On day 1141, the waystation’s hall began to flood while its occupants were arguing about who could close a gate.
Water appeared beneath the western door as a dark line, widened, and reached the leg of Mara’s chair. She lifted her feet before she stopped speaking.
“That’s either a useful demonstration,” she said, “or someone has opened the wrong channel.”
Hara went to the door. Water was running across the yard from the well house, carrying leaves and a broken wooden scoop. A boy stood on the steps shouting for his mother. Behind him, the well house’s upper window had burst outward.
Iven reached the boy first. “Anyone inside?”
“My mother. And the keeper.”
“Where?”
“Below the wheel. They were changing the basket.”
