“If you have greased the flat stone slabs or filed a link in the pulley chain, boy, save yourself the trouble,” a deep voice said from the top of the eastern steps. “Brus and I are climbing the ladder to inspect every iron ring before the noon bell.”
Seyun didn’t startle. He turned smoothly on his bare heel in the northeast corner and looked across the misty courtyard. Daro Kesh stood at the head of the stone stairs with the collar of his dark wool coat turned up against the river fog and his heavy iron-hilted straight sword slung across his left hip in its ash sword sheath. The first grey light of dawn was just sliding over the coopers’ roofs behind him, touching the silver-grey hair at his temples.
“Good morning, Master Kesh,” Seyun said calmly. He walked back across the cold stones toward the steps where his straw sandals lay. “I haven’t touched the chain or brought grease into the yard. Mother Renn has been sitting by the gate with her fire bowl since I arrived.”
Daro dropped the five stone steps into the pit, his heavy boots ringing with a solid, unrushed tread that contrasted sharply with Seyun’s silent bare feet. The swordmaster stopped near the center of the yard, glanced down at the faint damp footprints Seyun had left along the western drainage tiles and the four corners. Then looked up at the crossed cedar tie-beams overhead.
