The Crown Tower

CHAPTER 5

Thought something might have happened to you,”-Sebastian said the next morning as Hadrian stepped onto the deck. “Eugene tried your room, but your door was locked and you didn’t answer.”

Hadrian glanced up at the sky. The sun was nearly overhead.

They were all up and gathered in the middle of the boat again, except the fellow in the hood, who remained aloof and at that moment was nowhere to be seen. Vivian sat in the center of them, wearing Hadrian’s cloak and a pleasant smile.

“I stayed up late. Must have slept in.” He sounded guilty, like a kid accused of laziness.

“Well, I barely got a wink myself,” Sebastian said.

“I don’t think any of us slept much,” Samuel added.

Hadrian reached into a bucket hanging from the rail and caught enough water to wipe his face. He stretched and yawned. Waking up late always left him feeling tired and sluggish. He had spent most of the night with the door to his room open and an eye on the tiny corridor leading to the other cabins. He watched the lamp sway for hours but never saw anyone. Finally, as the sun came up, he had locked his door and crawled into bed, feeling foolish.

Hadrian sat down next to Eugene. The youngest merchant had his hands fanned out and stared at them admiringly. His nails were ragged and dirty, so Hadrian guessed he was looking at his rings. With three on each hand, he had almost as many as Sebastian. Hadrian didn’t wear rings. He never saw the point. A wealthy warlord gave him one once, but Hadrian hadn’t liked the way it interfered with his grip, and he left it as a tip for a barmaid. He imagined that, being jewelers, the men with him had different opinions.

Across from Hadrian, Vivian sat wrapped in his cloak. With her knees pulled up to her chest, she vanished within its folds. Hadrian had never liked the thin garment, what the Calians called a bisht. He had bought it from a zealous bazaar hawker in Dagastan just before boarding the ship to Avryn. Never good at bartering, Hadrian had spent more than was necessary. He’d done a lot of that while in the east, and the cloak was a physical reminder of his time in Calis. Still, it looked good on her.

The barge continued upriver, stopping only to change horses and drivers and bring on a relief steersman so Farlan could sleep. The world around the Bernum had changed dramatically overnight. The river was narrower, more turbulent, and the banks had risen. Canyon walls cast the river in shadow, and the towpath transformed from a country lane into a narrow track that skirted cliffs where pines struggled to find purchase in thin soil, leaving roots exposed.

This was the landscape of the north he remembered-mountains and ravines, snow and ice. So much had happened in the two years since he’d left. Beyond the cliffs were the lands of Warric, the kingdom just to the north of his childhood home. Old Clovis Ethelred had been the king. A cruel ruler, but then Hadrian had yet to meet another sort. Ethelred had built a fine army. Hadrian felt he possessed a particularly expert opinion on that subject, as he had both fought against and been a member of its ranks. That was how he knew the cliffs and canyons of the area; that was how he remembered them, as a young soldier driven through the crags and up the mountains, holding the high ground against the enemy who months before had been his friends.

He chanced another glance at Vivian. When she returned his gaze, he quickly looked away, staring at the banks of the river, realizing too late that his sudden shift would be taken as an admission of guilt.

“Do you know where you’ll be staying while in Colnora, Mr. Blackwater?” she asked.

“I have no plans at present,” Hadrian admitted.

“But you’re a soldier.” Eugene’s tone was dismissive and superior enough to irritate.

“And you’re a merchant,” Hadrian said, although he was thinking of another word instead of merchant.

Eugene smirked. “I meant you’ll be staying at some barracks, won’t you?”

“Actually … I’m retired.”

“Retired?” Sebastian chuckled. “You don’t look old enough to have done much more than enlist.”

“And yet…” Hadrian smiled at them, spreading his hands out.

“What are your plans, then?” Samuel said.

Hadrian was beginning to see why the hooded man kept his distance. “Just traveling.”

“To where?”

“North.”

“That’s a very big place. Anywhere in-”

The boat bucked, glancing off a boulder. The tow cable went slack, then snapped taut again. Hadrian looked back and noticed the lack of a steersman. “Where’s Farlan?”

Sebastian tilted his head to peer around the others. “I don’t know.”

They all got up, and Hadrian led the way to the rear of the boat, where they found no sign of the ship’s guide. Sebastian gestured to the rope looped around the tiller’s handle. “He does that when he needs a break, but he’s never gone long. Perhaps he’s preparing breakfast. It’s getting late.”

Looking back, Hadrian saw the river, which had been relatively flat and straight for miles, was now becoming rife with boulders and starting to zigzag with the emergence of the high cliffs.

He glanced toward the cabins. “After a bump like that, don’t you think he’d come up?”

They all looked expectantly toward the door, but when it opened, it was the hooded man peering out. Still with hood up, he looked around, then without a word went back below.

“Someone isn’t concerned,” Sebastian observed.

“Has anyone seen Farlan today?” Hadrian asked.

The three merchants and Vivian exchanged glances.

“Now that you mention it … no. No, I haven’t. Anyone else?” Sebastian asked.

They all shook their heads.

“The relief steersman got off after supper last night, didn’t he?” Hadrian asked.

“I believe so,” Sebastian replied. “When they traded out the horses.”

“Is it possible that Farlan got off, too, and we didn’t notice?” Hadrian asked.

“Maybe it was some kind of mistake,” Eugene said. “A scheduling error or something like that? Maybe the driver started hauling before Farlan got back on?”

“I think Farlan would have told him to stop.”

Sebastian said, “Flag the postilion.”

