Semele took his hand and shook her head. “He does remember you,” she said. “To be heartless is to be without his will, but not without himself. He is still there. He still knows all that he knew.” Her voice grew softer and more careful. “But intention and volition have been taken. He has no momentum beyond what others give him.”

“Can we find his heart?” Rownie asked. “Can we put it back?”

Semele did not say no. She did not need to. She did not say anything else.

Rownie shook his head. This was not true. He would not let it be true.

“He looks very calm,” said Essa, clearly trying to help and not knowing how. “Heartlessness doesn’t look too unpleasant.”

“He’s a puppet,” said Thomas, disgusted and sad. “May the Mayor eat rancid liver paste, and suffer crippling pains. The floods are coming, and the city has no one to speak for it.”

“The floods are coming right now, actually,” said Essa. “I would have said so earlier, and I was on my way down here to say so, but then it seemed rude to interrupt because Rownie’s brother got his heart taken away, and I am so very sorry about that. But now I need to tell you that the floods are here already. You can see the water rising from the upstream clock face.”

“You can also hear it,” said Semele. “Listen.”

A sound like endless and ongoing thunder filled the space around them. It grew louder. It came from the waters beneath the bridge, and it came from the oldest mask. Floating hair of braided riverweed moved in a mane around that mask.

Thomas whacked the floor twice with his cane. “Places, everyone!” he roared. “Essa, back up the winding stair with you. Ring the tower bells, if those old things are still capable of ringing. Anyone who hears that sound, and remembers what the sound is for, will head for the hills. Nonny, help me throw a few sandbags behind the tower doors. Locks and chains won’t keep the River out if it rises this far. Patch, come and help us if your injury will allow it—or else keep us company if it will not. Rownie . . .” Thomas paused, and then shook his head. “Rownie, look after your brother.”

“What if the whole bridge comes crashing down?” Essa asked.

“This bridge has stood for a very long time,” said Thomas.

“Because people keep rebuilding it!” Essa countered. “Not because it never falls down! It does fall down sometimes!”

Thomas hit the floor again with the tip of his cane, as if to demonstrate that it was solid. “Places, everyone!” he roared again. Then he whispered to Semele. “A chant or a charm to help hold these stones together might not be amiss.”

“I suppose that would be useful, yes,” said Semele.

“You inspire great confidence,” said Thomas. “I’ll compose my last words while we stack sandbags.”