They reached Sedge Ladder in the first clear light of day seven hundred and fifty-five.
The last six kilometres followed a raised path between reed beds, then climbed onto an old stone bank. Houses stood behind it on posts and dry shelves. Below, boats occupied narrow landings reached by stairs that could be lengthened or shortened as the water changed.
The place had earned its name one added rung at a time.
At the receiving yard, a woman was measuring water into a row of pale cups.
She finished the last one before looking up.
“Declared visitors?”
“Elian Veyr,” Elian said. “The Caldrin records party. We sent copies ahead.”
“Eshra Daal.”
