And Lyndafal, on the tiny boat, fell into the bottom of it as it lurched and dipped and began to flee across the water like a bird, the sail actually bellying backward as something carried her faster than the wind away from that other ship. She did not bother to think. She crawled to the rope and dropped the sail, allowing the boat to go even faster. It dashed, throwing a high spume of water on either side.
Island number five spun by. The boat kept on, never diminishing its speed. Another island loomed. And another still, the seventh, where she had planned to rest tonight. The boat swerved around behind it, beaching itself on a sandy beach near a wooded inlet. When a few quiet moments passed with no further happening, she pulled the boat from the sand and waded with it to the inlet where she found cover from the sea. Once the boat was hidden, she took the baby into her arms and stepped onto a mossy bank amid a wooded glade.
As she turned back toward the water, she saw a circle of gold turning in the shallows, a shiny cog wheel like those that turn endlessly in the backs of watches or the workings of music boxes, and beyond the wheel, deeper in the water, a larger wheel, and another deeper yet.
Breathless, she watched as the wheels spun. She thought of all the wheels at work in the universe, those of planets, of stars, of galaxies, round and round and round. When she had observed it long enough to know she was not imagining it, the wheels broke into hundreds of scaled creatures no longer than her fingers that darted away into the depths while she gaped at the place they had been.
14: Gentlemen of the Court
Unlike many in Havenor whose highest ambition was to see and be seen, certain agents of the Prince made it their business not to be seen at all. Those who ran afoul of them more than once presumed, quite correctly, that they were immune to the Lord Paramount’s law. They were laconic, lean, and lurkish to a man, and chief among them was a man called Wiezal, a name he preferred because it was not his own. Wiezal made it a rule to maintain his private business quite private, though in addition to his own affairs, he was willing to go hither and yon at the Prince’s bidding, finding out this, stealing that, and occasionally finding himself in proximity (coincidentally, of course) to someone about to die unexpectedly.
When Genevieve was found to have disappeared, Yugh Delganor summoned Wiezal and set him upon the trail. Wiezal soon found that Aufors Leys had booked passage on the Reusel packet, informed the Prince of this fact, and then went off down the River Reusel with a couple of his pack members, slavering upon the spoor. All of them were tireless and clever hunters who either returned with their prey or, if it was in no condition to be returned, with enough of it to prove its demise.
When Wiezal returned a few days later, however, he was not his usual self. Instead of his customary sidling, head bobbing approach to the Prince, he remained standing by the door, shifting from foot to foot, his appearance more than ordinarily stoatish.
“Well,” the Prince inquired in a soft voice, “is she at Langmarsh?”
“No, sir. She is not.” Wiezal’s voice was petulant, indisputably annoyed.
Delganor raised his head to peer down his nose, keeping his voice soft and unthreatening. “Well then, where did she go?”
“The thing is, Your Highness . . . well, the woman Colonel Leys bought passage for wasn’t her.”
Delganor frowned. “Then who was it?”
Wiezal breathed deeply and leaked words like a faucet dripping. “The passage was for the daughter of one of … well, the Colonel’s officers, man he fought with in Potcher.” Deep breath. “She was engaged to another officer. This woman went to Reusal-on-mere. She met her man there. His name’s Enkors. They got married. Colonel Leys was there. He stood up for the groom. The journey was a wedding present.”
“Then where in the deepsea is the Marshal’s daughter?” “Don’t know!” snarled Wiezal. “We’re looking! There’s people out. If she don’t turn up in Langmarsh, we’ll look elsewhere.”