Ah, thought Sophie to herself, not a good sign. She was surprised at how calm she was. Could she be trusting her natural nimbleness to get her out of a bad situation? Her own knives, under her old skirt? If she was, she had to remind herself that she was no longer seventeen, no longer as handy or reckless. Maybe she was just in shock.

She focused on being mystical, as if ascending to a higher plane. Perhaps she was with the mona, though she rarely used that explanation. Sophie's father had been obsessed with the mona, and so in turn she had wondered what was so special about them. It seemed like it was only another convenience (an attractive one, but a convenience nonetheless.) She had gone years without needing the mona to get her out of anything. She liked to tell her querents that it was her own power that saw the future, which was even close to the real truth.

She swept the cards into the deck again and shuffled again. When she dealt out, she didn't even bother to explain the individual meanings.

"That first one told me the story. You say you have a daughter? There is always a question of specifics, there are no names in the cards. But it seems to be her. Old Lea was one of our best."

Sophie looked up at Kathis. "They say that you must proceed cautiously. Secretly. This speaks of restraint, or of patience--" she indicated XI. The Beast, painted with the image of a dapao, or at least how she thought one might look--"when conjoined with the little secret, here. It is a card that counsels clear thinking. A plan. They do not continue in this vein; they must assume that one is forming in your head as I speak."

Sophie's hand floated above the cards, following them in arcs. She stopped over another trump, the II. The Everine. Whatever she was going to say left her. It took her a moment to recover.

"It--this--this has been planned. Someone has grown close to your daughter to get to you. You are in real danger. Old Lea knew. She says that . . . she says that she died before she could warn you of it."

Kathis was nodding calmly, as if all Sophie was doing was explaining the weather to him. The rain, which had started out as a few drips, began to pour down like a shower of poison. This was dangerous weather, the type that could destroy buildings, and drown children. It became hard to hear in the kint.

"The way is clear for me, now." The man said, putting away his rag and staring at his knife musingly. "She said, 'I'm going out with a boy named Hava...he's very nice, daddy I promise.'" His voice had gone a pitch higher, as he spoke for his daughter. It was creepy.

"But there are no such thing as nice boys...and my daughter, she must be protected, yes? Yes, of course." Kathis got up and stretched his leg. "I do not need to hear anything else, witch. Thank you for your time...I have business to attend to."

He walked towards the door and opened it. Rain water splashed onto his face and into Old Lea's kint. A flash of lightning illuminated Kathis's face. He looked angelic, in that moment of time.

"Oh..." He said over the rain, "If I were you, I would leave this area for now. This is a lower part in Old Rose..." As he spoke, Lia's kint shifted slightly. The water level outside was rising quickly. It was already at ankle level.

"Well I wouldn't want my new fortune teller to drown, would I?" Kathis smiled and hoped off, the door slammed with a resounding bang behind him. The wind had shut it. The kint rocked again, ominously.

Sophie wasn't in danger from Kathis anymore, but the lot was quickly flooding.

Sophie wondered if she should stop him. She hadn't fulfilled her end, holding him , but she had done what she could. She didn't want to be near him any longer. If he was observant at all, he would know her kint. That was alright. She was already dressed for leaving.

She packed her cards. She intended to take Kathis's advice. He had called her his new fortuneteller, but he had not asked her name. She had made herself one of the many witches in Old Rose. She intended to take his advice and go to higher ground.

Outside, Sale was fidgeting, unhappy in the downpour. "It's alright, love," she said. She unlocked the kint door, unsurprised to see a few leaks here and there. She packed up the cards and put the loose things on the floor. Then she snatched up her goggles and her heavy cloak.

Her shoes were drenched, her feet quickly soaked. She hitched Sale, years of her own experience allowing her to roll away in any weather, at any time. It was hellish, but she fully expected that she would pull through. She led Sale by the ropes, guiding her kenser out of the lot with a strong arm.

