The woman moved her fish away from the fire when they came up the steps.
“It’s nearly burnt,” she said. “I misjudged how long a boat takes.”
Chaska stopped with her bundle under one arm. “Were you expecting us?”
“Someone. I saw the ray over the reeds.”
Lilt lay on the high grass behind the shrine, broad edge turned toward the remaining warmth. The woman looked at her, then at the basket Ysabet carried. Her right hand tightened on the fish stick. Her other arm ended below the elbow in translucent stone, tapering to a rounded edge with dark threads inside it. No fingers waited at the end.
Ysabet set the basket down where the creature inside could see the fire.
“May we use the upper landing?”
“If you can find anybody to object, ask them.”
The shrine had once honored something with four feet and a face rubbed smooth by hands. Its statue lay on its side behind the altar. Reeds grew between the paving stones. The empty bell frame made a black rectangle against the sky.
“My name’s Ysabet.”
“Ashaun.”
Chaska gave her own name, then went back to secure the skiff above the lower step. Ysabet watched her test the mooring post before tying the painter. The channel had begun to move faster. Small pieces of ash spun in the eddies, though the fire lay miles behind them now.
“Somebody said the sluices would open.”
“They’re opening.” Ashaun lifted her chin toward the opposite bank. Water shivered among the reed stalks, traveling against the breeze. “Sleep up here.”
There was enough raised floor for three people beneath the surviving roof. Lilt could not enter without scraping her edges on the stone posts. Chaska chose a broad space beside the upstream wall and led her there, then laid a light line to keep her from drifting down the wet grass if she slept too close to the slope. It was the sort of arrangement made from habit, not a restraint meant to survive panic.
Ysabet gave the mouse its familiar box behind a dry brick. She put grain at the entrance and a lid of water beside it. Pip touched the covered end twice, then turned toward the fire.
Ashaun drew back.
It was only a small movement. The fish stick scraped the stones because her hand had started to shake.
“It’s hurt?” she asked.
“Yes. A leg.”
“How?”
Ysabet knelt by the basket. “Something was done to it.”
“That answers very little.”
“It answers what I know.”
Pip climbed out awkwardly. Its five useful legs spread beneath it, the sixth held close. Firelight shone in both eyes. The white mark above them was still shaped like a closed door.
Ashaun looked away first.
“Fish,” she said.
“We bought two.” Chaska held up the parcel. “If the fire’s for sharing.”
“Put them there.”
She used the stone end of her left arm to steady a flat rock while she shifted the coals with her right. The movement was practiced. Ysabet saw a pale scar where skin met the translucent surface and looked away before the inspection became rude.
They cooked their fish badly. Ashaun’s had burned at one edge while remaining raw near the spine. Chaska’s slid off the stick and had to be rescued with two scraps of reed. Ysabet got enough into her mouth to realize how hungry she was, then scraped the rest carefully from the bones.
Pip nosed the gray ash. She moved its clay parcel nearer. It bit the cloth first, then found the food.
“That won’t be enough soon,” Ashaun said.
Ysabet’s hand stopped over the parcel.
“For what?”
“For a growing creature.”
“Do you know what it is?”
The woman put down her fish. Close up, her age was in the deep lines beside her mouth and the fine loose skin of her throat. When she parted her lips, Ysabet saw broken teeth.
“I know the mark.”
Chaska settled on her heels beside Ysabet. The shift was quiet, but Ashaun noticed.
“Quirin Sile told us something,” Ysabet said. “Not enough.”
“Quirin is alive?”
“Yes.”
Ashaun rubbed her right hand against her knee. “He’ll be pleased to discover it.”
For the first time something like humor passed between them, thin and unwelcome. It disappeared when Pip dragged its bad leg over a reed stem and clicked in pain.
Ashaun’s hand moved toward her belt.
Ysabet stood.
The woman stopped. A narrow wrapped object lay against her hip. She held her palm open above it rather than touch it.
“I haven’t drawn anything.”
“Don’t.”
Chaska rose too. Across the shrine Lilt lifted the front of her body from the grass. The line beside her remained slack.
Pip pressed against Ysabet’s boot, looking upward, its jaw busy with a last mouthful of clay.
Ashaun looked at the creature, then at the boot it had chosen. Her right hand shook more violently. She put it flat on the altar stone.
“I need to tell you why I carry this,” she said.
“Then tell us from there.”
The channel slapped against the lower steps. Behind the fallen statue, the mouse began to eat its grain.