The first door on Olan’s list had been painted yellow since the pump burst. The second had disappeared altogether.
Iven stood with Olan in front of a newly built row of stalls, trying to match the numbers on the wall to the address on the paper. A woman selling combs watched them search.
“If you’re looking for seventeen,” she said, “it’s behind the fishmonger. They moved the entrance when the roof came down.”
“Did everyone stay?” Olan asked.
“Most. The Mells went to the upper saddle. Their room flooded twice, and the second time they decided the building was trying to tell them something.”
She pointed through a passage beside the fish stall. Iven thanked her and followed Olan into a courtyard where washing hung between two narrow balconies. An older man was mending a basket by the door marked seventeen. When Olan introduced himself, the man put down the basket but did not invite them in.
“My wife is at work,” he said. “If this is about the compensation, we received it.”
“It isn’t.” Olan held out the folder. “There’s new information about the pump test. We wanted you to have a copy before we submit it to the office.”