Something pricked at Sophie's memory. Hava. Jasper had roped that poor man from the apothecary into this too? She felt sorry for him, having sent that crazy natt his way--but scars like that indicated that he had seen all kinds and yet survived. Sophie wished him the best. It was not his fault.

Sophie could see the other people of the lot lining up to leave. A few of them ahd high tailed it as soon as the sky had started getting dark. They were the ones that knew Old Rose like the back of their hand. Sale's feet were getting stuck in the mud. The thunder was scaring the animal, and he pulled obstinately against Sophie's rope. He didn't want to walk around in the rain. The rain barely rose to the middle of his hooves. He didn't see a problem with staying inside his shelter.

The water was still rising. It was past Sophie's ankle now, and one of the kints ahead of her had gotten stuck in the mood. There was shouting, but it was lost to Sophie's ears. The kint ahead of them was tipping. It swerved and crashed into kenser behind it. It let out a cry and tried to run. The wicks were trying to sort everything out, but they were blocking the main road.

Meanwhile, the water level was to the middle of Sophie's shin now. She could feel it pulling at her. She caught sight of an alley that might be able to take her to higher grounds, but it was steep and littered with boxes. One of the kints tipped over completely and crashed in the main road, sending a wave of water towards Sophie. She almost lost her footing.

Sophie wound the rope around her arm, and held tight. The water was to her shin, true, but Sophie was short. If she stayed calm, Sale would keep his head too--that was how they were bred, why she preferred them to horses or anything else--and she could keep her footing if she had hold of him. Sophie knew rain and muck and that she needed to keep moving, but she knew that she was only one witch when she needed to be an entire fami. She would give anything for at the very least her older brother.

The wave nearly tumbled her, her skirts were heavy with water. The alley seemed too chancy. It was more than likely that she would tip herself if she tried it. At least Kathis ent going anywhere quick in this mess, she thought bitterly. She had intended to weather the rainy season here, in Old Rose, which was her custom; now all she wanted to do was leave. She couldn't even explain it.

This was not the end of Old Rose she knew well. "Oi! Hey, oi!" she hollered to wick nearby. "That 'un, where does it let out? There a reason we ent taking the backroads?" She pointed to the alley. Hopefully she'd actually get the kov's attention.

The wick heard her and ran over-- or sloshed over, rather. "Yeah wot?" He asked, shielding his face against the onslaught of rain. It was hard to see. Sophie was lucky she had goggles on. He looked over at the alley the woman had gestured at and shrugged.

"It's too arsin' thin for most of our kints. I'd rather not risk gettin' stuck somewhere in the middle. Might take awhile ter get unstuck, and well-- ever 'eard of a moa going backwards? That's cos they don't. Not easily anyway." He shook his head, spraying water in all directions. Someone was calling his name.

"Can ye believe that clockin' idiot? Cast gust instead o' balance and tipped his kint over. We'll be blocked here for awhile trying t'get it up..." Something else was shouted and the man swore. "Keep steady, yeah? We're trynna fix it quick...but it's slippery business." He lifted his hat, wrung it out and put it back on, sloshing back to the turned over kint, and began arguing with the man who had been shouting.

It looked like they were going to be at it for awhile. Meanwhile the water level was now past the middle of Sophie's shins.

"Gust? Idiot," Sophie muttered under her breath. It was probably inaudible under the storming. She shook her head. She'd get no good advice from anyone here.

She estimated the alley versus her own cart. Sophie had always prided herself on being compact--she wondered how compact that truly was. Her dress felt heavier than an anvil around her ankles. She wished she had never agreed to Parrot's silly game. T

The boxes seemed to be the deal breaker to her . . . you could conceivably get a kenser to walk backwards, they did it all the time to comedic effect, but it would be very, very difficult on one's own. On the other hand, gravity would allow the cart just to roll back if need be. The trick would be not to go too far in that it became wedged. But those boxes!

If only she could remember the mona for push. Not for the first time she wished she had paid better attention to her father's lessons. Back then, magic and reading had been for old people. Sophie steeled herself and decided to take the chance, pulling closer, trying to size up the difference between her cart and the alley, looking at the boxes that cluttered it, if they would pass under the axle.

