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weighed. The market-stalls were closed and no women were about. A few children played at the water’s edge, and men sat drinking kavah and beer in the shade-dim shops, watching with idle curiosity as we strolled. We found the nephew’s skiff, a shallow, flat-bottomed craft with a single set of oars, recognizable by its red trim. It was tied to a scrawny palm stunted by an excess of water. We walked casually past it, and in the shadow of the city wall, turned back into the narrow alleys, finding our way back to Yevuneh’s home.
    Her brother the soldier-captain Hanoch ben Hadad was there awaiting us. He rose and bowed as we entered the house, and his dark eyes were watchful. “I am pleased you had the chance to observe the festival of the new moon, lady. Shall you be leaving soon, now it is done? The rains will be upon us ere the moon has reached half-full.”
    “Are you so eager to see us gone, my lord captain?” I asked him, letting a trace of unfeigned bitterness show in my voice. “’Tis a long journey we face, and all the more arduous without hope to quicken our steps.”
    It took him aback. “It is but concern that speaks, lady.”
    I sighed. “Our Jebean guides make repairs upon our equipment, and replace such stores as we will require for the journey. In another day or three, we will depart.”
    “It is well, then.” Hanoch nodded twice, absently fingering the leather-wrapped hilt of his bronze sword. “You would not wish to be caught in the rains.”
    “So I am told.” I stole a glance at Yevuneh, who looked drained and nervous. “Is there a problem, my lord captain? Your sister seemed content with the price on which we agreed for our lodging and meals.”
    “No.” His dark skin grew darker with a flush of embarrassment. “No, of course not. You are strangers here, and welcome; we do not forget, we who were strangers once in Menekhet. Is there ...” Hanoch cleared his throat, “... is there aught you need for your journey? I do but come to offer my aid.”
    “No, my lord.” I said flatly. “We shall have all we need, within a day or three.”
    “I am sorry your journey was in vain,” he said awkwardly. “I am sorry for that.”
    “Thank you,” I said. “We are grateful for your sympathy.”
    After another uncomfortable pause, Hanoch ben Hadad took his leave, speaking briefly with his sister. Yevuneh sighed when he had gone, nervous and fretful. “He suspects,” she said. “I know he does. Oh, I pray we have chosen wisely!”
    “So do we all, my lady,” I said, glancing at Imriel. “So do we all.”
    We took to our beds early that night and slept in shifts. It seemed my head had scarce touched the pillow before Joscelin was awakening me, touching one finger to his lips and pointing toward the night sky silhouetted in the window.
    It was time.
    We dressed in silence and stole out of the sleeping house, onto the quiet streets. The stars were very bright overhead in the black expanse of sky. I thought how Kaneka had told us a delay of a month would bring us into the rainy season, had we returned with Imriel to Tyre. She had been right, which I never doubted; yet I had not known so much would ride upon these clear night skies. Imriel was wide-awake, tense with excitement. I wished I felt the same. We made our way through the winding streets to the harbor, pausing when we heard a watchman giving the all-clear. Even here, the Sabaeans patrolled their streets; but only cursorily, entrusting to their strong walls and long isolation.
    The harbor was dark and calm, the distant stars and crescent moon reflected on the still waters. Imriel and I clambered into the skiff, situating ourselves while Joscelin undid the line that secured it to the stunted palm. He was unarmed, his daggers and sword and vambraces rolled into a length of oilskin which I settled between my feet. It would be a long night’s row, and these things would only encumber him.
    Once the rope was untied, he shoved the skiff free of the bank, feet squelching in the mud. I held my breath as he climbed over the side, the sound of one oar scraping in its lock carrying over the quiet waters. The skiff rocked as Joscelin settled into the oarsman’s seat, facing the stern of the vessel where I sat, taking my bearings against the night sky. There was the Eagle of Dân, ascendant in the tenth degree. I raised my arm and sighted along it. Our departure was timely. Joscelin dipped the oars, splashing quietly, maneuvering us away