Chapter 13 The First Day of the Long Ebb

The Long Ebb began at three in the morning on the ninth of October. Nissa woke before the water had moved, and she did not know why she woke. She lay a moment in the dark room above the kitchen, listening to the pans cooling and the shingle under the house and the wind off the marsh, and none of it was the sound she had been expecting, and none of it told her why she had gotten up. She got up. She put on her boots. She did not light a lamp. She did not take the Ledger, or the slate, or the notebook Timea had not given her. She walked out of the Saltwyke house and down the shingle lane and across the marsh to the first step, and she stood on it, and she did not go further. The water was gone. The mud was white and dry and flat, and the Nine Steps stood in it from the first to the ninth, and the ninth stood out of the mud for the first time in Nissa's life, and beyond the ninth the flat ran away from the village in every direction. It was a plain of grey salt and dry reed and the smell of the sea held still. She stood on the first step and looked at the ninth, and she thought about walking to it, and she did not, and she thought about not walking to it, and she did not, and she stood on the first step, and the marsh was quiet, and the marsh was white, and the marsh was there, and the marsh had been there for forty-one years, and the marsh had been waiting, and the marsh was going to Barsham, and Barsham was not at Barsham's desk, and Barsham was not at the schoolhouse, and Barsham was at his desk, and Barsham was not, and Barsham was Barsham, and the marsh was going to Barsham. She did not go further. She did not step onto the second. She stood on the first step with the water at her ankles, and the water was gone, and the water was not gone, and the water was gone to the ninth step, and the ninth step was dry, and the ninth step was waiting. She took off her boot. She looked at it. The boot was dry. She put it back on. She took it off again. She held it in her hand. The boot was dry. She did not take the second one off. She stood on the first step with one boot on, and the marsh was waiting, and the marsh was going to Barsham, and Barsham was at Barsham's desk, and Barsham was not at Barsham's desk, and Barsham was at Barsham's desk, and Barsham was Barsham. She went home to the Saltwyke house at four. She did not sleep. She sat at the kitchen table with the slate in front of her, and the slate was warm, and the slate had the seventh line on it. Timea came to the door at seven. She did not come in. She stood on the shingle with her grey trunk over one shoulder and her notebook under her arm, and she did not say good morning. "I walked to the marsh at three," she said. "I walked to the ninth step. I stood on the ninth step." Nissa looked at her. "You walked to the ninth step." "Yes. I stood on it for half an hour. I did not go further. I came back at three and a half." "Did you hear the bell." "No." "What did you hear." Timea looked at her. She did not answer for a moment. She put her hand on the notebook. "A child's voice," she said. "Coming from inland. Coming from the direction of Ashenholt. The voice said a name, and the name was Nissa." Nissa did not move. She put her hand on the door frame. "Give me the notebook," she said. Timea did not move. She did not offer the notebook. She held it in her hand, and she did not give it, and she did not say anything, and she did not move. "Timea," Nissa said. "Give me the notebook." "I am not going to give you the notebook. I am not going to leave it here. I am going to walk out of Harnsey Wick on Friday at noon, and I am going to walk out of Harnsey Wick with the notebook in my hand, and I am going to walk out of Harnsey Wick with the notebook in my hand, and I am going to walk out of Harnsey Wick." "Timea. Where are you going." Timea did not answer. She did not move. She held the notebook in her hand. "I am not going to tell you where I am going," she said. "I am not going to tell you what I heard. I am not going to tell you what I wrote in the notebook. I am going to write in the notebook until Friday at noon, and I am going to give the notebook to the Folk Lore Society in the city, and I am going to give the notebook to every village on this coast, and I am going to give the notebook to every Tidewarden who will keep a book." "Timea," Nissa said. "You are going to the marsh." Timea did not answer. "You are going to the marsh." Timea did not answer. She did not move. She held the notebook in her hand. She did not give it. She did not say where she was going. She did not come in. She did not leave. She stood on the shingle in front of the door. Nissa put her hand on the door frame. She did not close the door. She did not speak. She stood in the doorway with Timea on the shingle and the slate on the kitchen table behind her, and the slate was warm, and the slate had the seventh line on it, and the seventh line read that the marsh was going to Barsham. "I will come back Friday at noon," Timea said. "You will have until then to decide what to do with the book, and what to do with the substitution, and what to do with the slate, and what to do with the boy, and what to do with the child, and what to do with the marsh." Timea did not move. She did not come in. She did not leave. She stood on the shingle with her notebook in her hand, and Nissa stood in the doorway, and the door stood open, and the room behind Nissa was cold. ---