The skiff sat lower than Ysabet liked.
“That is what boats do with things in them,” Chaska said.
“Not usually so far.”
“Usually you’re standing on the bank.”
They had brought too much water. That was the first discovery. The second was that the narrow space under the forward bench could hold a food sack or Ysabet’s knees, but neither improved by being combined.
Chaska took everything back out.
The early tide slid beneath the landing, lifting the skiff against its line. Lilt rested on the bank with the morning breeze moving the fine edge of her body. She had already refused the slippery lower boards twice. Chaska had stopped trying to lead her over them and laid out a launch line higher on the grass.
Ysabet stood among their possessions, holding the basket with Pip inside. The creature had put two feet over the rim. Its mouse remained in the pouch, moving occasionally.
“Only one jar,” Chaska said. “We refill where the channels take the springs.”
“Some channels take runoff.”
“Then we ask before drinking them.”
Ysabet put back the second jar reluctantly. It went to the boatman’s wife, who agreed to send it to Mara with the next town errand. The heavy cooking pot followed. Chaska’s small kettle could heat water or food, though not both at once, a limitation they accepted with ill grace.
Chaska lashed her folding cargo frame along the inside of the skiff: light jointed spars, a rolled sail, and two small navigation mirrors tucked into padded sleeves. When rigged with Lilt’s harness it supported loads and helped balance a rider; on its own it was merely awkward luggage. She had used it on her courier rounds, and checked each fitting before tying it down.
They divided the clay into flat bundles and placed them along the middle of the boat. No food lay under a possible leak. The notes, sale receipt, and license went into Ysabet’s oiled case. The crooked cup, still unfired, could not survive in the cargo. Ysabet had left it on Mara’s shelf beneath a small upturned bowl.
“I feel as if I’m leaving everything useful,” she said.
“You’ve got two changes of linen and a licensed opinion. You’ll endure.”
Chaska pushed a spare shirt beneath the basket so it would not rock. She left an open gap along the top. When Ysabet reached to draw the covering over Pip, the creature backed away from the moving cloth.
She folded it halfway instead.
“Rain will find that,” Chaska said.
“We’ll move things if it does.”
The boatman’s wife brought a reed mat cut to fit the bottom. She had watched them unload twice and apparently could bear no more.
“For slipping,” she said. “Not to hide the water. If it comes over the mat, you bail.”
Chaska thanked her without a joke.
Mara arrived with Rella as the light reached the highest roofs. Rella carried the little bag Ysabet had forgotten: grain for the mouse, a small sealed jar of fresh water, and the wooden spoon with the shallow edge. Mara had brought nothing except a list of three places Quirin thought might receive messages north of the marsh.
“The licensing boy came back last night,” she said.
Ysabet felt her shoulders tighten.
“He asked whether you’d got his note. I said yes. He was mostly looking for more bread.”
Chaska laughed once, a sudden relieved sound.
Mara touched the skiff’s gunwale. “Write something I can read. And if you’re ill, tell someone who can do more than worry from a bathhouse.”
Ysabet nodded. Words had become difficult again. She stepped onto the middle board Chaska indicated and sat before attempting anything else.
Pip lifted its head. Mara held her fingers near the basket without touching. It sniffed, clicked softly, and put a forefoot against the rim where her hand had been.
“Don’t eat the boat,” Mara said.
The boatman’s wife looked alarmed.
“It’s eaten a cup,” Ysabet explained. “Only a cup.”
Chaska cleared her throat.
“And some roof.”
Mara untied the line before Ysabet could improve the account.
They pushed off crookedly. The bow turned toward the landing instead of the channel, and Chaska used the pole to fend them clear while Ysabet learned how little movement was needed to make the hull complain. Mara and Rella walked along the bank until the path ended at a locked gate.
For a few moments Ysabet could still see Mara’s hand over the top of it.
Then the bend hid her.
Lilt launched from the higher grass. Chaska had put only a light bag on her harness, with the padded strap clear of the old rub. She glided across the channel, low and smooth, and settled on a sandy tongue ahead.
“There,” Chaska said. “We meet her at the point.”
“You’re staying in the boat?”
“Until you can keep it straight.”
Ysabet took the oar. Its handle was polished slick, too large for her right grip. Chaska showed her how to brace it against her left side and make a short correcting stroke. The first sent water into her lap. The second turned the bow past the point.
“Less.”
She tried again.
Behind them Bent Reed made its ordinary morning noises: hammer, cart, distant bells. None sounded like a town watching someone flee. Ysabet kept the skiff’s nose toward the waiting sandray and made the smaller stroke Chaska had shown her.