that hung on the wall.
Lalo heard a dog barking furiously in the street and two women squabbling in the
courtyard below and, more faintly, the perpetual hubbub of the Bazaar; but here
it was very still. A stretched canvas sat ready on his easel – he had been
planning to spend this morning blocking out a scene of the marriage of Ils and
Shipri. But there was no one else in the house now – no one to peer through his
doorway and ask what he thought he was doing – no one to see.
Like a sleepwalker, Lalo lifted the easel to one side of the mirror, positioned
himself so that the light from the window fell full on his face, and picked up
the paintbrush.
Then, like a lover losing himself for the first time in the body of his beloved,
or an outmatched swordsman opening his guard to his enemy’s final blow, Lalo
began to paint what he saw.
Gilla heaved the basket of groceries on to the table, rescued the sack of flour
from the child’s exploring fingers, and poured it into the bin, then found a
wooden spoon for Alfi and set him down, where he began to bang it merrily
against the floor. She stood for a moment, still a little out of breath from the
stairs, then began to put her other purchases away.
It did not take long. The influx of Beysib had strained Sanctuary’s food supply,
and their wealth had sent prices climbing, and though Gilla had hoarded a fair
amount of silver, there was no telling how long it would be until Lalo was
working regularly again. So it was back to rice and beans for the family, with
an occasional fish in the stew. Now that so many new ships had been added to the