Under the cistern

The emptying pipe forced Zaelyra to move forward bent, one hand on the wall and the other tight around the girl's. The water rose to their ankles. Each step raised a smell of metal and cold earth.

Nym was walking in front. Behind came Pell and Sszindi, then Orl, who leaned on a stick cut into a slat of the relay.

"How long before the throat? Zaelyra asked.

"If the girl's map is right, ten minutes. If it is not, we will know when the water rises."

"You have a comforting way of guiding people."

"I prefer a truth that worries to a promise that drons."

The passage was divided in two. On the right wall, someone had engraved the open circle, then an almost erased arrow. Zaelyra followed her with her finger.

The water came from the north, in irregular puffs. Nym tasted a drop and spit it out.

"Tistern water. She was released upstream."

"They're trying to drown us?" asked Pell.

"Kethra said she would open the valve. It's probably the drain. But I can't promise you that the water won't go up any further."

Zaelyra marked the height of the water with a line on the wall. She entrusted Pell with the task of observing the level and Orl with counting the breaths between each wave. If the water rose faster than the current, they would turn around towards the dry niche.

"What if the niche is submerged? Orl asked.

"Then we'll find the next opening."

"You say that as if it necessarily exists."

"No. I say that because we have to start by looking for her."

Zaelyra felt in her answer the same empty assurance that she had sometimes used in Menzoberranzan. She continued: "I don't know if it exists. If the level goes up to the red line, we change route."

Pell nodded. He would watch the red line.

"Is this Dhal's brand?"

The girl nodded her head.

"Did you know him?"

She hesitated, then raised two fingers and folded them against each other. A small size. Two people walking side by side.

"Did he accompany you?"

The girl shook her head. She took out of her box a strip of leather covered with lines. A name was engraved on it, in regular writing: Tazri.

"Is that your name? Zaelyra asked.

Tazri nodded.

"And Dhal taught you the marks?"

She showed the drawing of the driving. Then put two fingers on his chest and turned them to the west.

Nym examined the engraving. "He left a second arrow. She passes behind the cistern."

At the same moment, a dull rumble made the water vibrate. The driving bowed. A black wave deled down the conduit from the back.

" Run! Zaelyra shouted.

They rushed towards the engraved arrow. Nym pulled on a rusty ring; a plate pivoted into the wall and revealed a dry niche. The fugitives piled up there as the water filled the passage. Zaelyra held Tazri against her. A board torn by the current hit the entrance and blocked it in half.

They waited for the flow to go down.

Meanwhile, Zaelyra counted the people in a low voice. Sszindi, Pell, Orl, Nym, Tazri and her. Six. She checked the gourds, the rope, the two lamps and the care kit. The water had taken one of the pocket maps, but not the box.

"Can we leave?" asked Sszindi.

"We can walk. I don't know yet if the gallery holds."

"It's enough for now."

Tazri wiped the lid of his box with his sleeve. She had blood under her nail, without Zaelyra knowing if it was hers or someone else's. The girl noticed his gaze and closed her hand.

Zaelyra didn't ask him to open it.

Sszindi put his back against the wall. "This passage has closed behind us."

"It filled with water," says Nym. "The pressure will go down."

"You're sure?"

"No."

Zaelyra looked at the drowned conduit. Part of her wanted to leave right away, before the level changed again. Another wanted to stay long enough to understand the water push and not lead the families into a second trap.

"We will wait for three measures," she said. "Pell, you're marking the level now. Then in ten breaths, then in twenty. If the water continues to rise, we will exit through the right passage, even if we have to leave the maps."

"What if it goes down?" asked Pell.

"Then we will wait for another measure."

Pell drew a line on the stone. He did not ask what would happen if he forgot to count. He counted out loud, slowly, and the others settled their breathing on his.

At the second mark, the water had dropped by a finger. At the third, she had stabilized. Nym examined the debris that blocked the exit.

"The flow comes from a valve. This is probably the one Kethra was supposed to open, but we don't know how much water remains upstream or if the closure is still accessible."

"Can we close it?" asked Rhylor.

"Not from here. And we don't know if it will reopen."

Zaelyra noted the time, the three measures and the uncertainty. She had learned that a group could accept danger if they were told exactly what they knew about them.

"Did the relay give way?" asked Pell.

No one answered.

When the water withdrew, she left behind a piece of black cloth hanging on the threshold. A fragment of the House guard uniform.

"They came in," says Orl.

Zaelyra looked at the plan. The exit indicated by Tazri opened at the edge of a ravine, exactly as on the map. She could lead the survivors to the east, away from the pursuers. The relay was in the west.

Nym put a finger on the other branch. "There may be an old service gallery."

"Maybe?"

"The plan doesn't talk about it. But the draft comes from there."

Zaelyra listened. A regular breath passed behind the wall, mixed with a weaker sound: three strokes spaced, then a fourth.

She took out of her pocket Rhylor's copper plate, which he had entrusted to her before separating. On the reverse, the notches of the plate associated with Dhal took up the same count: three, a break, then one.

Three blows. A break. One last.

The rhythm could be the old shelter call that Nym had talked about. The notches showed that Dhal knew the same account; they did not reveal who was striking behind the rock, nor if this signal was intended for him.