37.

The Basket That Let Them Go

Sabik, 177

The new opening took Vessa's whole hand without touching the sides. She withdrew it, pulled the cord a little tighter and had to loosen it again.

On either side of the gap, the split cane lay close and even. The rim was sound. She had replaced a broken stay and worked the new fibres into the old weave so neatly that a person might never notice them. Then, following the measure Lorin had brought her, she had left this great useless hole in the side.

Lorin had explained the concern with the measurements: too many of the returning breeders were being caught, and fewer animals were coming in behind them. The work was to find out whether the wider opening would let more go while leaving a catch worth selling.

She pushed the wooden gauge back through it. It stuck.

“Damn.”

“What have you done?”

Tovan stood in the doorway with an old basket under his arm. Her brother had heard the swearing, at least. His deep-brown curls were tied back with a strip that had once been blue. There was a patch of fresh cord on the basket he carried, bright against the rest.

“Made it too small.”

He looked at the hole. “For what?”

“Give me that end.”

He set his basket down, took the wet cord from her and held it while she eased the knot. Vessa had the frame between her knees. When it shifted, he put a foot against the bench leg without being asked. She slipped the gauge through, drew it back and left the cord alone this time.

“Lorin came, then?” he said.

“Yesterday.”

“And?”

“Tomorrow morning. She's booked me for the comparison.”

He let the end of the cord go. It fell across her wrist.

“Oh.”

“There is hauling as well. If you want it.”

He took up his old basket and turned it until its narrow exit lay against the new one. There was scarcely room for his fingers in the old gap. He moved the baskets apart, looked through Vessa's, then brought them together again.

“You could lose a good deal through that.”

“Yes.”

“That's what they're paying for?”

“To find out what leaves. And what we bring back.”

“I can tell them the first part now.”

She lifted the frame off her legs. Dust from the basket had printed its weave across her trousers. “I've got other work to do as well, Tovan. Would you hold it while I finish?”

He held it. She threaded the end, drew it snug and tucked it where it could not catch. He watched her fingers.

“I thought she might be putting the old crew together.”

“She didn't say that.”

“No.”

His seasonal place had failed to come back with the boats three years running. At first he had kept its starting week free. By the last season he had taken whatever work he could get and still asked at the landing when a familiar boat came in. Vessa had been careful yesterday to tell him only that Lorin was coming to see about work. It had sounded better than basket measurements. Now she wished she had said basket measurements.

She took the booking from under her coil of fibre and passed it across the bench. There was the date, the basket mark and the pay for the shift.

“That much whether we catch anything or not?” he asked.

“For doing the comparison. She said it twice.”

“Good. You sometimes hear the first thing you like.”

“And sometimes you hear a whole crew being hired.”

He pushed the paper back. “Fair.”

For a while they worked without speaking. Tovan turned the basket as she bound the edge, keeping the next place at the right height. She would miss that tomorrow if he did not come. On her own she had to hold it with one knee and reach round, and the far edge would always roll away just as she caught the loose end.

Lorin arrived carrying a small coil of line. She had tied her chin-length black hair clear of her face, though a strong wave at one side had escaped and lay against her cheek. She put the line down, passed the gauge through the opening and left it there.

“Don't improve it after I go,” she told Vessa.

“It was only catching on the binding.”

“It was catching on the binding yesterday too.”

Tovan made a sound in his throat. Vessa kicked his boot, but he had already looked away.

Lorin ran a hand under the basket. “Both of you tomorrow?”

“What happens to the catch?” Tovan asked.

“I land it and sell it. Once we've counted it.”

“And the share?”

“A tenth of the sales each for the two of you hauling. Same money whether the buyer wants supper or bait.” She looked up. “That's apart from the booked wage.”

“You've eight tenths left.”

“And a boat to pay for. You can have all the receipts if you take all the charges.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Do. Before dawn, preferably.”

He turned the basket toward her so she could inspect its other side. “When's the next one?”

Lorin wound the loose line round her hand. “I can promise tomorrow.”

Vessa watched her brother look again at the pay on the booking. He rubbed a thumb over the small cleft in his chin, leaving a pale trace of fibre dust there.

