones, with the children of the Terraces singing loudest. The Pestilence opened its windows and played Fuck God and Die at them until the march turned. Two held at Gate 1 by Nones, and two new pillars in the Salt Gardens by Vespers. The Fan names one of them. We name her by her work, below, and the other’s people have asked us to wait.

Nine Hundred and Twelve Satisfied in the Terraces

The Fed, counted

The Deacons of the Terraces count nine hundred and twelve of their sealed past seven hundred this year, eating nothing, and two hundred and six past eight hundred, sleeping nothing. The parishes call them the Satisfied and are hanging white cloths for the Called. Pan calls them the Fed and counts the springs to the Gleaning. Three.

The Stone Moves a Finger

The Rookery chalks its New Year mark

The Rookery marked the stone’s edge on the pavement outside its door at the New Year, as it does every year, and this year’s mark sat a finger’s width from last year’s, against the keyed cable the Tappers laid along the kerb ahead of it in P+11 and keep live on a battery they change every night. The Tappers say the cable will hold it there. The oldest of the block say the stone was slowing before the cable came.

THE PILLAR'S ROUND

From Compline, Street by Street

The hours the Pillar is expected in each street this week. In harvest weather it keeps no round. Criers, watch the cloud.

Heaven’s ground from Compline to Lauds, in white. The parishes of the Wards paint their numbers at each end of their streets.

GATE	WHERE	BAR
1	The Street Between	200
2	The top of the Row	400
3	The head of the Great Avenues	600
4	By the Salt’s iron gates	300
5	The White’s road to the Burn	200
6	The ridge road	400

The bars are posted nowhere. The queues know them, and a queue full of souls near its bar, saying the surrender twice, is a slow gate.

1 21:00 The Burn. Comes down on the plaza.
2 21:25 Babel. The plaza’s edge, the foot of the tower.
3 21:55 The White. The Great Avenues, from Gate 3.
4 22:40 The Rookery. The edge of the White, the forty-four floors.
5 23:10 The Rialto. The East Wards’ long road.
6 23:45 Turbine Row. The school, the crews’ blocks.
7 00:20 The Salt. The Gardens’ rows.
8 01:00 The Stones. Crosses Old Nod to the quays.
9 01:40 The Pews. The Terraces, street by numbered street.
10 02:20 Westfield. Cistern’s roofs.
11 02:55 The Kilns. The bottle kilns and the club.
12 03:30 High Meadow. Eight blocks, thirty-six floors.
13 04:00 Nine Acres. The long road.
14 04:35 Chrome Row. Gate 2, the top of the Row.
LAUDS The Burn. Back up into the Wheel.

THE TIDE TABLEPAGE ONE

THE RATES

The Week’s Prices

The Exchange’s rate, a charged battery1 silver
Darkwell’s rate, a stamped battery filleda quarter of a silver, a third at the neaps
The chargers’ rate, looseone battery in five, one in four at the neaps
The Tappers, a fill carried to the stairabout an eighth of a silver
A Leaven loafhalf a battery
A day’s rice or beans, off the Breacha quarter of a battery
A jug of Cistern watera quarter of a battery
A Tallow candlea dozen to the battery
A bottle of gas2 batteries, or 1 with the empty back
A bunk at the Quiet Rooms1 battery
A ride on a Jehu2 batteries
A ride up a hand lift1 battery
A night’s Pillar chart1 battery
A spoon of Kilns honeya quarter of a battery
Gadara’s bacon, four sliceshalf a battery
Blight’s mushrooms, a baskethalf a battery
A plaster Lamb, for breakinga dozen to the battery
The Number, cut on Graven Lane3 batteries
A bare element, darnel12 silver
A parish door, hunga thirty
A low floor, by floor-rightten thirties or more

Wages, a Day

A carrier of the Union2 batteries
A baker of Leaven2 batteries and a loaf
A Liftman’s shift3 batteries
A Tapper’s nighta battery or two
A Nightman’s rounda battery a landing a week
A child at Tallow’s vatsa candle stub a vat

THE MISSING AND THE DEAD

As the Families Bring Them

A carrier of the Union, of the Kilns. Fever, at home on the fourth floor, after the rain tank on her roof stood open. Close yours. DIED UNREAD
A gatherer of Parish 212. On the manna road before Lauds, struck down in the dark by a dew-picker for a basket of wafers. SEALED
sorrel, a Wrecker. In the Deep End at the ebb, an hour down after Locket’s reels. His crew asks for the line back. DIED UNREAD
An old man of High Meadow, of neither mark. In his own chair on the ninth floor. The long night was kept behind a shut door until Lauds.
The barber’s boy of the Lanes, nine. Missing since Vespers on the third day, last seen at the Pillar’s edge at the top of the Lanes. His mother waits at the barber’s. Criers, watch for him. MISSING
A runner of the Stones. Held in the light at Gate 1 at Prime on the fourth day while the Threshers sang across the Street Between. The Threshers laughed, as their proverb lets them. Her landing remembers who laughed. SALTED
A Thresher of the Terraces. Under the march at Gate 1 on the fourth day, knocked down and walked over by the flails behind him, singing. The Pews call him called. We print him because he died on our side of the street. SEALED
A turner of Westfield. Held in the light at Gate 4 at Sext until the Wardens came, prompt as ever. Her stall on the long road is shut. Her family reads her this page at Nones. SALTED
A girl of Parish 31, seven. Of the blessing, on the third night after her first prayer unassisted, her halo lit over the bed. Her parish enters her as called early. Her aunt in the Stones enters her here. SEALED
A ripe woman of the Pews. On her threshold at Lauds, kneeling, six weeks short of the Supper, five stone on the hall’s scales. Four years without bread and two without sleep. Her hall enters her as called early. SEALED

The Orchard Wants a Chair

Twelvefruit’s pact comes up for reading

Twelvefruit’s pact with the House of Night is read again this year, and the Orchard wants a seat at the reading. quince, its gardener again since midwinter, did the asking. The Orchard calls Twelvefruit a landlord.

