Reyn gave his brother a betrayed look. "If only you'd listened to me last night," he said accusingly.

"If only you'd been sober last night," Bendir retorted. He turned on his heel and left the room. Jani and Reyn hastened after him.

UNSTACKING THE BOATS TO FIND THE BEST ONE WAS A DIFFICULT TASK IN the tight space of the collapsed boat-house. After she had chosen the best one, getting it outside proved even more of a task. Kekki was virtually useless. When her weeping finally stilled, it was because she had fallen asleep. The Satrap made an effort, but it was like being assisted by a large child. He had no concept of physical work. She tried to keep her temper with him, even reminding herself that last year she had been just as ignorant.

He was afraid of the work. He would not grip the wood, let alone put real muscle into dragging the boat out. With an effort, Malta held her tongue. By the time they had managed to get the boat out of the cleft and onto the leaf-strewn ground outside, she was completely exhausted. The Satrap brushed his hands and beamed down on the boat as if he had brought it out himself. "Well," he declared with satisfaction. "That's done it. Fetch some oars and we're off."

Malta had sunk down to the ground and leaned back against a tree. "Don't you think," she asked, fighting to hold back the sarcasm, "that we should see if it still floats first?"

"Why shouldn't she?" He put a foot on the boat's prow possessively. "She looks fine to me."

"Wood shrinks when it's out of water. We should put it in shallow water, and let the wood swell up a bit and see how much water it ships. If you have never heard before, I'll tell you now. The water of the Rain Wild River eats wood. And flesh. If it doesn't float high and dry, we'll need to put something in the bottom to rest our feet on. Besides, I'm too exhausted to row anywhere just now, and we aren't sure where we are. If we wait until dusk, we may be able to see the lights of Trehaug through the trees. That would save us a lot of time and effort."

He stood, looking down at her, balanced between offense and consternation. "Are you refusing to obey me?"

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Do you want to die on the river?" she asked.

He bridled at that. "Do not dare to speak to me as if you were a Companion!"

"Perish the thought," Malta agreed with him. She wondered if anyone else had ever dared to disagree with him before. With a groan, she got to her feet. "Help me," she said, and began to shove the boat toward the swamp. His help consisted in taking his foot off the prow. She ignored that. She put the boat in shallow standing water. There was no line to tie it up, but there was no current to draw it away either. She hoped it would stay there, and was suddenly too weary to worry any more about it.

She looked at the Satrap, who was still glaring at her. "If you're going to stay awake, maybe you could find some oars. And you might keep an eye on the boat so it does not float away. It's the best of the lot that was down there, and none too good at that." She wondered at her tone, and then as she lay down on the earth and closed her eyes, she identified it. That was how her grandmother had always spoken to her. She understood why, now. She ached all over, and the ground was hard. She slept.

REYN HAD NOT CONVINCED THEM; HE HAD SIMPLY GONE ON. IF HE HAD waited for them to completely clear and shore up the main passage before advancing along it, Malta would certainly be dead before he got to her. He had wormed his way past two blocking falls and finally reached a portion of the main passage that was still intact when he came to the end of the thin line he had been paying out. He set a large chunk of fallen rock atop it. He had paused to mark his sign on the wall with star-chalk. The stuff would show well in even the faintest light. They would know he had been there and gone on. He had marked his passage through the falls, indicating the best places to start the re-excavation. He had an instinct for these things.

The scene with Malta's mother had been awful. He had found her helping to barrow out rubble from the tunnel. The bandages on her damaged hand were smudged with dirt. When he asked her if she had seen Malta, the worry she had contained had broken forth on her face. "No," she said hoarsely. "Nor Selden. But, of course, they could not be down there."

"Of course not," he lied, feeling ill. "I'm sure they'll turn up. They probably went walking in Trehaug together. No doubt they are wondering where everyone else has gone." He tried to put some of his own belief in his tale, but could not find it. She read the horror in his eyes. A sob caught in her throat. He could not face her. He headed down into the buried city. He did not promise her that he would bring her children back to her. He had already lied to her once.

Despite the fresh falls, he had moved with confidence through his city. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of it as he knew his own body. He diverted the diggers from one tunnel that he was certain was a loss, and moved them to another fall that they swiftly cleared. Bendir wanted him to go from site to site, carrying a lantern and map and passing out advice. He had flatly refused. "I'm working with those who are tunneling toward the Crowned Rooster Chamber. Once we reach there and rescue Malta, I'll work wherever else you put me. But that is my priority."

There had nearly been a confrontation, but Mother had reminded Bendir again that the trapped Satrap and his Companion were along that route as well. Bendir grudgingly nodded. Reyn picked up his supplies and set out. He carried water, chalk, line, candles and a tinderbox in a bag slung over his shoulder. Digging and prying tools clanked at his belt. He did not bother with a lantern. The other men might need light to work by, but not him.

As he hurried down the passage, he trailed the chalk along the wall just above the failed jidzin. Truly, the city was dying when he could not waken even a glow from it. Perhaps it was broken in too many pieces now to work anymore. He wondered mournfully if he had forever lost his chance to puzzle out how it had worked.

He came to the chamber where they had secured the Satrap. It had been one of the most beautiful chambers they had ever discovered, but the Satrap and his Companion had wallowed in it as if it were a sty. Cosgo truly seemed to have no idea of how to care for himself. Reyn understood the need for servants. His family had hired help who cooked, cleaned and sewed. But a servant to put the shoes on your feet? A servant to comb your hair for you? What sort of a man needed another man to do that for him?

Water was oozing slowly from beneath the door. Reyn tried to open it, but something heavy pressed against it from the other side. Probably a wall of earth and mud, he reflected grimly. Reyn pounded on the door and shouted, but got no response. He listened to the silence. He tried to feel sorry for how they had perished, but could only remember the look he had seen on the man's face as he looked down at Malta in his arms. Even the memory of it knotted the muscles in Reyn's shoulders. The mud and earth had given the Satrap a swifter death than Reyn would have worked on him, if he had ever looked at Malta like that again.

He marked the door to let the diggers know he regarded it as hopeless. Let them rescue the living in the next few days. Recovering bodies could wait. He set his chalk to the wall and walked on.

A dozen strides further and he stumbled over a body. He fell with an oath, then immediately groped his way back. Someone small, the body still warm. Alive. "Malta?" he dared to hope.

"No. It's Selden," replied a small miserable voice.

He gathered the trembling boy in close to him. His body was chilled. Reyn sat on the floor and pulled him into his lap. He chafed his arms and legs as he asked him, "Where is Malta? Close by?"