“All right,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

Lorin took the finished basket. Tovan held the door, then had to step back when its broad side caught the jamb.

“Other way,” Vessa said.

“I know.”

He was already turning the rim. As Lorin squeezed past, Vessa caught the grin he had been trying to hide.

*   *   *

In the morning the line came up cold enough to hurt the tender place beside Vessa's thumbnail. She had tucked the end of her hair under a cloth, but a curl kept brushing her mouth. Every time she blew it away she lost the pull she had gathered.

“Stop that,” Tovan said.

“Stop what?”

He braced the line, freed one hand and moved the curl aside with a finger. “There.”

His sleeve smelled of wet rope. Vessa took the next length, leaned back and felt the basket rise. Behind them Lorin shifted her weight to answer theirs. The skiff settled with a low rub of water against the side.

They had set the gear in the grey before dawn. Vessa had checked the exits with the gauge while Tovan passed the baskets forward; Lorin had written down the setting time and told them when they would return. The interval was shorter than Tovan was used to. They had barely finished another small job aboard before Lorin turned them back.

Now there was weight on the line, enough to pull Vessa's elbows straight when the skiff dropped. She bent her knees and took it again. The dark round shape of the basket appeared under the surface, swaying out of reach.

“Easy,” Lorin said. “Bring it alongside.”

Tovan caught the upper rim. Vessa transferred her grip from line to cane and together they held it against the skiff, most of it still in the water. The catch moved in the weave. Something heavy pushed from the inside and the basket knocked against the wood.

There, against the pale new binding, a large grazer turned.

For a moment its body filled the gap. Vessa could see the wet surface bulge against the edge she had made. It seemed impossible that it could pass, and then the pressure changed, the binding slipped along it, and its weight began to leave her hands.

Tovan reached down.

She caught his forearm with her right hand. The basket dipped on her side. Lorin caught the rim and swore at both of them.

The animal passed through. The water folded over it, darkened and was only water again.

Tovan held his hand open above the place where it had gone.

“We had that.”

“I saw.”

“You needn't have grabbed me.”

“I thought you were going to block it.”

“I was going to block it.”

She released his arm. He rubbed the place her thumb had pressed, more pointedly than she thought necessary. She had wanted to let him put his hand there. Even now she was trying to see the creature under the skiff, as if seeing it would return something to the basket.

“Two hands on this, please,” Lorin said.

They lifted together. Water poured through the cane and over Vessa's boots. She set the basket down in the space Lorin had cleared, then sat back on her heels to breathe. The rim had pressed a red line across her palm.

Tovan looked at the remaining catch. “Not much.”

“We'll count it on shore,” Lorin said. “Did either of you see anything else leave?”

Vessa shook her head.

“Then that's what I'll put.”

She made the note with the page held flat against a board. Vessa watched the pencil move and thought how little space the animal took up there. Tovan had gone to the next line. She followed, pushing the loose curl back beneath her cloth before she took hold.

The next basket was lighter. On that one she checked the marked side twice before they lifted it, but nothing came to the opening while she watched.

At the landing they spread the catch in shallow trays. Lorin counted before a buyer could move anything. When the man reached for a tray she put her hand on its edge.

“In a moment.”

“I can count.”

“Then you'll know how long it takes.”

Vessa bent over the next basket to hide a smile. The buyer waited with his hands in his pockets. He took part of the landing for bait and argued about the rest; Lorin let him finish, named her price again and began drawing another tray out of reach. He bought that one too.

The booked money came first. Lorin counted Vessa's wage into her hand, then Tovan's into his, without looking back at the trays. Vessa closed her fingers on it. There was enough to buy food and leave something against the rent. Her palm was still damp. She wiped the coins on the dry inside of her cuff before putting them away.

Lorin wrote out the landing sale, divided the receipts and gave them their tenths. The second little sum lay loose in Vessa's palm. Tovan turned his over with a finger.

“That one would have brought more.”

“We didn't sell it,” Lorin said. “I don't know what he'd have given.”

“More than this.”

