The old walkway sang when the water ran backward.
Iven stopped beneath its first arch and listened. The sound was thin and uneven, like air drawn across the mouths of bottles. It came from holes in the stone above his head, each faced with a different pale mineral crust.
“People used to come here at evening,” Eshra said.
“To hear it?”
“To meet somebody who wasn’t supposed to be visiting their house. The sound was an excuse.”
Elian looked up from his map.
“Did that get written anywhere?”
“Probably in someone’s angry letter.”
