Standing, he led them out of the room and up the stairs. Once they reached the ground floor and continued to climb, they could see that the stair curved around open space, where vertical rope cables were strung. Above, something rattled. A set of ropes began to move, carrying an open box down before their eyes. Inside were five slates.

“That’s how information coming into the upper floors is passed to Honored Moonstream and the individual temples,” Niko explained. “The dumbwaiter carries the slates to the ground floor, where runners pick them up.”

“I saw no runners when we came in,” Daja pointed out.

“They waited outside, until we had finished meditating,” answered Niko. “They would have found us—distracting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” demanded Briar.

Sandry guessed, “It’s to do with the thing Niko said, about us spilling magic?”

Niko smiled and nodded. “That’s exactly it.” He brought them to a halt on a landing. Opening the door to the staircase, he beckoned for his students to look into the room beyond. It was a broad, airy chamber, its curved walls fitted with open, unshuttered windows. There were small tables, stacked with slates and chalk, placed in front of comfortable chairs. Only five chairs were occupied, by men and women in different-colored habits, all with a black stripe along the hems. These dedicates sat back, eyes closed, ignoring the breezes that plucked at their clothes and hair.

Novices in white patrolled noiselessly, checking the table before each occupied chair. One found writing on a slate beside an elderly man in blue. Picking it up, the novice padded over to the door. The children stood aside to let her pass. Leaning over the rail, she tugged a rope.

Niko led the way upstairs once more. “That is the place of hearing,” he explained. “Those initiates—”

“What’s an ini-whatsit?” asked Briar.

“You saw the black stripes on their habits? That means they are initiated into the methods of temple magic. They listen to the winds for voices and report—”

Tris stumbled, and fell. Daja hauled her up. “What’s the matter with you, merchant girl?”

“They hear voices on the winds?” Gray eyes feverish, Tris grabbed Niko’s arm. “They hear people talking?”

“From every imaginable location,” he said.

“They really hear voices? Really? They don’t just make up things, or—or hear what isn’t there?” The other children stared at her.

“You hear voices?” Niko demanded sternly. “What do they speak of?”

“They—plenty of things. Shipping, weather. Sometimes booty, cow disease”—she blushed—“or sex. My family said I was crazy, or lying, or cursed—”

Sandry wrapped an arm around Tris and glared at the mage as if this were his fault.

“Your family was mistaken,” he said, smoothing his mustache. “The voices of madness are more interesting than what you’ve heard. From now on, tell me anything that you see or hear this way, understand? It may be important.”

Tris gulped in air, getting herself under control. Only when she felt better did she step out of Sandry’s hold.

“Come on,” Niko ordered, when it was clear she was all right. The five of them started climbing again.

The seeing room, on the next level, looked much like the hearing room, except that dedicates here looked into bowls of water, or crystals, or mirrors, and the windows were covered with precious glass. Above that was the bird-cote, where messenger birds came and went from all around the Pebbled Sea. Higher up was the great clock that set the rhythm of Winding Circle’s hours. The four would have stayed there all day if they could, watching the huge gears turn. Niko finally had to shoo them out, reminding them that it would soon be midday.

When they reached the ground floor, he stopped them from opening the door to the staircase. “Practice the trick I taught you—the pulling-in, becoming small—whenever you can. See if you can do it without having to meditate first. You all know me well enough that you’re aware I don’t ask things without a good reason.”

“Then what is the reason?” Sandry wanted to know.

For a moment she thought that he was actually going to answer her, but he seemed to think the better of it. “I’d prefer not to go into it just yet,” he said regretfully. “Some things will be easier for each of you if you work through them yourselves first.”

There was a rolling boom; the ground quivered beneath them. The clock overhead continued to strike, telling the community and the surrounding farms that it was midday.

“Now, back to Discipline. Tris, I’ll come for you after the rest period. We have more work to do,” Niko said, opening the staircase door. “And all of you practice your meditation!”

Once the midday meal was over, Briar climbed the stairs to the attic. On his first day here, he’d found a trapdoor in the ceiling—now he pulled down the ladder beneath it, undid the latch, and crawled onto the roof. Seated on its peak, his back resting against the stone chimney, he could watch Rosethorn toil below. She worked among flowers today, passing up the afternoon rest period.

This is living, he thought. No Thief-Lord to hound him for more loot; he was fed, warm, dry, and lazing on a fragrant straw bed. The wealth of gray clouds rolling across the sky meant that the sun wasn’t likely to burn him. Rain was coming, but not for a while. What he needed was a nap.