She put the remaining receipts away. “Likely.”

At the food stall Vessa bought a bowl of the thick beans from the bottom of the pot. Tovan wanted broth with roots in it. He asked for plenty of broth, and the woman serving filled his bowl so high that he had to drink some before he could carry it away.

“Hot,” he said, putting it down again.

“She took it off the fire,” Vessa said.

“I noticed.”

They stood at the eating shelf beside the stall. Vessa lifted her spoon and water ran from her cuff into the beans. She lowered her arm, squeezed the sleeve over the ground and tried again. Another cold drop slid past her wrist.

Tovan pushed his bowl out of range. “At least mine's supposed to be soup.”

“Hold this.”

He took her spoon while she rolled the sleeve farther back. The cloth was stiff at the elbow and wet beneath; she wrestled it up with her teeth, annoyed to see him watching. He offered the spoon with a bean still on it. She took it before it could fall.

Across the landing, the buyer carried away their bait tray under its cloth. Tovan looked after him, then down at the few coins left from his tenth.

“That one would have helped.”

Vessa swallowed. “Yes.”

He put the money away. She scraped a thick patch from the bottom of her bowl. It was good, and she had been hungry long enough to eat too quickly. She slowed down, taking smaller mouthfuls while Tovan blew on a piece of root that refused to cool.

When he had finished he stayed beside her, leaning on his elbows, until she looked up.

“Go on, then, if you're finished.”

“I haven't said a word.”

She returned both bowls to the woman at the stall. Tovan had already moved into the sun, trying to find a dry part of his sleeve to wipe his mouth. Vessa showed him hers, rolled above the elbow. He shook his head and used the back of his hand.

*   *   *

By the next week the rent was paid and the shelf held two new coils of repair fibre. Vessa kept looking at those coils when she thought about food. She had bought good material. It would take a sound knot, it would not break in her fingers, and she could not put it in the cooking pot.

Tomorrow was another booked comparison. After that Lorin had no date for her. There were repairs promised, but the owner of the nets would pay on collection, and two of them still lay in a heap beneath the bench.

Tovan arrived carrying the old insert wrapped in a piece of sacking.

“See if that fits.”

She set down the netting needle. The insert was a shallow curved panel, old cane bound to a firm rim. Its narrow exit was still sound. He had cleaned it and replaced a frayed tie.

“Which basket?”

He nodded to the modified one by the door.

“That's for tomorrow.”

“I know.”

She lifted it onto the bench. He put the old panel inside the wide gap. It fitted closely enough that she could not help pressing the rims together to see where they would fasten.

The gap was narrow again. There would be a way out for some of the catch, as there had always been. The large animal from the first trip would have met the old edge and stayed.

“You kept this.”

“It wasn't broken.”

She turned the basket. There were three good places for ties. If she drew the top one flat it would not catch anything on the inside. She found a spare length of cord and passed it through.

“Hold it there.”

Tovan pressed the old panel in place. Vessa tied the first point, tugged it and nodded. His hand moved to the next. She could almost feel a proper load in the basket, its weight forcing her to bring it in close to her legs rather than lift it at arm's length. At the landing there would be something worth laying out. Lorin would count it, the buyer would buy it, and the two tenths would be more than a few loose coins.

“It would carry us through,” Tovan said.

“It might.”

“A couple of good trays. That's meals until you get paid for these.” He jerked his chin toward the nets.

“Unless the buyer decides he wants them for nothing.”

“Lorin can deal with him.”

She smiled reluctantly. Lorin could.

The basket's identifying tag had fallen between two stays. Vessa pulled it free so it would not be trapped under the second tie. The number was clear, the comparison mark below it. It belonged beside an opening as wide as the gauge she had used. She held the tag against the old narrow throat.

“We have to change this.”

“Why?”

“Because it's wrong now.”

“It's the same basket.”

She pushed the loose side of the insert inward. Behind it was the wide opening, visible and useless.

Tovan took his hand away. The panel tilted against her first knot.

“They'll count everything,” he said. “It's not as if we're going to put in catch we haven't got.”

“They'll put it down against this mark.”