If she lived through this, she would make a point of picking up real clocking magic. A really pointy point.

The water was rushing down faster from the steeper incline that Sophie was taking. She could feel the strong pull against the cart, and her moa slipped, dangerously rocking the kint so that it hit the walls with brute force. A few of the planks of wood came off, and rocks crumbled down and crashed into the water. The sounds behind Sophie were lost. Her visibility was limited. Even as they went up rather slowly, the boxes seemed ever approaching. Her kint was barely getting through as it was.

Sophie grunted. There was no real way to get out of this unscathed. Her cart was maybe inches off from getting stuck. Sale had seen worse weather, she should know, but his memory was short, even for a kenser. She would have to trust his hooves, which were already slipping. What she had to do now was minimize damage.

She wasn't worried overly about water damage--her kint was made to float, after all, else what would be the point of having the festival on Surwood? Never mind that floating it now would be a rather creative suicide. Worrying about the rain was a little redundant, it was going to get everything wet. She was more worried about the buildings coming down on it, or the clocking kenser knocking it into a wall again.

No, the only straight answer would be to salvage what she could when her home got destroyed, which inevitably would happen. She just had to keep going until she couldn't anymore, until the kenser slipped too badly, until she lost control of him, until the boxes ahead wouldn't let them pass. Then she would pick up what was left and move on. Until then, she would have to put one foot in front of the other and blindly hope.

Her kint got to the narrowest point in the walls and scrapped to a grinding halt. The sound wasn't a friendly one. Sophie could still get to all her things from the inside, but they weren't even near the boxes and they couldn't move forward. The water in the alley wasn't as high as it had been in the main roads, but it was rushing along faster. If Sophie unhooked her kenser from her kint, she could probably maneuver it through the boxes.

The watch is under the rice, Sophie thought, and was alarmed that it was her first instinct to save it. Not the money, or her livelihood. Her watch. No. Rather, his watch.

No matter. She would not rest until she had it. Sophie at least had her kint on a hillside, the water running past. She and Sale could take shelter elsewhere. When it was clearer she might return and salvage the cart. Even lodging in an upstairs room or whatnot would throw the crazy clocker off her trail. She might dye her hair black again, or cut it.

Sophie squeezed into the kint. The inside was not as terrible sodden as she expected: chalk it up to fine craftsmanship, perhaps. She hauled away the rice sack and found the little cubby. A little piece of oilcloth lay there, filmed with dust. She scooped it up and unwrapped it. The watch was tarnished and silent, strung on a piece of leather.

She tied it about her neck and stuffed it under her dress, the cold, damp metal hanging over her heart. It was disturbing how powerfully relief swept over her, knowing that the thing she hated most in the world was safe.

Sophie plundered her own money, which looked less now that she thought of it as payment for lodging. She would have to put some plans aside for now. She stuffed it in with her sewing basket, which would in all likelihood serve as her living until something could be done--or couldn't, as the case might be. She took a shift, a skirt, a blouse--something to change into, provided she could think of a way to keep it dry, and her jewelry, to sell if necessary. Sale's bag of feed, for now.

As a last, hopeful measure, she heaved the things on the floor to a higher plane: the table, the stool, her bed. When she left, she kept the door locked, with the anticipation of perhaps returning to reclaim what she could, if someone didn't break it open later. Other than the watch, Sophie possessed nothing of real value.

She unhitched Sale and heaved his feed bag over his back instead. He'd hardly feel it. Sophie tied the ends of the bag to his harness, a trick used by the poorest of spokes. Live in a cart, live on a kenser, as her da said. She could sell him, if she had to. A strong and hale kenser never failed to fetch a good price.

Where could she go . . .? The apothecary, perhaps. She hadn't been able to keep that clocker for an hour, but perhaps him running off to kill whatever bloke was fancying his natt daughter would keep him thus occupied. Parrot, at least, owed her a half a favor . . . and an explanation.