Nad asked Tavin whether the bell should be rung once or twice.
It was an absurdly difficult question.
The cracked kitchen bell stood on Ruma’s shelf, its dark lip bent where the Cinderwake’s broken rack had struck it. It had called people to soup, broken an argument over an inspection turn and offended Pellan’s dignity at distances no ordinary kitchen sound should have reached. Two dead people had heard it on the morning they left the Gate.
“One,” Tavin said. Then he shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Nad nodded as though that were a usable answer.
“We can decide when we’re there.”
It was day 1109. Herva had asked for a small gathering at the receiving quay after the afternoon’s working boats were clear. She had checked with the nearby crew households and sent word through the named contacts of those farther away. Nobody had been asked to make an impossible journey merely so the quay could look complete.
The weather was mild enough for people to stand outside. Ruma had offered the room if that changed. A pot of food waited behind the door, because Herva did not want anyone leaving hungry after listening to a list of things hunger could not explain.
