‘Do we go back?’ Alise asked softly.

Leftrin didn’t reply. Two scarlet darning needles flew past them, their wings making a tiny whickering sound. They danced around a nearby bed of reeds before settling, one upon the other, on a seedhead. In the distance, he heard very faintly the cry of a hawk. He glanced up, but the overcast blocked even a glimpse of the sky. The dragons wandered disconsolately around the barge. He wondered what they were hunting. Frogs? Small fish? As the water had grown shallower, the food sources had become smaller and swifter to elude predators. Everyone was hungry, and the keepers felt the hunger of the dragons as well as their own. ‘To what?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps to the other tributary?’ Alise ventured the suggestion cautiously.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I wish Tarman could speak to me more clearly. I don’t think the other tributary is the answer. But I just don’t know any more.’

‘Then what will we do?’

He shook his head unhappily.

All he had were questions and no answers. Yet every life in his care depended on him having answers, or at least making good guesses. Right now he had no confidence in his ability to do either. Had he guessed wrong when he’d brought them this way? But he hadn’t guessed at all. He’d listened to his ship, and Tarman had seemed so confident. But now, here they were. They’d run out of river. They still had plenty of water, but it sheeted over the saturated land, and he could no longer guess where it came from. Perhaps a million tiny streams fed it. Perhaps it just welled to the surface in this immense basin. It didn’t matter.

In addition, in the last few days the mood of the expedition had soured. Perhaps all of them had just spent too much time in each other’s company. Perhaps the battering wave and the losses they’d endured had demoralized them to the point at which they could not recover. Perhaps it was the lowering weather. He didn’t know what had affected their spirits so, but it showed, in both keepers and crew. He thought it had begun the evening when Carson and Sedric had returned with the boat to report Greft’s death. Carson had delivered the news to all of them as they sat on the deck with their meagre rations of food. Carson had reported it flatly, and not apologized or explained that he’d fed the body to his dragon. No one challenged that; perhaps, for keepers, that was what they now expected. Sedric had looked drained and beaten; perhaps he had finally seen too much. Maybe his Bingtown shell had cracked and some humanity was seeping in. Carson had made his report, formally returned the stolen ship’s bread to him, and then announced he was going to get some sleep. But the weariness on his old friend’s face did not look like the kind of tiredness that would yield to sleep.

Leftrin had looked from Carson’s weary face to Sedric’s hangdog expression and formed his own impression. Well, that was too damn bad. The Bingtown dandy had finished with him, and the hunter was taking it hard. Carson deserved better fortune.

But then, didn’t they all?

The news of Greft’s death had dampened the spirits of all. None of the keepers, not even Tats or Harrikin, seemed to take any satisfaction in it. Tats had looked almost guilty. And Jerd had spent the rest of the evening sitting near the port railing, weeping quietly. After a time, Nortel had gone and sat beside her, and spoken to her in a low voice until she leaned her head on his shoulder and allowed him to comfort her.

And that was another thing he had his own thoughts on. Bellin had told Swarge she was going to speak to the girls, and Swarge had passed it on to him. He hoped she had. He’d been relieved that the girl had been all right after her miscarriage and saddened at the loss of the little one. He refused even to guess how hard that had been for Bellin and Swarge. He’d lost track of how often Bellin had been pregnant. Not a one had come to term.

Greft’s boat had sat idle on the deck for two days after that until he’d brusquely ordered Boxter and Kase to divvy out the hunting supplies and then take it out and make themselves useful. It wasn’t his place to do so, but they’d obeyed him. And having at least some of the keepers out hunting was much better than the whole crew of them idle and brooding on his decks.

‘We’ve lost heart,’ Alise said, as if replying to his thoughts. ‘All of us.’

‘Even the dragons?’

‘The dragons have changed. Or maybe how I see them has changed. They’ve become far more independent since they survived the wave. Maybe it was because they were instrumental in saving most of us. Once the roles were reversed, it was like the severing of a tie that had worn thin. Some are more arrogant, and others almost ignore their keepers. Of course the most shocking changes are in Relpda and Spit.’

‘I’ll say. They’ve gone from being lumpish creatures that the keepers could barely push along each day to being, most definitely, dragons. That little bastard Spit is a danger to himself and everyone else since he discovered he could spit toxins. His accuracy leaves a lot to be desired, and he doesn’t take kindly to correction from anyone. I preferred him the way he was. I appreciate Carson stepping up to try to manage him; he’s the man for a job like that, if there is one. But even he can’t keep a lid on that steam-pot forever. Sooner or later he’s going to hurt someone.’

A hawk cried in the distance. Several of the dragons turned their heads towards it. He wondered if they envied the bird’s flight and wondered if he turned the barge back, seeking for deeper water, would they follow him? Or would they stalk off into the bog, seeking a way to drier land? He glanced at the sky again and wondered if he should hope for rain. Enough rain would lift the barge so they could push on. It would also raise the water that surrounded the dragons. How long could they last with no dry land to rest on? He pushed away his doubts and fears. ‘I’ll make a decision tomorrow morning,’ he told her.

‘Until then?’ She looked up into his face and he saw how he had changed her. It wasn’t the roughened hair that mattered to him, nor how her freckles had spread and darkened. For him, it was all in her eyes. There was a question there, but there was no fear. None at all.

‘Until then, my dear, we live.’

Thymara sat in the dimness of Alise’s room. She had asked earlier if she might borrow its privacy for an hour or so, and the Bingtown woman had readily agreed, assuming that Thymara wished to bathe in warm water in privacy. But that was not her mission. Instead she had begged Sylve to come with her.

‘I don’t see how I’m going to be a help, Thymara. It’s almost as dark as night in here.’

‘We’re out of candles completely. Bellin said that if the hunters bring in any sort of an animal with fat, she’ll make some rush lights. But until then’ Thymara heard her voice, how quickly she spoke and how it was pitched higher than normal. Perhaps Sylve heard the fear, too.

‘Let me look at your back, Thymara, and see how bad it is. I know you don’t like people to fuss over you, but if it’s infected, and has been for this long, well you need to have someone open up the injury and clean it out. You can’t just let it keep festering.’

Sylve kept talking as Thymara pulled her shirt off and then unknotted the strips of rags she’d tied at her chest. Experience had taught her that this part was best done quickly. She took a deep breath and then snatched the rag free, gasping as she did so. The ooze from the injury on her back never seemed to cease, and always glued the bandaging to her skin. Sylve made an exclamation of sympathy and then asked pragmatically, ‘What have you been doing for this?’

‘I try to wash it every couple of days. Sometimes it’s hard to find a place that’s private.’

‘Are you heating the water or just standing in the river?’