“The weight will be right.”

“Yes.”

“The buyer pays for what he takes. We get the same share we always get.”

“Yes, Tovan. But we've closed the hole.”

He stood looking at her. She could hear someone rolling a handcart past outside, a hard little knock at each join in the paving. Vessa did not reach for her knife. The first tie sat neatly under the rim. It was one of her better knots.

“We could put it down as the old opening,” she said.

“Ask her, then.”

Lorin was at the landing, taking a frayed line out of the skiff. Vessa carried the basket. Tovan walked beside her with the loose corner of the old panel held against the inside, so it would not swing and tear her knot out.

Lorin saw it before Vessa spoke.

“What's that doing in there?”

“Can we take it as old gear? Mark it properly.”

“Tomorrow's booked for the widened exit.”

“Another run, then. An old one to set beside it.”

Lorin laid the frayed line on the stones. “With what boat time?”

“Yours.”

“I know whose boat. Who pays for the extra run?”

Vessa shifted the rim against her hip. She had meant the question honestly, and Lorin need not make her sound like a fool for asking it. “They might want the comparison.”

“They might. I can ask. There's no money for it this week.”

“Use the time that's already paid for,” Tovan said. “It's still a comparison.”

“Of a different thing from the one I've booked. No.”

“So we put the good opening back in and hope there's enough left to sell.”

Lorin looked from him to Vessa. “Your shift money is there. I've not asked either of you to gamble it.”

“We know about the shift money,” Tovan said.

Vessa put the basket down. The rough rim had found a tender place on her hip. “If they book a proper old-gear run later?”

“Then we do it later. With the right mark. I won't take this out as a widened basket.”

Lorin picked up the frayed line and pulled its damaged end apart. A long tuft of fibre came away in her hand. She looked at it with disgust, as if it had done something personal to her.

Vessa bent for the basket.

Back at the bench she cut the knot she had just made. Tovan was standing in the doorway now, leaving her room to turn the frame. The cord parted more easily than she had expected. One end struck her finger. She took the old panel out and rested it on the floor.

“All right,” he said.

She looked up.

“The tile yard needs someone this afternoon. They asked yesterday.”

“For how long?”

“They've work tomorrow too. And the day after.”

“You said you hated the dust.”

“I do.”

She coiled the cut length round two fingers. It was too short for another basket tie, too good to throw away.

“Will you be back late?”

“I don't know. I'll find out when I get there.”

He picked up his knife from beside the net. She had been using it without asking. He wiped the blade, closed it and put it in his pocket.

“You can leave that,” he said, looking at the old panel. “It'll still do something.”

He went. Vessa stood for a moment with the small coil cutting into her fingers, then tucked it away with the other short pieces and brought the unfinished net onto her knees.

178

The edge was clear when the basket lay on the bench. Vessa had checked it herself. Under water, with the weight pulling against the side, the fastening turned and caught it shut.

She saw the cord first, drawn diagonally across the opening where it should not have been. She and Lorin had the basket at the side of the skiff. A movement inside pulled the cord tighter. Vessa reached beneath the rim and felt the knot jammed against the stay.

“Don't lift yet.”

“I wasn't.”

“It's caught.”

Lorin leaned to see. The skiff moved under them, and Vessa drew her arm back before the rim could trap it.

“Put it on the line again,” Lorin said.

They let the basket hang while Vessa took her short pick from its loop. She freed the cord with the blunt end. The opening returned to its proper shape, and a little of the pressure inside fell away. She could not see through the moving water whether anything had left.

“Did you see?” she asked.

“No.”

Vessa left it at that. When they had the basket aboard, Lorin wrote down its number and the snag. She drew a short line beside the entry, then laid the pencil across the page.

“That's the second one.”

“The first was a loose end.”

“This one isn't.”

“I can see it isn't.”

Lorin held the page down as the wind lifted a corner. Vessa wished she had not sounded so sharp. They emptied the basket into a tray and put the cover over the catch. Then she turned the empty basket until the offending fastening lay in the light.

