That was when it struck him. There was a chill in the air; the dampness was cold rather than humid. He looked at the nearest exposed pipe in the ceiling above him and, very gingerly, rapped on it with a knuckle. It was lukewarm, safe to touch with his exposed palm. That meant the boiler was off and had been for some time. He booked it down the corridor, coming to the stairs into the cargo hold and hurrying down to hear a swearing Silvertalon shouting from the boiler room.