“The symbol of the House of Gahls has a tower in it,” said Bear. “There’s an eagle over it, but it has no serpent on it anywhere. Now, why would that be? Could it be a symbol that these sea refugees are under the king’s protection? Or that they are of one . . . what? One sect? One heritage?”
“But under some other woman’s direction,” muttered Oldwife. “Some female’s telling them what they have to do. Guess who?”
“What do you suppose they’ve decided to become pure from?” Xulai asked.
“Who knows?” Precious Wind murmured. “I have traveled in many countries, and ideas about purity vary widely. Some avoid certain words, others cover certain body parts or eschew certain colors, certain foods, certain drink. Some reject music but allow dance, others reject dance but allow music. There is nothing so delightful, so pure, so innocent or enjoyable that some group has not forbidden it. I’ve heard that one of these refugee groups will assault you if you let them see the bottom of your feet. It’s considered a deadly insult. Before they kneel down, they hold a cloth behind them to hide their feet. Letting your shadow fall on them provokes some people, or even breathing wrong.”
“How can you breathe wrong?” asked Abasio, intrigued.
Precious Wind shrugged. “I’m sure someone has figured out several wrong ways.”
They gathered around their small fire. Bear snapped his fingers. When everyone looked at him, he said softly, “We’ll still keep watch tonight. These people may be pure, but their purity may allow killing or stealing.”
“Does he really think so?” Xulai whispered to Precious Wind. “It seems very unlikely to me. I think they’re friendly but playing along with the silliness the duchess spouts for reasons of their own.”
“Bear’s only being cautious,” Precious Wind replied. “No one ever died from being overcautious.”
“How long have these people been here?” asked Bartelmy.
Precious Wind replied, “The first ones arrived in Wellsport a dozen years ago. Others followed, and more are still coming, so I’ve heard. All of them have been given permission to stay, though it may be the decision was made by someone other than the king.”
Abasio said, “As Precious Wind says, the decision may have been made by some deputy, but from a practical point of view, it makes sense to have someone maintaining this road. The villagers are obviously controlling traffic, to avoid conflict between wagons going up and wagons coming down. Also, as steep as this slope is, any sizeable storm would cause washouts. You see they’ve had to build a ten-foot wall along the road and fill in behind it just to gain enough level space to put one row of houses. Then they fill in behind the first row and build another row on that, all with little alleys and walkways between.”
“Like an upside-down staircase,” said Xulai. “One room on the bottom, two on the next layer up, three on top of that. The cliff is very steep.”
“It’s steep because it’s recent,” said Abasio. “This escarpment hasn’t been here long enough to erode. It’s a strange feeling.”
“Why, Abasio?”
“Oh, because where I was born most of the mountains were at least slightly rounded, and the plains were deep-cut by rivers. Most of the rock here is sharp, like daggers. It gives me the feeling I’m on some other planet.”
It wasn’t a feeling the others shared. The great cliff was something they knew or knew of, like the jagged peaks on the horizon west of them. The great earthquake that split Norland had happened recently in geological history, but Norland had always been this way in living memory. In either sense, however, the Becomer villages were new. Xulai stood at the edge of the camp, staring directly into it, for the way-halt was level with the top of the wall that supported the first row of houses. A path led straight from her feet to a village entry, a gateway giving on a walkway that was barely wider than Abasio’s shoulders, not so wide as Bear’s. Somewhere inside the structure a light-well pierced the fabric of the place, letting in a bit of sky, a faint light of evening disclosing a crosswalk where a constant flow of people went back and forth, to and fro.
The place was like a bath sponge or a cheese with square holes, little rooms and cubbies throughout, all the exterior walls perforated with windows, hung with little balconies, pierced with walkways and stairways. Narrow chimneys sprouted from wall corners, singly and in clusters, only a few of them emitting pale smoke. Flowerpots stood on roof corners, though the frostbitten vines they held trailed disconsolately down the outer walls. In summer, she thought, the little village would be interesting and gay looking. At the very top, some tile roofs fed rain into gutters that fed into cisterns at the bottom of the walls; other roofs were flat and strung with clotheslines.
“How can they live all on top of each other like that?” she asked no one in particular.
“They’re island people,” said Abasio from behind her. “Island people are sea people, and sea people spend a lot of time on ships. On ships, people do live on top of each other.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Come, you need supper.”
When they had all eaten, they tidied the camp area before sitting together around the campfire, drinking tea, ignoring the parade of Pure Becomers who patrolled the road near the way-halt, chanting and staring. All of them wore the earring in their left ear.
“First watch mine,” murmured Bartelmy at last.
“No. Mine,” said Precious Wind insistently. “I slept for a while in the carriage; you didn’t. We’ll make it short watches, though, so everyone gets some sleep. I’ll wake Black Mike.”
In the night, Xulai woke. Black Mike, supposedly on watch, dozed on a wagon seat. A few Becomers still strolled by, among them the woman who had sold them their robes. When she saw Xulai
