three-quarters of the circumference, however. A 90° arc looked out unimpeded on
the waters of the cove, which lapped almost to the building’s foundations.
And out at the mouth of the cove, its hull black upon the phosphorescence
through which sweeps drove it languidly, was a trawler. The vessel’s sail was
furled because of the breeze that began to push against the rising ride when the
land cooled faster than the sea.
There were sounds outside the temple. Mice, perhaps, or dogs; or even tramps
looking for at least the semblance of shelter.
More likely not. Nothing Hort had said suggested that the ceremony planned for
tonight would be limited to the boatload who had carried Star to Death’s
Harbour. Not all the Setmur would be involved, but at least a few others would
slip in from the greater community. The tunnel was as good a hiding place as
could be found; and if the guard had been placed in the temple, it was at least
probable that Star would be brought to it by her captors.
Samlor slipped back the way he had come. He set the tip of the Beysib bow
between the edge of the trap door and its jamb. That wedged the door open a
crack, through which Samlor could hear better and see; and be seen, but the
lights would be dim against discovery, and the alcove was some protection as
well. Then Samlor waited, with a reptile’s patience, and the chill certainty of
a reptile as well.
The firstcomers were blurs bringing no illumination at all. Shawls, pantaloons
like those the guard had worn, sweeping nervously through Samlor’s field of