The guild’s clerk printed the list again within the hour, and Mara read it in the hall’s heat.
The stoves had been stoked for the morning. The cleared end of the guild hall was warm now, too warm, the air thick with the smell of wool and woodsmoke and cold tea gone stale in its cups. Someone had set a cup down on the printed pages while the room argued, and the bottom corner of each sheet had wrinkled where the damp ring had soaked in. Mara smoothed them flat on the table with the side of her hand. The ring stayed.
She read the first page again. The families, by count. The second page. The specialists, by post, and the names, and the berth line with her own handwriting beside it. Canceled by Mara Venn, sister, in public session.
Lisan had his custody log open on the table beside him.
“Read the log beside it,” he said. “Not after. Beside. Line by line, the list and the log together.”
“Why beside?”
“Because a list tells you who’s on it,” Lisan said. “A log tells you how they got there.” He turned the log toward her. “If you read the list first, you’ll remember the list. Then you’ll read the log looking for what you remember. Read them together and you’ll see where they disagree.”
