Xiala’s heart sank.
“But there’s one other place he could be. He sometimes keeps a room in a house not far from here. One he shares with a lady friend, Omataya.”
Xiala looked up at the sun. A habit, to check the time of day, but there was only the eclipse. “Should we pay her a visit?”
“I don’t see we have much choice.”
They climbed back up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, Xiala’s legs were warm and aching. She had been freezing before, so she tried to see the bright side of climbing hundreds of steps but had a hard time convincing herself. Aishe noticed her distress and gave her a wan smile.
“Not much farther.”
“I’m meant for the sea,” Xiala confessed. “I don’t think Teek has a single staircase.”
They took a path off the main road that led them deeper into the district. The area around the docks was marked by wide avenues and expansive squares, but here the streets grew narrower, and the houses looked old, mud brick stacked close and high. They finally reached a D-shaped building and entered the courtyard through an unlocked gate. The interior garden was surprisingly pleasant. There was packed dirt underfoot, and vegetable rows lay fallow behind a short wooden fence. In the middle of the courtyard was a bubbling spring, steam rising in the winter air.
“Are there spring waters here?” Xiala asked, surprised.
“There are hot springs all through the district. It heats the ground, keeps the roads from icing. Didn’t you see the gutters?”
She had. Narrow gutters running the length of the main roads and even down into these smaller neighborhoods. “I assumed those were for rainwater or waste.”
“They do run off the rainwater, but the district architects can redirect the springs for thawing or for irrigation. You should really see Titidi in the spring and summer. It’s a living garden.”
“I’d like that,” Xiala lied. She knew that once she left Tova, she never wanted to come back.
They came to a door marked with a hastily scrawled crowsign over the lintel. Aishe frowned. “What’s this doing here?” She reached out a hand and scratched a nail over the red paint. It flaked off under her touch.
The door opened suddenly, leaving Aishe’s hand outstretched. A man stood framed in the space before them. Uncle Kuy.
“Niece,” he greeted Aishe stiffly. His eyes took Xiala in, but he didn’t acknowledge her. “What brings you to my door?”
“What’s this, Uncle?” Aishe gestured at the crowsign. “Did you draw this?”
“Leave it. Better safe than sorry.” He turned abruptly and disappeared back inside. It was clear the man didn’t want to talk to them, but what choice did they have? Aishe wanted to be rid of Xiala, and Xiala wanted to be gone. They exchanged a look that acknowledged the truth between them, and then Aishe stepped across the threshold, Xiala following.
The room was indeed only a room, perhaps fifteen paces long and another fifteen across. She saw a bed, two clothes trunks, shelves holding cups and plates, but no kitchen and no privy. Both were likely communal and somewhere else in the complex, which meant rooms were only for sleeping and personal time. Xiala noticed that a traveling pack sat by the door, but she wasn’t sure if someone was coming or going.
A loom took pride of place in the room, and skeins of dyed cotton yarn were piled in baskets around a sitting cushion. And on the sitting cushion, hands busy on batten and shuttle, was the woman Xiala guessed to be Omataya.
“Auntie.” Aishe greeted the woman politely, but the woman only grunted, hands still busy. The sharp knock of the batten made them both jump, and Uncle Kuy sighed loudly.
“Talk sense to your uncle, Aishe,” Omataya snapped, her command as sharp as the tips of the bone comb she ran across her weaving.
“About what?” Aishe asked carefully.
Uncle Kuy planted his feet and crossed his arms as if he sailed choppy waters. “I’m going to join the Odohaa, and my mind is settled. I won’t hear otherwise.”
Omataya clicked her teeth, her disapproval thick and unspoken.
“It’s interesting you should bring that up, Uncle…” Aishe started.
Xiala stepped forward. “I’m coming with you.”
They all turned.
“Who’s this?” Omataya asked.
“It’s why we came,” Aishe explained. “Rumor says borders are closed and they’re not letting anyone but Carrion Crow in. Xiala wants—”
“You know something.” Xiala had been watching Uncle Kuy, and she had seen his eyes light up when she spoke, a flash of something that reminded her of his demeanor upon learning Serapio was the Odo Sedoh. “That’s why you’re going now.”