Here was her painstaking copy of the Trehaug Level Seven scroll. She had traced each Elderling character meticulously, and reproduced, as well as she was able, the mysterious spidery drawings that had framed it. The next sheet, on excellent paper and in good black ink, was her copy of the Klimer translations of six Elderling scrolls. In red ink she had marked her own additions and corrections. In deep blue she had inserted notes and references to other scrolls.

“It’s very detailed,” her captain exclaimed with an awe that warmed her.

“It is the work of years,” she replied demurely. She turned a handful of pages to reveal her copy of an Elderling wall hanging. Decorative leaves, shells, and fish framed an abstract work done in blues and greens. “This one, well, no one quite understands. Perhaps it was damaged or is unfinished in some way.”

His brows arched again. “Well, it seems clear enough to me. It’s an anchorage chart for a river mouth.” He touched it carefully, tracing it with a scaled forefinger. “See, here’s the best channel. It has different blues to show high and low tidelines. And this black might be the channel for deep-hulled ships. Or an indication of a strong current or tide rip.”

She peered down at it, and then looked up at him in surprise. “Yes, I see it now. Do you recognize this place?” Excitement coursed through her.

“No. It’s nowhere I’ve ever been. But it’s a river chart, one that focuses all on water and ignores land details. On that, I’d wager.”

“Will you sit with me and explain it?” Alise invited him. “What might these wavy lines here be?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Not now, I’m afraid. I only came in for a quick cup of coffee and to be out of the wind and rain for a time. It’s getting dark outside, but the dragons show no signs of settling for the night. I’d best be out there. Can’t have too many eyes on the river if you must run at night.”

“Do you still fear white water then?”

Leftrin scratched his beard, then shook his head. “I think the danger has passed. It’s hard to say. The rain is dirty and smells sooty. It’s black when it hits the deck. So, somewhere, something is happening. I’ve only seen a true white flood happen twice in my life, and each time it was only a day or so after the quake. It’s common enough to have the acid in the river vary. But my feeling is that if we were going to be hit with white water, it would have happened by now.”

“Well. That’s a relief then.” She groped for something more to say, words that would keep him in the galley, talking to her. But she knew he had his work, and she closed her mouth on such silliness.