If wishes were horses, I'd be riding with the Deadhead Company instead of swimming in the canal with garbage. I didn't fight the current. I pointed downstream and pushed with my hands and feet like a frog. Like a frog who has a heron chasing after her.

The pressure of the water above me increased with every stroke. My lungs burned. But I waited till the darkness edged away the sight from my bulging eyes. Then I swam up towards the bonfire of sunset. It was so bright that evening, I could see it even through the layers of water. It was a deadly gamble to push myself to the boundary of unconsciousness, but I trusted my body to go on even in that state. If I was anything, I was stubborn. Way too stubborn to drown in a gutter.

With a titanic effort of will, I resisted the temptation to jump out of my watery near-grave in the manner of a dolphin.

My head bobbed up to the surface as gently as could be. I didn't glance back over my shoulder, losing precious moments. Either the assassin was still after me, and I was dead, or she gave up, and I must flee.

I swam further downstream, feasting on stinky air. Even if the water of the canal would have been cleaner than a pure boy's tears, I would have still preferred to breathe this air into my lungs. I was getting tired of water.

When I could barely move with exhaustion, I peeled off my sandals and tied them around my waist. That done, I flipped over to my back, let the water carry me, and took stock of my surroundings.

The sunset burned itself out fast, the way the brightest things do. Yansara was yet to spill Their stars and moon onto the velvet of the sky. The shouts of the Watch and their many helpers died down. The twilight descended on Palmyr, violet and silent, apart from the distant murmur of the surf.

The peace felt deceptive to my agitated heart. Ironically, there was only one place in the world where I would sleep soundly tonight. I thought of it some more, while I let the canal's outflow carry me into the Gulf. Then, with a resigned sigh, I turned to face the Gala's Rock.

The tide was coming in.

It pushed me towards my goal, but it didn't do it like a tender beast of legends. It tossed me toward the Rock with homicidal fury. Before it tore me away and did it again, I grabbed at the tresses of seaweed. Its grip on the stone was far tighter than that of any spoiled plant on land in its soft dirt. The tough thing held, as I coiled it around my wrists to rest a moment, then I climbed.

My shoulder, where the shuriken nicked me, stung worse than my throat and lungs. It screamed, but I bit my lips and went up.

The cliff wasn't tall—only a few human heights, but in time of peace, they didn't expect anyone to penetrate the Temple from the sea-side, given that its doors stood open from sunrise to sunset. And if they were mad enough to try, they probably needed Gala's succor more than anyone else.

I made it to the place where the Temple wall took over from the bedrock. The sea-wind pitted it enough to provide enough holds for my desperate fingers and toes. The helpful statues of Mansoora, They of the Wind, Rain and Life with Their court of water-dwelling creatures stood guard on top of the wall. As expected, no beings of flesh-and-blood joined them in their vigil.

I grabbed one of the stone tritons by the tail and surveyed the temple ground from up high.

My heart gave a quick lurch when I spotted a blanket on the library roof and a lit lantern. Kozima must be fighting off his youthful moods. Other than that, two acolytes went inside to sing to Gala, and two emerged. There would be guards by the gates, but I counted on them to be snoozing. It was the days, with all the worshipers pouring in, that were busy for them.

My shoulder gave out half-way down the wall. I slithered down, grabbing holds to slow down my fall. I scraped my belly badly, but my legs were fine. I used them to run to Anastasia's medical store. If I were lucky, I would find something to help my shoulder.

Yansara's moon had already silvered the world. Alas, as pretty as its rays were, they wouldn't dry my clothes the way the sun did. It had its uses though. In its eerie light, I climbed through the infirmary's window, grabbed the scraping knife Anastasia left with the parchments, and started hacking off my hair.

The knife kept slipping from the wet strands turned into the likeness of hemp ropes by the sea; I had a terrible time wielding the blade one-handed... the hair fell to the floor in ugly clumps.

My back was to the door, but I knew who opened it and slipped inside.

"What took you so long?" I asked him.

