Securing the Iron Vise

A blunt iron lever hung loose over the edge of the workbench, vibrating with every gust of wind. Loose machinery invited chaos. I paced across the weathered pine planks, claws digging into dry splinters and resin. I confronted the cast-iron vise directly. Bracing my hind limbs against a rusted tin of nails, I struck the steel crank with both foretalons. The heavy threaded spindle groaned, turning two stiff rotations until the serrated jaws clamped down shut against a block of cedar. Silence returned. The steel is locked in place.