Sect Year 3 · eleventh month · day 6 · Tarn Mouth, the Hesk harbor
Tarn Mouth had been built out of the mud of the river that emptied into the bay. The houses were mud-brick, dried to the colour of old bread, and their roofs were thatched with a grey reed that the wind had combed flat over the years. The timber was grey as well.
Salt had bleached it until the grain stood up in ridges, and the posts of the quay were so weathered that gulls perched on their tops without any fear of being chased off. The wind came off the water and did not drop. It went through the streets as if it had somewhere to be and had been kept waiting, and it pushed at the doors and rattled the shutters and did not once pause for breath.
The Carried Hour came in over the bar in the middle of the morning, with two men in the bow calling the depths and the captain standing at the tiller with his jaw set. Lin watched the bar come up under the keel. The water there was the pale brown of weak tea, and the surf broke on either side of the channel in long white arms. Su stood beside him with her hand on the rail. She didn’t speak until the ship was through and the swell had dropped away behind them.
