The first tile came away in Neri’s hand before she meant it to.
She held it up between finger and thumb, a square of blue glass no larger than a fingernail. Dust filled the tiny pits in its surface. Behind it, the mortar had crumbled to powder.
“I didn’t pull,” she said.
“I saw,” Iven replied.
“That isn’t the same as believing me.”
“I believe you. I’m concerned the rest of the wall doesn’t.”
They had returned through the drainage passage, avoiding the damaged door. Jora had placed a guard at the drilling site, and the transport board had ordered the drill removed. The pale creature remained near the patched hole when Kesh last checked, but it had not followed them into the rooms.
Sera wanted to examine the mosaic before another crew was sent to inspect the wall. Elian wanted a drawing accurate enough that no one could dismiss it as a memory. Neri wanted the wall to remain standing while they did both. Iven wanted to know why someone had made a picture in a place the city’s maps insisted was solid support.
Brin wanted the tile.
“You can hold it when it’s wrapped,” Neri told him.
“I won’t drop it.”
“I’m sure you won’t. You can still hold it when it’s wrapped.”
She placed the tile on a square of cloth and folded the corners over it. Brin took the little packet with exaggerated care and set it in the basket beside the blue-bird cup, which he had brought back because Sera intended to record its original position.
The rooms smelled more strongly of damp than they had the day before. Water had seeped through the fresh break near the entrance and left a dark patch on the floorboards. Tavin checked the drainage passage while Neri examined the wall. Iven held the lamp close enough to see but far enough that its heat would not dry the old mortar too quickly.
“How do we clear it without taking the tiles with us?” he asked.
“Slowly.” Neri brought out a soft brush and a bowl of water. “And if one moves, we stop.”
Elian knelt with his sketchbook on a board across his knees. Kesh watched the corridor, spear across her lap. Sera had arranged her samples and a set of clean tools on the table, which Iven and Tavin had lifted back onto its three sound legs. A folded cloth supported the fourth.
Neri brushed the mineral crust in small strokes. Some came away as powder. Other sections clung to the tiles. Iven used the point of his awl to loosen one edge while she caught the falling fragments in a cloth.
A line appeared: pale tiles curving upward, bordered in dark red. Then a second line, parallel to the first. Between them lay a row of smaller squares, alternating blue and white.
“It could be a road,” Elian said.
“Could be a border,” Neri replied.
Brin leaned forward. “Could be a very long loaf.”
Iven looked at him. “You’ve been thinking about that.”
“I was hungry on the way down.”
“That’s a condition, not an explanation.”
Brin opened his mouth, then closed it as Kesh raised one hand. A faint scrape sounded in the corridor beyond the basin room. Everyone listened. The sound continued for a few seconds, then stopped.
“Water moving something?” Tavin asked.
“Maybe.” Kesh rose and went to the doorway. “Keep working. I’ll watch.”
Iven returned to the wall. He loosened a thicker patch of crust, exposing a small figure made of brown and cream tiles. It stood with both arms raised. One arm ended in a dark square, perhaps a tool or a hand.
Elian drew it. “A person.”
“Probably,” Neri said.
“Do you object to all conclusions?”
“Only the ones that arrive before the rest of the picture.”
They uncovered two more figures. One stood beside a shape that might have been a basket. Another was seated on the curved pale line. Above them, the red border widened into a larger form, its outline still hidden by mineral growth.
Sera knelt beside the wall. “The tiles were set on a layer of wood. The wood was fixed to the hard surface behind it.”
“Can you tell when?” Elian asked.
“No.”
“Can anyone?”
“Possibly. The mortar and wood might narrow it down. But we’d need a comparison.”
Iven brushed away another patch. A dark eye appeared in the larger red form. Beneath it was a long curve of white tiles, then a broad pale shape that could be a jaw or a cliff edge.
Brin’s breath caught. “That’s a head.”
This time Neri did not argue. The curve continued into a thick neck, then into the pale line where the figures stood. The image was stylized and incomplete, but it resembled a large animal bending toward the people beneath it.
Elian lowered his pencil. “A Marcher.”
“Yes,” Sera said. She leaned closer to the uncovered eye. “Look at where it’s facing.”
“The people,” Elian replied.
“Not the road. Not the next feeding ground. The people.”
No one answered immediately. Iven had expected another warning about what they could not know. Instead Sera reached for the lamp and held it so the little figures cast no shadows over the tiles.
“Whoever made this picture wanted that noticed,” she said. “We can be certain of that much.”
Iven stepped back. The figure with raised arms stood near the animal’s lowered head. A row of blue tiles connected them. It might have represented water, rope, a path, or nothing more than decoration. The people were not shown running. One appeared to be carrying something toward the animal. Another sat on the pale curve with legs hanging over the edge.
He tried to imagine what the picture’s maker had seen. The official illustrations of Marchers showed cities riding great armored backs, people standing safely above the mindless mass. This picture put people at eye level with the creature, or what passed for eye level in a wall made of colored squares.
“Someone wanted this in a home,” he said.
“Or a workshop,” Neri replied.
“Fine. A home where they kept a child-sized bed and a toy.”
“That’s a stronger argument.”
A sharp crack came from the corridor. Kesh called, “Back from the wall.”
