The first crab climbed onto Ysabet’s boot and began cleaning it.
She held still while its translucent claws picked chalk from the seam. Through its shell she could see a dark speck that might have been a meal or an organ. It worked with irritating confidence, assuming the whole boot belonged to the singer.
“Do we stop it?” Chaska whispered.
“I don’t think it’s hurting anything.”
The crab reached a leather fastening, tested it, and lost interest. It went down the other side and joined the pale traffic along the plate.
They moved under the hood together. The wet awning rested on its reed supports, leaving enough air to speak without drawing full breaths. Pip walked outside the cloth at first, head low. When the water rose to its jaw it came beneath the edge. Ysabet lifted the hood just enough to admit it and lost a precious pocket of air in a burst of bubbles.
The reed stems hissed faintly.
A new breath entered, damp and green-smelling. Outside the arch Suth was still connected to them by six fragile lengths of living plant. Ysabet had never trusted anything that looked less like equipment.
