The wheel marks led to the old ferry trail, where a lantern moved above the bank. Its light swung with the wind. Pell raised one hand, and the keeper answered by lowering it once.
“That is Dema,” Pell said. “He keeps the ferry for the village. He’ll know if the cart crossed.”
They followed the trail down to the water. Dema stood by the cable post with his sleeves rolled to the elbow. Across the river, the missing cart waited on the far bank. Two families sat beside it, and a wounded guard lay on a blanket under the cart’s canvas cover.
“The lower approach was blocked,” Dema called across. “The driver took Han’s trail. The cable is strained, but it will carry people in small groups.”
Yan opened Han’s map, keeping the folded page away from the damp bank. “How many are there?”
“Two families, a wounded guard, and the medicine cart,” Dema said. “The driver has the names.”
Pell raised his voice toward the far shore. “Check them against the list.”
Dema held the lantern near a narrow strip of paper. He read each name and called it across. One of the adults answered from beside the cart; another raised a child’s hand. When Dema reached the last name, a boy held up a single red mitten and shook his head at the empty hand.
