The stranger's lantern stopped beyond the bend.
The light did not enter at once. It fell across the wall in a thin yellow strip, picking out lime on the stone, finger marks by the grille and an old bowl with a crust of dried bread. Beside it hung a scorched rope. Seven knots had been tied in it, then three, then one more – long and blackened by fire.
Zulaykha was still holding Khalid's hand.
She had found her father alive, but there had been no time for gladness.
Nura lowered the lantern so that its light would not enter the listening passage. Rafiq pressed himself against the wall. Íñigo stood close to the grille, looking at the blind water-master as the only man who could explain why Gonzalo needed his own son.
Khalid turned his head towards the unfamiliar light.
"That is not Yusuf," he whispered. "Not yet. His men are coming by the upper passage."
"You knew he would come?" Zulaykha asked.
"He always comes when water slips beyond his control."
The light beyond the bend wavered. Someone struck a shoulder against the stone, swore and fell silent. The old plans did not show this narrow passage: for generations, the women of the hammam had kept it hidden from men.
Khalid tightened his fingers around his daughter's.
"Listen, and listen quickly. I was not blinded in captivity. I was blinded that night."
Zulaykha had no time to take in what he had said.
"When I opened the gate for you?"
"When you believed me," said Khalid. "And you were right to do it. If you had not opened it, the northern acequia would have run into the ditch that very night."
"Then why did you not come back?"
Khalid touched the grille and found a cold bar. "Because lime struck me in the face when I closed the upper tooth. Someone had poured it into the dry shaft beforehand. They did not want to kill me. They wanted me blind: a sightless master is easier to control."
Íñigo asked quietly, "Marwan?"
"The hands belonged to the city. There was more than one set of orders."
Nura breathed out through her teeth.
"You knew about Yusuf?"
Khalid did not answer directly.
"Yusuf wanted to drive the city to such thirst that it would choose surrender. Gonzalo wanted to drain Granada dry so that the kings could enter as its saviours. The acequia could not be surrendered to either of them."
For a year Zulaykha had thought her father vanished because of her mistake. Now she understood: the open gate had merely helped him make a choice he had told no one about, not even his daughter.
Íñigo pointed to the rope.
"Seven. Three. One."
Khalid raised his face.
"You can see the knots?"
"Yes."
"Then tell me what you heard by the northern ditch."
Íñigo was silent for a long time. Then he answered:
"Seven handspans lower. The water had not gone. It was being held back."
Zulaykha turned to him.
"What were you doing by the ditch?" she asked.
Íñigo did not look away.
"My father sent me to measure the outer listening shaft. He said the old water of Granada should emerge into our ditch if we found the right level. But what I found was not a level. It was a mark, the same as the one on my hand, only burnt into the wood. Then I understood: he was not looking for a stream, but for someone else's lock."
"And?"
"I shifted the middle stake by two finger-widths. That would have been enough to send the water somewhere other than where he expected. One of his men saw me. I ran towards the wall, not the camp. The Granadan watch thought they had caught a spy."
Rafiq raised his head.
"You let them take you?"
"I did not want to take that truth back to Gonzalo."
It did not excuse Íñigo, but it explained why he had been found by the wall.
Khalid said, "Your father realised you had done more than take measurements. That is why he wants you back."
"Because of the song," said Íñigo.
"Because of what Amina hid in the song. But you do not know all of it."
Íñigo looked sharply at him.
"I sang everything I remember."
"No. You sang the part that was a lullaby. Children were not trusted with the entire key. Amina knew one more line. It was not sung over a cradle, but before opening the stop when there might be people on the other side."
Zulaykha understood how the knots and the song were connected.
Seven handspans.
Three breaths.
One stop.
Khalid's rope and Amina's lullaby described the same lock. But without the fourth line, they did not know how to open it safely.
Beyond the bend, metal scraped against stone: Yusuf's men were searching for the entrance.
Khalid leant closer to the grille.
"If Yusuf comes in now, he will call me as his witness. If Gonzalo learns that you heard of the fourth line, he will torture you until you remember it. Go."
"I will not leave you," said Zulaykha.
"You will. Because the water matters more than your father now."
She recoiled.
Khalid did not soften his voice.
"You wanted to know whether you were truly my daughter. Here is your answer. Do not save my name if the price is an execution by water."
The light beyond the bend grew brighter. Nura took Zulaykha by the shoulder.
"The door," said Khalid. "Close it from your side. Whoever is coming through the upper passage will lose time at the stone barrier."
Zulaykha forced herself to rise. She found the old catch, turned it down, then to the side. The stone slab slid soundlessly across the passage.
Khalid smiled into the darkness.
"Now you can hear."
As they left by the women's passage, Yusuf's voice sounded behind them at last. Distant, calm, almost gentle:
"Khalid al-Mairi. Has your daughter already been here?"
Khalid did not answer at once.
"Water comes where it has been held back too long."
And the stone closed between them.
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