"Ali. They found your boat. They got it down to the tie-up near the Stair."

Her heart did a turnover and a restart. "Thank God." She shot the bolt back and cracked the door open, took it wider when she saw it was Ali alone, Ali with a bundle in his hands. "What time it it?"

"'Bout mid of the first." Ali shoved the bundle into her hands, hook and all. "His clothes. All cleaned. Moghi wants you should move that boat. Boy's watching it. He ain't much."

"Lord, where'd you find it? How'd you get it here?"

"Del Suleiman brought 'er, found 'im off by the Sanke, he's wanting you should ferry him back. Moghi wants that boat moved—"

"I'm going, I'm going." She rubbed her eyes with her free hand and shouldered the door shut, headed over for the bed to toss the clothes. Mondragon arrived and disengaged them from her arm and from the hook. She caught up her belt, put the hook where it belonged, rubbed her eyes into focus again and saw Mondragon busy buttoning his pants as she buckled her knife belt on.

"You c'n go back," she said, "get some sleep. I don't know what time it is, but I got Del to get back." Her wits woke up. "Give me some change. Couple pennies. I got to pay Del."

"I'm going with you."

"I told you. You keep that blond head of yours in this room. I paid damn well enough for it." She discovered her cap on the iron bedpost and slapped it on her head. "Don't you budge from here. I got to explain you to Del? You want gossip all over?"

"We've got it." His face flushed ruddy in the light. "What can he say that that Mintaka woman won't, tell me that?"

"You stay put! I don't need more trouble than I got! Stay put! Hear?"

"Dammit, Jones—"

"Just give me the money."

He went and got his boot by the bedside, came up with pennies. Gave her four. And scowled when he handed them over.

"Thanks."

"Jones. Be careful."

"Hey, I been running these canals all my life, I got friends out there and Del's one of 'em. You keep inside. Keep that door locked!"

She escaped out it, closed it tight.

"Bolt it," she yelled back through the door.

The bolt shot.

Damn. A man that listens.

She turned to All and the lantern, in time to follow him down the stairs, quick on bare feet in the wildly swinging light—no shoes and no socks for canal work, by the Ancestors. Her own boards under her feet again, silky-smooth and all her own, better than town floors, than Moghi's carpet. She went after AH at speed, caught him up at the bottom.

Moghi himself was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, lanternlight gleaming on his stout face and perspiring head; Moghi with his sleeves rolled up and the sounds of customers coming from the front room, noisy talk, the string-sounds of a gitar half-drowned, all filtered through a closed door.

"Your friend ain't going."

From Moghi it was query, meaning You planning to stay around; and Where's the fee?

"He ain't going," she said. "You keep an eye to him."

"Cost you," Moghi said.

Her stomach tightened. So. Rich an hour or two and poor again. "Hey, it ain't like he's all that much trouble. I paidyou—"

"Got your boat back, didn't you? Got it delivered right here. Servicecomes expensive. You plan to have that fellow stay on another day—"

"Till I get back for him. I'll get him out of here."

Moghi's fat-rimmed eyes looked somewhat pained. "You got a destination in mind."

"That's his business, he'd skin me."

"I was offering, Jones."

"I'll think on it."

"We got some charges still."

"We'll talk about it when I get back." Lord, he might give Mondragon trouble, hunting money. "You let him be, Moghi! You let my partner be! We'll talk, all right?"

Moghi waved a hand. "Get, get, that damn boat's sitting out there, I got customers."

She went out the back way into the storeroom, and headed for the shed.

Chapter 7

THE boat was there, out to the front of the second-hand store, beyond Fishmarket Stair—sleepy-looking scene, boat on black water, boatman drowsing on the halfdeck, nearest of four boats night-tied at that corner. But that one boatman was watching: he lifted his head as Altair padded barefoot down the stone bank. Ali was back there— watching. Tommy the potboy was installed somewhere, probably high up on the bridge, sitting there with feet adangle and young eyes alert. She resisted the impulse to look and see: Tommy was Moghi's; and if Ali said he was there, he was there or Moghi would kill him.

Tommy was there the same way that Del Suleiman would haul himself out of a sound sleep and pole a boat across town just because Moghi's men suggested it. Not unpaid, of course. Moghi paid. Shehad paid Moghi. Value for value.

She came up to the edge and the halfdeck, her own precious deck, her little bit of planking and everything she owned in the world. "Hey," she said by way of greeting, set her cap firm against the light breeze—a little wind kicking up, clean air, a clean night: she landed on her own deck and a wealth of things were better.

"Hey." Del Suleiman, pole in both hands, tucked both bare feet up on the deck rim and stood up on the deck with his toes curled over—canaler's sense of balance. "Hey, damn lousy hour, Jones."

"Sorry. I got worried."

"Moghi's men. Moghi's men. Come rousting the canalside—"

"Hey, I never set 'em at that."

"Where'd you get to shift Moghi's crew yey and haw, huh? Damn, next you be out collecting."

"Give me that pole. I get you back."

"Ne, ne, not to get aslant, ye. Cm on. You want starb'd?"

Lord. Generosity. Del was going to pole double with her into the bargain. The old man was in a hurry. "Ne. You c'n call it." Altair dropped onto her haunches and pulled the side-tie, waiting-tie. Del would have bow-tied for any longer wait, stern-anchored (if there was one) and never chosen this stone-bottomed shelf in the first place, where the bottom was like to scrape on the ebb if some big barge came by. (If there was one. If there was any likelyto move, if they had gotten the hulk and the bridge out of Port—) Not Del's way, this skulking around shallow ties and back doors. The old man was nervous. It was in the way he moved.

I don't blame him none. Mira off to herself and him off with them bullylads. She's got to be wondering, Lord, Lord, Del come with them and her left off in the dark somewheres.

The boat drifted free and bumped bottom. She snatched up the boathook from the rack and crossed over to the left side while Del shoved off. She put the boathook's pole-end down on stony bottom and leaned on it when Del's push ebbed down. "Bow a-port," Del said, and she kept her pole grounded while Del shoved, bringing the bow around to the bridge. "Hup." Signal to lift. She took her time from Del, from starboard-side poler, hit the stroke again as the boat slipped along. "Hin," Del said, which was warning he was grounding on his side and the final turning shove was hers.

She shoved. The bow came round with the skip nosed neatly toward a gap in the bridge pilings. "Hup," she said. Del shoved and lifted.

"Yoss," she said cheerfully, meaning straight on; and "yoss," Del echoed, as the skip slid into shadow.

Poling double with her mother. Her young arms hardly strong enough to handle the pole if it got off its center of balance.