The old way of tying it made a good solid edge. That was the trouble. When the wet cord took the load, it drew toward the opening, and the new width gave it space to turn. At the bench there had been no load. There had been her hand, a gauge and her satisfaction at finishing before dark.

She moved the knot farther back and pulled the edge with both hands.

“Hold that stay.”

Lorin put down the book. Vessa drew hard. The cane creaked; the fastening stayed where she had put it.

“From below,” Lorin said.

“It pulls from both.”

“It was pulling from below when it caught.”

Vessa changed her grip. The knot travelled a little, then a little more. The cord lay across the gap again.

“I saw,” she said before Lorin could speak.

She cut that tie out. This time she threaded the attachment round the outer face of the stay and brought its pull back into the woven side, away from the opening. The wet end was swollen and would not go where she wanted. She pared it with her knife, lost too much of it and had to begin with a fresh length.

Lorin sat with the basket braced against her short, powerful legs and waited. After a while she said, “I was going to have something hot when we got in.”

“You still can.”

“At this rate it'll be breakfast tomorrow.”

Vessa pulled the new end through with her teeth. “Stop making me laugh. I'll swallow it.”

“Then let go.”

She spat out the end and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Lorin's own mouth had twitched, though she was looking down.

They tested the new fastening from the angle that had defeated the first one. Vessa pulled until the cane dug into her fingers. The opening stayed clear. She released it, took the opposite side and tried again. Lorin leaned into the brace, her whole rounded torso taking the small change of weight. Nothing caught.

“Again?” Lorin asked.

“No. That's the place.”

They put the basket aside from the ones still to be used. It would have its correction entered before the next run. Vessa gathered the severed cords. The first knot lay in her palm, handsome and useless. She dropped it into the scrap bag with the rest.

Back ashore the hot food had sold out. Lorin bought two hard cakes, offered Vessa the less broken one and complained about both while eating every crumb.

179

Vessa could see the basket's mark through the water when the surface flattened. She knew the rethreaded binding by its pale ends. A year of work had darkened the cane around it, but the cord still pulled where she had meant it to pull.

“Time?” Lorin asked.

Vessa looked at the clock wedged beside Lorin's book. “One minute.”

Neither of them moved at once.

It was a pleasant stretch of water. Wind farther out put a rough silver edge on it; here the skiff rested easily. They had less in the other baskets than Vessa had hoped. Another little while would have been comfortable. Lorin was mending a split in the cover of her book, pressing the pasted cloth down with the back of a fingernail. Vessa watched her finish the corner.

When the minute was up, she took the line.

The first pull brought no comforting weight. She drew again and felt the basket tip below. Lorin put the book away, moved forward and took the line behind her. They hauled in the shortened interval's catch, hand over hand, without the rested ease Vessa had imagined a moment earlier. Her shoulders had already done this several times today.

At the surface the widened edge remained clear. Two small movements passed beyond it while they steadied the basket. Vessa could not distinguish them well enough to put down more than what she had seen. What stayed inside made a useful weight, though not the weight she had wanted.

“Lift?” Lorin asked.

Vessa set her feet. “Lift.”

They landed it, counted it and found buyers for it. Vessa's tenth was larger than the last trip's and smaller than the one before. She put it away separately from the shift wage because she had a payment to make from one and food to buy from the other. By the time she reached home her sleeves were stiff with salt and the soft skin between her fingers hurt when she spread them.

Tovan was already at the table, trying to peel a cooked root with his dinner knife. He had washed, but a pale line of tile dust remained along one side of his neck. His shoulders filled the back of the chair. The root slipped under the blade and landed on the floor.

“I saw nothing,” Vessa said.

“Good.”

He picked it up, rinsed it and put it on his own plate.

“There's cabbage in the pot.”

“Is it yours?”

“Why?”

“Because you've put something in it.”

“Onion.”

“Something else.”

“More onion.”

She lifted the lid. It smelled sour and good. He had added the end of their vinegar, which she had been saving. She could complain now or eat it while it was hot. She took a bowl.

Tovan moved his pay out of the way when she set down the bread. He had been sorting it into little heaps. The money from his own work looked different spread on the table, dry and unhurried, though he had a blister where the stacks of tile rubbed the base of his thumb.

