Ysra counted the stair in rock down to the Survey House’s door, and found it right, and then she counted the Hands in the hall and found eight, and then, because she had not yet been able to stop herself, she counted the citizens, and found two.
Two. She said it aloud to the empty stair, very quietly, as she stood on the top step with the grey light of the early morning coming up over the marsh behind her. It was the first correct arithmetic she had done since the Lantern Ford. Every other sum that week had come out a little wrong, a stone or a sack or a cart-wheel short, and she had had to write each one in the square at the bottom of the page, and then go back and count it again to see whether the square was lying or the count. This time the square was empty, because there was nothing in it that did not add up. The Hold was two citizens. The stair was fourteen steps. The Hands were eight, and the ninth seat was empty, and the empty seat was not a Quiet Hand’s but a Walker’s, which was a different thing and had its own number.
