She drew in a shuddering breath, immeasurably frightened. She might have done this, but the power that fuelled it, that filled in the details, went far beyond what was normal. As she drew in the breath, the smell of water was suffocating. What was it Russet had said? Water to water, life to life.
The power of water. Her affinity to water. She knew Vato's water. In some strange way, she remembered water-or its lack. And that was why she could dredge up such detailed memories of her past whenever she wanted. She could have painted the kitchen of her childhood, or the face of the caravanners who had brought her to the Scarpen when she was seven, or the patterns on the highlord's pede. A glance was all it took to etch a memory.
Once more she looked across at the real building opposite: no birds, no waterseller, either, of course. Yet as she gazed, a shadow crossed the tiles, wings spread, tail fanned. She was riveted, horrified. The shadow banked, bird and shadow fusing as a scavenger kite came in to land on the ridge of the roof. "Watergiver help me," she whispered. "It's true. He can make things come true."
Her own voice spoke in her head: Of course he can. He trapped you in his painting.
Down in the street below, people were shouting, but she couldn't hear the words. It sounded like another raid was in progress, but she took no notice. She looked back at her painting, her horror growing. Vato. Dear sweet halls of water, Vato wasn't suddenly going to appear on the roof, was he? In revulsion, she slid the tray away from her, pushing it across the hallway, slopping the water.
She stood up and stared at the bird, the real one. As she looked, a second bird dropped down to stand beside it. Please, Watergiver, no. Don't make Vato climb onto the roof. She hesitated, part of her wanting to run to Russet to ask him to stop it happening, part of her rooted to where she was, refusing to believe it could happen.
Sunlord save me, he could die if he suddenly found himself high above the street.
But that wouldn't happen, would it? Ridiculous to think it.
Oh Sunlord, I will sacrifice a whole dayjar of water if you stop this! I've learned my lesson, I truly have.
Even as she hesitated, even as she choked on her indecision, she was overtaken by events.
The sound of running on the stairs: a single person's racing footsteps. She turned, only half-focused. A youth. Well dressed, better than most lowlevellers, although one of his trouser legs was torn and his tunic was dirty. Dark Gibber colouring, untidy hair, sweating. Panicked. Fear in his face. Still running, he swept around the corner at the top of the stairs and kept on coming, oblivious to what was in front of him. One sandaled foot planted itself squarely in the painting tray, destroying the picture.
She felt the destruction as a shock of possibilities, all illogicaclass="underline" what if he had killed Vato? Knocked him off the roof? Squashed him? She glanced back at the buildings opposite. The two kites had raised their wings and launched themselves into the sky. Vato wasn't there. Stupid, of course he isn't there. Why by all that is sun-holy would he be on the roof?
The youth skidded to a halt, suddenly aware that there was no way out of the hallway except back the way he had come. He whirled around, saw the row of closed apartment doors and turned back to her. His chest heaved; his breath came in ragged gasps. His left sandal was covered in paint and dripped water in a pool at his feet.
"Can you hide me?" he asked. "Please?"
She stood still, staring, unable to think.
"I'm desperate. Please."
She opened her mouth to speak-although she didn't know what to say-then saw movement behind the young man. It was Vato, crawling across the roof pantiles of the building opposite, his face a picture of fear and bewilderment as he clambered up towards the ridge.
From below came the sound of running feet; the youth's pursuers at the base of the stairs, or so she guessed. She was caught in a nightmare from which she could not wake.
"Please," he whispered. "Otherwise I could be a prisoner for the rest of my life."
What a strange thing to say, she thought. The whole world's gone mad. She looked back at him and focused. If he was a waterless Gibberman, they might kill him. His troubled eyes begged her, without a hint of expectation or threat.
"Take off your shoes," she said and held out her hand. Shale looked down at his feet. The sandals were wet and streaked with colour. He had only seconds to make up his mind. He took them off and handed them to her.
"Go into that room there," she said calmly, gesturing to one of the closed doors. "Tell Artisman Russet that I said you were to wait there for me. My name's Terelle."
For once he didn't hesitate, didn't consider whether he should trust or not. He had no choice. He could already hear someone coming up the stairs. He ran and opened the door. As he stepped inside, he did spare one backward glance at the girl. She'd put on his sandals and run diagonally across to the balustrade under the archways, leaving a wet and paint-smeared trail. There she stripped the shoes off and threw them over the balustrade. She stood there, back to him, shaking her fist and yelling. Hurriedly, he closed the door and turned around. An old man with a wrinkled brown face and penetrating green eyes was regarding him with a look that was sharp enough to see through to his soul.
Shale took a deep breath and wondered if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life. He leaned back against the door and listened to what was happening outside. The old man, who had been stirring something over the fire, stood perfectly still, glaring at him. Shale's immediate impression was one of great age: the man was ancient, not just old. He was not frightened or even alarmed. On the contrary, the annoyed look he gave Shale was also one of calculation and assessment.
Outside, someone shouted, "Which way did he go?"
"That way." The girl's voice. She sounded angry. "He stepped in my waterpainting! He spoiled it and wasted the water!"
Shale closed his eyes and waited. He had no way of knowing whether she was pointing towards the door or down into the street. He tried to believe that she would help him, but couldn't think of any reason why she should-and there was one very good reason she shouldn't. If they found out she lied, she could be in real trouble.
He opened his eyes, swallowed the panic and blanked his face. He said quietly, "Terelle said I was to wait here for her."
"Did she, now?" The old man's eyes, although shrunken by age, continued their shrewd assessment. "Presumptuous of her, no?" He put the ladle down and pulled the pot off the fire. Smoke wisped up into a makeshift metal chimney that poked out through the lattice along the top of the outer wall. The pot was heavy but the age-spotted hands were still strong and manoeuvred it effortlessly onto the stone hearth. In its place he hung a kettle, then turned back to Shale. "I pay for this room." His back may have already been bent with age, but his voice was strong and even.
"My-my apologies." Shale looked around. There were no windows, no other exit. Light and air entered through the latticework. A few strategically hung pieces of woven bab-leaf matting divided the room into living space and sleeping quarters, but the only solid furniture was a table and two chairs made of poor quality bab wood. His glance roved back to the kettle. Hot water could be a weapon. And there were two dayjars-not that flinging cold water at someone would do much harm.
He said, keeping his voice low, "I shall be gone as soon as the men out there have stopped looking."
"And if I, Russet Kermes, choose to say ye be here?"
Shale said nothing. He did not think the man was threatening him but rather mocking him, and he didn't know how to answer.
Outside the door there was more conversation and then the sound of footsteps hurrying away. A moment later, the girl Terelle opened the door and stepped inside. She looked flustered. "He's gone. I told him you jumped down onto the awning and then into the street. One of your sandals is on the awning. The other was in the street, but someone picked it up. I think you can say goodbye to them."