“Bad day?” she asked.

“They sent a cart for the long tiles. We loaded it with short ones. Nobody told us.”

“What did you do?”

“Unloaded the lot. Then moved them again.”

“Why?”

“We'd stacked them in front of the long ones.”

She laughed, and he gave her an offended look that lasted until she tried to break the bread. Her fingers would not take a firm grip. He reached across and broke it, pushing the larger part toward her without stopping his account of the cart. There had been a man at the yard who had come expressly to supervise. Tovan described his clean hands, the elaborate pointing, the way he had stepped backwards into the space everyone needed.

“You should have stacked round him.”

“I asked. They said he'd have to be delivered with it.”

Vessa put down her spoon. He smiled into his bowl, pleased with himself.

The vinegar was all gone. She looked again at the pot, wondering whether she could get the last good spoonful without moving the chair. Tovan nudged it toward her. She scraped the bottom and gave him some of the onion.

“How did yours go?” he asked.

“The fastening held.”

“That one you had to cut apart?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She told him about the book cover Lorin had been mending and the thumbprint she had left in the paste. She did not tell him how much she had wanted to leave the line alone when the minute ended. He had his own sore hand on the table. The news at the landing had included talk of next season, but there was no date and no place to offer him. She asked whether the cart had eventually gone.

“With the pointing man,” Tovan said. “We saw him off.”

When they finished, he washed the bowls and she dried them. She had to open the cloth round her palm rather than pinch it between her fingers. At the last bowl he handed her the vinegar bottle as well.

“All of it?” she said.

“It needed it.”

“You always think that.”

“I cooked.”

She put the empty bottle on the shelf where he could see it in the morning.

181

The notice had curled at its lower corners. Somebody had weighted one with a small flat stone and tucked the other under the next notice, so Vessa had to lift the paper to read the last line.

Thirty-six seasonal positions returned. Six of the eight boat programs that had stopped were working again. The names of the programs ran down the page. She read them twice. Tovan's was not there.

The figures were better than any she had seen in years. She went to the tile yard before going home.

He was standing inside an open shed, sorting a stack of shallow red tiles. At forty he still had the broad, full body that could make a space look smaller by entering it. Now he had turned sideways between two stacks, shifting each tile with a short practiced movement that kept its weight close. His hair had escaped its tie at the neck. He blew a strand off his lip and reached for another.

“There's a notice up,” Vessa said.

“Which one?”

“The boats.”

“I saw.”

She had come quickly. She felt the walk in her calves and found she did not want to stop yet.

“Six programs back.”

“Yes.”

“They might bring the other two in after this season.”

He put a tile on the stack beside him. Its edge made a clean little click. “Move your foot.”

She did. He lowered the next one into the space she had been standing in.

“You don't have to answer like that.”

“You were standing where it goes.”

“I mean about the work.”

He picked up another tile, ran a thumb along the edge and put it to one side. “What do you want me to say?”

“I thought you'd be pleased.”

“I'm pleased some of them have work.”

“You could still keep yourself free if they start asking.”

He stopped then. Vessa saw the tile resting across both his hands and wished she had let him finish the stack before she began.

“Keep myself free when?”

“When there's a date.”

“Is there one?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I'm working here.”

“I didn't say give it up now.”

“You keep coming with something I'm meant to be ready for.” He set the tile down. “Those are for tomorrow. The long ones go the day after. I know when I'm paid.”

She looked where he pointed. A second stack stood against the far wall, covered at the top. There was nothing impressive about it. The pieces were dusty, the shed was close, and she knew how he complained when the yard sent him home with dust inside his collar. It was still work he had arranged to do. She had walked into it carrying a list that did not include him.

“I only thought that after all this...”

He waited. She could not finish without making the same offer again.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I came here as if I had a job to give you.”

“Yes.”

It was a hard little answer. She stood with it while he went back to the tiles.

One of the pieces on the nearer stack had a corner gone. Vessa reached to move it, then stopped. “Where do these go?”

