e and boil the marsh…water before washing out his wound？ He seemed to have a vague recollection of crying to lay a spark to some tinder piled in his clay cooking…bowl； but had no idea whether a fire had ever caught there。
Trying to remember made Tiamak's head swim。 It was useless to fret over what had or had not happened； he told himself。 He was obviously still sick； his only chance was to make his way to Kwanitupul before the fever returned。 With a regretful head shake he dropped the fish carcass overboard…the size of the skeleton confirmed that it had indeed been a splendid fish…then donned his shirt as another bout of shivers ran through him。 He slumped back against the stern of the boat； then reached for the hat he had woven from sand…palm fronds during his journey's first day。 He pulled it down low in an effort to keep the harsh midday sun out of his smarting eyes。 After dabbing a little more water on his eyelids； he began to push with the pole； laboriously forcing the flatboat along the wide channel while his aching muscles protested with every stroke。
The fever did return sometime during the night。 When Tiamak escaped its clutches once more； it was to find himself floating in lazy circles； his flatboat becalmed in a marshy backwater。 His leg； although swollen and tremendously painful； did not seem markedly worse。 With luck； if he could get to Kwanitupul soon he would not lose it。
Shaking loose the cobwebs of sleep； he offered yet another prayer to He Who Always Steps on Sand…whose existence； despite Tiamak's generally skeptical nature； had e to seem a great deal more conceivable since the misadventure with the crocodile。 Whether this weakening of his disbelief was due to the mind…dizzying fever； or to a resurgence of true faith brought on by the nearness of death； Tiamak did not much care。 Neither did he scrutinize his feelings about the matter very deeply。 The fact was； he did not want to be a one…legged scholar…or worse； a dead scholar。 If the gods did not help him； then there was no resource available to him in this treacherous marsh other than his own fast…failing resolve。 Faced with those simple alternatives； Tiamak prayed。
He poled himself out of this latest backwater； at last reaching a place where several waterways came together。 It was hard to tell exactly how he had wandered to this point； but using the newly…kindled stars as a reference… especially the Loon and the shining…pawed Otter…he was able to orient himself toward Kwanitupul and the sea。 He kept his barge…pole moving until dawn； when he could no longer ignore his weary mind and wounded body crying out for rest。 Fighting to keep his eyes open； he floated down the watercourse a little farther； poking m the muddy bank until at last he located a large stone which he levered free。 This he secured to his fishing line and dumped it over the side to act as an anchor so he could remain moored in an uncovered section of the waterway as he took his desperately…needed sleep； safely away from tree…clinging ghants and other unwanted pany。
Now able to preserve the gains made by his poling； Tiamak made better time。 He lost half of the next afternoon （his eighth or ninth since leaving home； he guessed） to another resurgence of fever； but was able to push on a bit during the evening； and even continue after dark in order to make up some of his lost time。 He discovered that there were far fewer biting and stinging insects once the sun had vanished into the western swamp； this and the oddly pleasant blue glow of twilight made such a nice change from his sun…battered afternoons that he celebrated by finally eating the rather forlorn…looking river…apple he had found on a branch overhanging the watercourse。 River…apples were usually gone by this late in the year； those which had escaped the birds falling free at last to drift on the eddying water； bobbing like fisherman's floats until their seeds wound up at last in some mud…dam or root…tangled clump of soil。 Tiamak had considered the find a good omen。 He had put it aside after many expressions of thanks to beneficent deities； knowing he would enjoy it more if he savored the thought of it for a while。
The first bite through the rind of the river…apple was sour； but the pale flesh nearer the middle was wonderfully sweet。 Tiamak； who had been surviving for days on waterbugs and edible grasses and leaves； was so overe by the taste of the fruit that he nearly fell into a swoon。 He had to put most of it aside for later。
Kwanitupul could have been said to occupy the northern shore of the upper prong of the Bay of Firannos； except that there was no real shore in that location： Kwanitupul lay on the Wran's northernmost fringe； but it was still very much a part of the greater marsh。
What had once been a minor trading village made up of a few score tree…houses and stilted huts had grown vast when the merchants of Nabban and Perdruin and the Southern Islands discovered the array of valuable things that came from the Wran's unreachable interior…unreachable by any except the Wrannamen； of course。 Exotic feathers for ladies' gowns； dried mud for dyes； apothecarical powders and minerals of unequaled rarity and potency； all these things and many more kept the bazaars of Kwanitupul thriving with merchants and traders from up and down the coast。 Since there was no land worthy of the name； pilings were driven deep into the mud instead； and shallow…drafted boats were laden with powdered stone and mortar and allowed to sink along the banks of the swampy waterways。 Across these foundations countless huts and walk…ways had sprung up。
As Kwanitupul grew； Nabbanai and Perdruinese drifted in to share its dilapidated precincts with the native Wrannamen； until the trading city had spread its way over many miles of canals and swaying bridges； growing across and clogging the outer byways of the swamp like water…hyacinth。 Its ramshackle eminence now dominated the Bay of Firannos as its older and larger sister Ansis Pelippe did the Bay of Emettin and Osten Ard's north…central coast。
Still dizzy with fever； Tiamak found himself at last drifting up out of the swamp's wild interior into the increasingly crowded arterial water… ways of Kwanitupul。 At first； only a few other flatboats shared the green water with him； and these were almost entirely poled by other Wrannamen； many wearing feathery tribal finery in honor of their first visit to the grandest marsh…village of all。 Farther into Kwanitupul the canals were choked with a host of other crafts…not only small boats like Tiamak's； but ships of all size and design； from the beautifully carved and canopied barks of rich merchants to huge grain ships and barges carrying cut stone that slid along the waterways like imperious whales； forcing smaller boats to scatter or risk being swamped in their rolling wake。
Tiamak normally enjoyed the sights of Kwanitupul enormously… although； unlike his tribesmen； he had seen Ansis Pelippe and the other port cities of Perdruin； beside which Kwanitupul was only a slightly shabby copy。 Now； however； his fever was upon him once more。 The lapping of water and the shouts of Kwanitupulis seemed curiously distant； the waterways he had traveled many times before were forbiddingly unfamiliar。
He wracked his wandering mind for the name of the inn to which he had been directed to go。 In his letter； the one whose delivery had martyred Tiamak's gallant pigeon Ink…daub； Father Dinivan had told him。。。 told him。。。
You are sorely needed。 Yes； he remembered that part。 The fever made it so hard to think。。。 Go to Kwanitupul； Dinivan had written； stay at the inn we have spoken of； and wait there until I can tell you more。 And what else had the priest said？ More than lives may depend on you。
But what inn had they spoken of？ Tiamak； startled by a smear of color before his unfocused gaze； looked up in time to prevent his boat sliding in front of a larger vessel with two flaring eyes painted on its hull。 This boat's owner jumped up and down in the bow； waving a fist at Tiamak as he drifted past。 The man's mouth was moving； but Tiamak heard only a dull roaring in his ears as he poled out of the wake。 What inn？
〃Pelippa's