Daya opened the door into the courtyard, letting in a cloud of droplets. Water dripped from the leaves of the tree into deep puddles between its roots. No one, not even a creature, stirred in the yard or the alley on the other side of the gate.
He balled and unballed his hands, kicked at the rotten planks at his feet.
A Pengali behind him said, “Leave the door closed; someone will see us.”
Leave the door closed—with him on the inside or the outside? In one jump, Daya grabbed one of the broad-rimmed rain hats that lay in the corner. Too small to fit him, he sat it atop his hair, its oiled cloth curtain dangling over his back. Another jump and he was in the courtyard. He slammed the door behind him.
* * * *
Closer the footsteps came, and closer. Jessica crouched, preparing to spring. Sh