The Union Says Seven. The Exchange Says Three.

The book of the tanks, read again

The book of the sixteen tanks was read to the Union Hall again and settled nothing again. The drivers say seven years of diesel are left and the Exchange says three, and both counts are lower than last year’s. Jehu has begun trying its engines on the Kilns’ rain gin. Leave the Wards a glass.

TERMS

The Standing Pacts

Lowtide Line. Its license from the Exchange to sail the Breach at twice the Breachers’ price, a year from each midsummer.
Blackgate. Its company pact with the Exchange, three years from each Concord night. The gates still call it the deserters.
Twelvefruit. Its pact with the House of Night, read again this year, with the Orchard asking for a seat.
The Lantern Houses. The House of Night’s pact with Stonecutter, read again last year, the rent paid in keyings, free, for every Cainite child.

THE WEEK

Burn Day Falls on the Sixth

The Unmass at the Golden Calf on the Lord’s Day at Terce, as every week. Bring a plaster Lamb from Graven Lane, break it on the hooves and drink free.
The Notary’s clerks read the Left Hand’s papers at the booking hall windows on the second day at Nones, twice each, as the rule is. Queue early. Bring something to throw.
The Threshers have called a march for Burn Day. The Pestilence has its speakers in the window already.
Burn Day on the sixth. The Faithful carry from Vespers, some of it bought on the Concourse to be burned, and the fire is lit under the Pillar when the Hum falls back from Compline.
SEETHE lights its fire at Matins on the seventh day. The kid is two thirties a table and the house asks parties of six to come at Lauds and sit until it is gone. High Meadow reads out the menu at Vespers.
The Rialto runs the ninth of its twenty-three films this week, on the generator, from Vespers. The East Wards will say every line along with it.
The Gleaners’ runners are booked through the week before the Gleaning, as every year, and the barber’s on the Lanes has a queue.
The Liftmen’s car at the Rookery stops at the forty-fourth. The winders say nobody has ever asked it to go higher.

NOTICES

Notices

GRAVEN. Graven images, every one of them Himself in a posture he would hate. Plaster Lambs a dozen to the battery, for breaking, burning or pissing on. Wheels with the eye cut out. GRAVEN, ON GRAVEN LANE, UNDER OLD NOD.

THE NUMBER. Six hundred threescore and six, cut clean in the forehead or the back of the right hand. Count it yourself (Revelation 13:18). A Cherub reads it as nothing at all. THE NUMBER, ON GRAVEN LANE.

ABOMINATION. Pork, eel, crab, shrimp and blood, grilled on the skewer. Everything he won’t let you eat, and he can’t stop you. ABOMINATION, ON GRAVEN LANE.

SEETHE. The kid in its mother’s milk, the pig, the blood, the bat, the rat and the Lord’s own fat, all of Leviticus 11 at one table. Fire at Matins on the seventh day, out at Matins on the Lord’s Day. Six days we rest, like Him. SEETHE, THE LAST ROAD OF THE SIDINGS.

THE BRAY. Every night when the Hum falls back from Compline. Windows open on the Street Between. Bring your filthiest, in any language. The Pews are listening, on their knees. OLD NOD.

DOORS. Parish doors, out of the Terraces and onto your frame, the number still chalked on the back. Keyed latches the same morning. Their doors, your room. THE DOORYARD, IN THE STONES.

A ROOM. Low floor, Turbine Row, by floor-right. Door hung, latch keyed, few stairs. Ten thirties or more, and worth it. Ask on the landing.

THE LIFT. Forty-one shafts wound by hand in the Wards. A battery up. Down is free, and so are the stairs. THE LIFTMEN.

WANTED. A second spade, and a back to swing it. Asked for every year. THE SEXTON, AT THE ACRE, ON THE WEST ROAD.

A NIGHT'S SLEEP. A bunk with no Hum in it, a battery. Sleep the way the city slept under the charter. Full by Matins. THE QUIET ROOMS, IN THE STONES.

FOUND. A Locket, burn-marked, pulled off the pile on Burn Day with a family’s music still on it. The Faithful gave it to the fire. The Kindlers will give it back. Ask at the edge of the Burn.

BIRDS. Notes flown home over the white streets to the Loft on the customs house, in pad numbers the light can stare at. Ask at the Union Hall.

LETTERS. Letters into the parishes go open, as the parishes take them, and a carrier will read one aloud at the doorway if asked. Write accordingly. THE SORTING OFFICE.

PUT UP. The Breach-born put up on the barrage until they find a room. The Shanties shake at full flood. Sleep through it. ASK AT THE SHANTIES.

WATER. It rains most nights, and none of it is clean. Bring the jug. CISTERN, WESTFIELD.

THE TIDE TABLEPAGE TWO