“What did he show you?” Ramus was becoming frustrated that the stranger seemed to have taken control of the conversation. He likely spent nine-tenths of his life on his own, yet in company he had quickly and easily gained the advantage.

Nomi looked across the table at Ramus, jaw clenching as if ready to speak. But then she shook her head. “It's for him to show and tell,” she said. “But Ramus, you know I wouldn't have come to you with something trivial.”

“Not friends?” Ten asked, glancing from one to the other.

“We're Voyagers,” Ramus said.

“Ah. And voyaging doesn't allow friendships.” Ten took a spiced nut from the bowl on the table and chewed slowly.

That's right, Ramus thought. He knows us well. He glanced at Nomi and she looked quickly away.

Savi came with a bottle of cydrax and three mugs, and three plates balanced on her right hand and arm. She placed them on the table with a flourish. “Anything else, Mam Nomi?”

Nomi indicated the two empty tables next to them. “Some privacy would be good. Keep those tables free, if you will.”

Savi nodded, glanced at Ten and walked away quickly.

“Sweet,” Ten said.

“She's thirteen.”

The tall man shrugged.

“Why are you called Ten?” Ramus asked.

“I was my mother's tenth child.”

Ramus nodded thoughtfully and pushed the roasted testicles around his plate. The sauce looked perfect, the meat tender and delicious. “It's an unlucky number for some.”

“It was for my mother. She died having me.”

“I'm sorry.”

Ten chewed a huge spoonful of river plumes and sighed with delight. “I never knew her,” he said through a full mouth. “But she had a good life for a wanderer, and long, and I'm told she loved her children well.”

Ramus looked across at Nomi. She was spooning her food around the plate, frowning, tense and expectant. He could see the excitement there that had been so apparent last night, but this morning it was tempered by something else. Caution, perhaps? Or concern that this wanderer could take them for fools?

“Many people have seen the Great Divide,” Ten continued, his voice dropping slightly. He finished his mouthful and put his spoon down. “Truly, I have seen it. But few who see it choose to talk about it. It's . . . frightful.”

“Huge?”

“Massive. Immense. But not only that. It bears its own awful gravity, which tears the wonder from you and replaces it with fear. It's the end of the world. At least, that's what legend says. But . . . there's more. Truly.” Ten frowned and shook his head, as if to loosen a memory. He poured a generous mug of cydrax, hesitated, then poured for Nomi and Ramus as well.

“Surely some who have seen it could talk about it? You are.”

“I have better reason than most.”

“And that is . . . ?”

“The parchments,” Nomi said. “You found them there.”

Ten nodded and took a deep swig of cydrax. He belched lightly and drank some more.