Chapter 19: The Moot Comes Early

"There's a stair," Soren said, pulling on Walt's jeans in the dark.

"It is cut into the rock behind this chamber, so the dry houses can come down."

"I thought the Gate was under the water."

"Except at the spring tide low. The hall under the arch drains."

"Tonight is not the spring tide, so my uncle has used the old pumps."

His mouth went thin.

"He has called the Moot early because he does not believe I am coming."

"Then he's about to be surprised."

I slung the tote across my chest, with the pickle jar in it, and picked up the bolt cutters.

The stair went down for a long time.

Every step was wet and carved and slightly too short.

The horns kept calling, deeper and closer.

At the bottom, the rock opened out, and I stopped.

It was a hall as big as a cathedral.

The roof was a dome of black water held up by the great stone arch.

Long, slow ropes of light hung down through it.

The floor was a vast pool, and the pool was crowded.

Hundreds of them.

They sat on shelves of rock all the way up the walls, men and women with their hair floating and their eyes like lamps.

Every single one of them had turned to look at the stair.

At the far side of the hall stood a dais of white coral.

A man in a gray suit stood on it.

"Ah," Orlan said, as pleasantly as if we had walked into a dinner party. "The heir is not dead after all."

A ripple went through the court.

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