He nodded to the ones he had put aside. She carried it across. They sorted a few more, Tovan checking the edges and Vessa moving the rejected pieces, until he told her she had put a sound one with them.

“It's cracked.”

“That's a mark in the surface.”

He showed her. She looked closely and saw that he was right. She returned it to the good stack.

“I have a morning,” she said.

“What?”

“An actual morning's work. My basket order is finished. I need help loading it on Lorin's boat.”

“When?”

She told him.

He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. “I don't start here until midday that day.”

“We'd be done before then.”

“Normal pay.”

“Yes.”

“And if you're late, you finish on your own. I've said I'll be here.”

She had been about to tell him they would not be late. She looked at the stacks again. “All right.”

He named the amount. She thought of what would be left from the repair order after fibre, the replacement knife and his pay. She could afford it. She said the amount back to him and he nodded.

At the door she turned.

“You missed one.”

He followed her finger to a tile near the bottom of the stack.

“I haven't got to that one yet.”

“Just telling you.”

“Go home, Vessa.”

He was smiling when she went.

*   *   *

The baskets were awkward until Tovan changed the order in which they carried them. Vessa had stacked the largest by the door so they could go first. He wanted a small one between every two large ones, to keep the bound edges from rubbing where they had to turn into the lane.

“Then we'll have to move all these.”

“Yes.”

She looked at the pile. He waited without even smiling. That annoyed her more than if he had.

They moved them. With the smaller baskets between, the load held firmly on the handcart. Tovan checked the lashing while she fetched the last two. The morning was bright enough for her to see every loose fibre she had failed to trim. She bent to cut one away.

“Leave it,” he said. “You'll be at them all day.”

“It catches.”

He ran his hand over it. It caught his sleeve.

“That one, then.”

She cut it and put the knife away. They pushed the cart together, each taking a side where the paving tilted. Vessa had expected to be talking, but the noise of the wheels made it easier to wait. When they stopped to let another load pass, Tovan pointed out a chipped tile above a doorway.

“I see them everywhere now.”

“Don't start.”

“That one will drop.”

She looked up despite herself and stepped a little farther into the lane. He laughed.

At the landing Lorin had made room. They passed the baskets down to her and she nested them with the mouths turned the way she wanted. Twice she made Vessa change one. Tovan said nothing, but when Vessa looked up at him his wide-set eyes were bright with amusement.

They finished with time to spare. Vessa paid him from the money for the completed order. He counted it, folded it away and loosened the tie at his hair before fastening it again.

“There's food at home,” she said.

“I'll be back for it.”

He returned the empty cart before going to the yard. Vessa watched him take the turn, broad shoulders above the handles, the wheels bumping over the join where they always bumped. Then Lorin asked for the line and she went down to the skiff.

The booked comparison seasons were over. Lorin still kept the shorter interval on this run, and Vessa still checked the clear edges she had made. There was no comparison wage waiting at the landing today. There was her tenth of whatever the catch sold for, and the remains of the repair payment, less the morning's help.

They worked without a third pair of hands. Vessa kept the wet line clear of her feet, laid each length where it would not catch and came forward when Lorin needed weight on the other side. By the time the first basket showed beneath the skiff, the skin of her palms had softened and her shoulders were warm.

Together they steadied it at the side. A large returning grazer turned inside the weave. Vessa felt its pressure through the rim, then saw its body find the opening. The bound edge slid along the wet surface. She held the basket still while the animal passed out, leaving a slow twist in the water.

Lorin waited for Vessa to set her second hand.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

They lifted what remained. There was enough weight to make her breathe out hard as it came over the side. She lowered it into the clear space and let go finger by finger. Later, when her hands were dry enough, she put down the escape she had seen and the catch they brought in.

On shore Lorin laid out the trays. Vessa knelt beside them and began sorting. The bait buyer had not arrived yet. She put aside what he would want, keeping it clear of the smaller portion for the other sale. When something slipped from her fingers she caught it against the tray edge, moved it to the right place and went on. Lorin would count before the buyers took anything. Vessa shifted the fuller tray into the shade and drew the empty one close to her knees.