Memnanan sent men for beshti and for wheeled carts to carry the precious books to the edge of the camp. “The priests moved them here,” he said. “They can bring the books down. We’ll rest here until they’re ready. The god knows there’ll be no rest tonight.”

There was a little shaking as they waited. They sat on mats, under an awning, as wealthy folk passed time, while filling of the Ila’s household waterskins and the watering of the Ila’s herds took precedence at the Mercy of the Ila.

Servants brought them food and drink during a second tremor. The poles of all the tents shook, and the canvas shook. Behind his eyes, Marak saw a lake of fire spreading outward and flowing over desert rock. He saw the falling stars. But he ate and drank, and took his ease, the last that any of them might see in their lives. Memnanan went aside now and again to pass particular orders to his men, then came back to join them.

A rider came up, perched like a boy, bareback. Welcome sight, Tofi came riding up, clearly not expecting to see them disposed as they were, like a handful of wealthy enjoying the afternoon breezes, with the Ila’s Mercy pouring out its abundance of water nearby and the searchers still busy in the rubble of the city beyond the ruined wall.

A flash of recognition preceded an immediate solemnity and formality in Memnanan’s presence, and Tofi dropped from his saddle to stand the ground, light and quick as he was, wide-eyed and anxious.

“Men said to come, omi.”

“That they did,” Memnanan said.

“This camp will move tonight.” Marak rose from his seat under the awning and came out into the wan, clouded sun. “You’re to go among the first in a caravan of all these camps. You’re to go in among the tribes. You can spread the word to the other caravan masters in the camp: if it gets out to the tribes, no harm done. There’ll be no hire given but the lives of all of us, and you know the truth as well as I do: tell it to them. Rumors can fly, for all I care. Gather up all your tents, every beast, every man.”

“Where shall we go, omi? Back?”

“Back, as fast as we can. You’ll carry those persons the Ila bids you carry: the aui’it, the Ila herself, her servants and her men. Have you kept the freedmen?”

“I paid them wages,” Tofi said, “and I don’t know how they found it. There’s not a tavern working, but they’re drunk.”

“Hire them or not, but get skilled help, first, before the rest of the masters get wind of it. Where are you camped?”