A section of ceiling above the old door had split. The mineral growth around the drilled hole was sagging, pulling the wooden frame with it. Water ran through the break in a thin stream.
Neri moved to the corridor and looked up. “The old frame was holding part of that shelf.”
“It wasn’t a load-bearing door,” Iven said.
“It is now. Or it was until somebody drilled next to it.”
Tavin joined them. The crack extended toward the mosaic room. If the shelf fell, it might pull the wall covering down with it.
“We can shore it,” Neri said. “But we need a post.”
“There are stakes,” Kesh offered.
“Too thin.”
Iven looked at the fallen shelf they had moved the previous day. Its side pieces were sound enough for a temporary support. He and Tavin carried one into the corridor while Neri cleared a place beneath the sagging section. Kesh kept watch at the old door, where the pale creature’s scraping had begun again.
They wedged the shelf side beneath the ceiling. It was short by a handspan. Neri stacked two blocks of wood under it and struck them into place. The post took some of the load, but the ceiling continued to settle.
“I need a brace across the top,” she said.
Iven seated the plate pattern and projected a compact support between the post and the sagging shelf. The force spread across the damaged surface. Dust fell, then stopped.
“How long?” Neri asked.
“Long enough to fit something real.”
“Don’t make me guess.”
“A minute comfortably. More if nothing shifts.”
Tavin cut a crosspiece from the broken shelf. Neri slid it into position while Iven held the brace. When she tapped the crosspiece home, the load transferred to the timber. Iven released the imprint gradually. The ceiling held.
From the mosaic room, Elian called, “The wall is moving.”
Iven turned. A narrow crack had appeared through the lower edge of the picture. It ran between the seated figure and the pale curve, lifting several tiles from the mortar.
Brin stood beneath it with the basket. “What do I do?”
“Move,” Neri said.
He moved. A small section of tile fell where he had been standing. It struck the floor and broke into pieces.
Sera crouched beside the fragments. “The rest will go if the wall flexes again.”
“Can we protect it?” Elian asked.
“We can record it,” Neri said. “And we can catch what’s already loose. We can’t take the whole wall down here.”
Iven fetched a broad cloth from the basket and held it beneath the damaged section. Sera and Elian carefully lifted the loosened tiles, one at a time, placing them in numbered folds. The pieces were small and irregular. Some carried only a single color; others preserved a line where two colors met.
Elian sketched each gap before the tile came away. His pencil moved quickly, but he stopped to measure distances rather than relying on his eye. Brin wrote the numbers on scraps of paper. Kesh kept watch while Tavin reinforced the temporary post with a second piece of wood.
A scrape came from the entrance. The pale creature appeared beyond the broken frame, its shoulder plates brushing the wall. It paused at the bound drill hole, then moved toward the fresh crack above it.
Kesh stood between it and the group. “It’s going to the new damage.”
“Maybe,” Iven said.
“Do you have another explanation?”
“Not a better one.”
The creature climbed partway up the wall. Its limbs found purchase in the mineral ridges. It pressed against the crack, and a pale substance spread beneath its front plates. Water slowed where it touched the broken surface.
Sera stared. “It’s covering the opening.”
“Could it be eating it?” Tavin asked.
“We can’t tell from here.”
The creature shifted its weight. A piece of the frame fell. Iven caught it with the plate brace before it struck Kesh. The creature turned toward the movement, then returned to the crack.
Neri touched Iven’s arm. “We have what we can carry. Leave it room.”
They withdrew through the drainage passage, taking the basket and the sketch. Elian looked back twice. Iven understood. The picture offered just enough to make him want the rest, and the wall was falling apart while they watched.
In the pump room, they laid the cloth packets on the table. Elian matched each number to his sketch. Sera examined the blue tile Neri had accidentally lifted first. Its back was rough and uneven, with a small impression in the mortar.
“What’s that?” Brin asked.
“A finger mark, perhaps.”
“From the person who made it?”
“Possibly.”
Brin bent close. “It’s small.”
“Hands come in different sizes,” Neri said.
“I know. I’m saying it could be a child.”
“It could.” She did not take the possibility away from him.
Elian held his sketch beside the fragments. The lowered head was visible now, as were the figures beneath it. He shaded the missing areas instead of inventing what had been there.
“Can you show this to the office?” Iven asked.
“I can. I don’t know what they’ll do with it.”
“Make more copies first,” Tavin said.
“And leave one with Vale,” Neri added. “One with Liss. One with your office if you want.”
Elian looked at her. “You don’t trust my office.”
“I trust that it has more than one person in it.”
He considered the sketch, then nodded. “I’ll make copies.”
Sera wrapped the fragments again. A little pale dust remained on the table after the cloth was folded. She touched it with her gloved fingertip and watched it cling.
“We saw the creature at two fresh breaks,” she said. “We still don’t know whether it was protecting the wall, feeding, or responding to something else.”
“But it covered the crack,” Kesh said.
“Yes.”
“That’s more than we had yesterday.”
Iven looked at the sketch. It showed a huge head lowered toward a handful of small figures. Nothing in the picture told him whether the creature had understood the people, or whether they had understood it. It did tell him that someone had once thought the meeting worth putting on a wall.
That was more than he had yesterday too.