With the last of his strength, Samlor lurched through the opening he had just torn and sprawled onto the floor of the room beyond.
“Praised be Heqt in whom the world lives,” murmured Samlor as his senses returned him to the world beyond his own effort and necessities. The marble floor beneath him was cold and slick with water. The glazed windows had not been closed the last time it rained; and that, from idle chatter overheard at the caravansary, had been more than a week ago.
Khamwas called from the alley, his words blurred but the worry in them clear.
“It’s all right,” the caravan master said, then realized that he wasn’t sure he could understand the croaked words himself. He gripped the window ledge, fragments of the grate chiming around his knees.
“It’s all right,” he repeated, leaning back through the opening by which he had entered. “Just a minute and I’ll find”-his hand brushed a tapestry beside the window-“yeah, just a second and I’ll have some- thing for you t’ climb by.”
He ripped the hangings down and dangled them from the window for his companions. Samlor no longer cared what damage they did to this place-so long as they got out of it soon.
The window was scarcely visible as a rectangle, and the still air smelled of storm.
There was a discussion below. Star came up the tapestry, flailing her legs angrily behind her. There was a pout in her voice as she demanded, “What is this old place? I don’t like it.”
Maybe she felt something about the house-and maybe she was an overtired sever-year-old and therefore cranky.