"I... I just thought I was dreaming you up. Or that you were a ghost. Then I decided—what... what are you doing, Ismar?!" With a desolate cry, Kozima set a small oil lamp he brought by my feet and plucked a lock of hair from my back. "Why are you cutting your beautiful hair?"

I handed him the knife, clutching my stinging shoulder. "Cut while I talk."

He went in a stupor, with a knife in one hand, and my hair—in the other.

"Kozima, I have a scorpia assassin after me!"

He stifled a yelp, looking like he was about to faint.

"I want to pass for a Safic sea-woman, left behind in the port. Then I can maybe find a job on a fishing boat. If you don't want to cut my hair, then find the vile concoction for killing hair on the body. Anastasia said you helped in the infirmary so hop to it."

He blinked after every word that came out of my mouth. "You are... your clothes are all wet."

"So it is. I swam here from the city."

"And you're bleeding!"

"It's just a scratch assassin gave me. Don't worry about it."

"Ismar..." He pulled out a strand of my hair and sawed through it. His hands shook, so he made an even worse hairdresser than I was with my wounded shoulder.

"Faster."

"Then sit down."

That was a reasonable suggestion, so I slumped on a bench without commenting on his curt tone. I didn't want to waste more time on another display of nerves from him. This seemed to work, because he found a whetting stone, drew the knife over it a few times, then attacked my hair again.

"Why is a scorpia in Palmyr? I doubt anyone would have hired an assassin to kill you—"

"I don't know who hired her or who her target is. And I don't care. Someone rich and famous, I imagine."

I told my tale, omitting my feelings for Parneres. I might have exaggerated my friendship with Miccola too, but who wouldn't have?

"So you see," I said in conclusion, "I need to get a job to tide me over for a few weeks. The stupid Guilds though! They want your soul!"

I wanted to toss my arms up in the air but I couldn't because of the pain.

He lifted his lamp up. "Your shoulder is still bleeding. Can you... ahm.."

I sighed and pulled the sleeve off. We both examined the angry swelling around the cut.

"We'll need Anastasia's help," he said grimly. "She can unlock the chest with Gala's gum."

"Kozima, don't be stupid!"

He squatted by my side and peered into my face. I could have sworn I felt a gust of wind on my cheek when those eyelashes swooped up and down. But this didn't last long. He dropped his gaze to his long fingers and wouldn't look at me again. His fingers were so long, he nearly braided them in a fit of nerves.

"The wound looks poisoned, Ismar."

"Men are so melodramatic! I feel fine." He acted so sure that the scrape was serious. And I've heard of the scorpias soaking their weapons in poison or excrement for a guaranteed kill. Still, Anastasia... I touched my bald skull, bleeding from a few nicks of the knife. Anastasia was the last woman I wanted to see right now!

"I'll bring Anastasia, while you are waiting for your hair treatment to work. Please, Ismar... I don't want you to die."

His gentle plea did something to my heart. It softened its beats, perhaps. I didn't know how to describe it. "Alright, just to calm you down..."

Kozima searched the medical stores for the hair salve with an air of confidence. It suited him, I thought. He grabbed a jar of teal powder and mixed it in a bowl with vinegar and water. Then blushed so deeply, I could see it through his bronzed complexion and in the weak circle of light from the lamp.

To the bowl, he said, "Do you... can you...?"

I shook myself back to wakefulness, because watching him move put me in a trance of sorts. "Yes, I can."

I dipped my fingers into the stinking goop and smothered it on where my eyebrows used to be. There was no mirror in the store room, but no woman looks dashing in a wet shirt, hairless and covered in gangrenous splotches.

My reservation over calling Anastasia for help resurfaced, when Kozima had finally closed his mouth—it was not hanging ajar, just parted a little—and walked to the door of the infirmary.

"Kozima, my shoulder doesn't feel that bad." Indeed, it would have hurt marginally worse if someone was holding a torch to it. "Are you sure you want to risk being caught in the women's dormitory because of a little scratch? If Anastasia wakes up with her head full of cotton, Gala only knows what she'd think of you there! Your honor could be ruined."

He smiled—I swear it was a wry smile—and slipped out into the night without another word.