Samuel whistled and Eugene waved until the driver halted the horses. Hadrian loosed the tiller and brought the barge over to the bank, where it was inclined to go anyway, being swept to shore by the current. The merchants conducted a search but failed to find the missing steersman. They all disembarked, even the hooded man, who observed from a distance.

“Relief steersmen come and go, but Farlan don’t never leave the boat. He cast off after I got my gals here hitched and ready,” the postilion told them. His name was Andrew, an older fellow with short-cropped hair who seemed out of his depth when speaking to customers and kept patting the rumps of the horses self-consciously. “Never seen old Farlan step on land except to help load supplies or cargo.”

“Then where is he?” Sebastian asked.

“Coulda fallen in the river,” the postilion said. “Some have. Not Farlan, but I heard of others that did.”

“Shouldn’t we wait?” Hadrian asked. “Could he have swum to shore and is running to catch up to us?”

Andrew shook his head. “If he went in, he’s likely drowned. This river is evil through and through, but especially round here. The current is strong and sweeps you along. If you fall in near the center, it won’t let you get near the banks, plus there’s an undertow that will drag down even the strongest swimmer. You get rolled and churned like a deer in a gator’s locked jaws. Bodies don’t never pop up. The river swallows them whole.”

“But what if he did make it?” Hadrian asked.

Andrew shrugged. “He’d be fine, as long as he wasn’t bashed up too bad. He’d likely walk back to the last post station or just sit and wait for the next boat coming up.”

“Why downriver? Why not up?”

“There ain’t no more stations ahead. We’re entering the canyons. Next stop is Colnora. I suppose he might head to the city, but walking downhill is easier than up.”

“So there aren’t any more steersmen to replace him?”

Andrew shook his head again. “Or team changes. From here on it’s just me, Bessie, and Gertrude.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Samuel asked.

“You’ll have to stay here while I go down to the last post. Even if Farlan isn’t there, I’ll need to grab another steersman to finish the trip.”

“How long will that take?” Sebastian asked.

“Most of the day I ’spect, and that’s if someone’s available. Might not be, then it could be three days if we have to wait for another barge.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Samuel declared.

“Absolutely unacceptable,” Sebastian agreed. “We can handle the steering.”

Andrew rubbed the horses in a circular pattern, looking like he wished he were somewhere else. “Well, I suppose that might be okay, but Colnora is still a day away and this last part is-”

“Then I say we do that,” Sebastian declared loud enough for his voice to bounce off the cliff and echo back.

“Who’s going to handle the rudder?” Eugene asked.

“We’ll take turns. You can start us off, Eugene. I’m sure it’s not hard.” He looked to Andrew.

“Just keep her near the middle and avoid the rocks. That’s all there is to it. These ladies here do all the hard work.” He patted the rump of one of the horses.

They set out once more, this time with Eugene at the tiller. He looked unsure of himself, and while Hadrian was no hand with a boat, he sat with the apprentice merchant for a while until he appeared more comfortable skirting the rocks. Hadrian couldn’t tell if Eugene was grateful or irritated with his presence, and eventually took his leave.

“He was murdered,” Samuel told Hadrian when he returned to the center of the barge where the two jewelers and Vivian were gathered. The hooded man had returned to the bow, probably wary of Eugene’s steering and not wanting to be caught below. Samuel nodded in his direction. “That one slit his throat and dropped him in the river.”

“We don’t know that,” Hadrian said. By the looks on their faces, he was the only one who believed it.

“Do you really think an experienced steersman fell overboard on a route he’s probably traveled a hundred times?” Sebastian asked.

“No, but I’m also not willing to jump to the worst possible conclusion.”

“Open your eyes, you foolish boy,” Samuel said in a loud voice. “A man is dead! And there is no denying who is responsible.”

Hadrian cringed. “You want to say that just a little louder? I don’t think Andrew and Bessie heard. Look, you insist that Farlan has been killed, but you are forgetting one very important thing.”

“Which is?” Samuel inquired.

“Why?” Hadrian let the word hang in the air. “Can you tell me why he would want Farlan dead? Because I can’t think of a single good reason beyond just being crazy, and he hasn’t seemed crazy so far.”

That seemed to knock the wind out of the merchants’ sails. They exchanged glances and seemed genuinely perplexed. While they pondered, Vivian’s small wavering voice spoke up: “I think I do.”

All three men looked her way.

“He was there last night, wasn’t he?” she asked, looking toward the bow. “When the two of us were talking? He wasn’t far away when you told me about Farlan getting the sheriff to investigate the murders in Vernes.”

“Is that so?” Sebastian asked.

Hadrian nodded.

“He had to make Farlan disappear,” Samuel said as his sight shifted to the bow as well. “No Farlan, no investigation, problem solved.”

“Well, there you have it,” Sebastian declared. “Now it makes perfect sense, but…”

“But what? Hadrian asked.

“Now we must take steps,” Sebastian said.

“What do you mean?” Hadrian asked.

“We know, don’t we? We all know it now.”

“Know what?”

“That not only is he the murderer of Vernes, but of Farlan as well. What’s more-he knows that we know. If he was willing to kill Farlan, he won’t stop. His only choice is to kill all of us.”

“You can’t be serious,” Hadrian said. “There are five of us, six counting Andrew. I think the odds are well in our favor.”

“He’ll just catch us off guard while we sleep or when alone at the tiller. Like a predator winnowing a herd, he’ll pick us off one by one.”

“That settles it, then,” Samuel whispered this time. “We have to kill him first. It’s us or him. He’s no bigger than Eugene-smaller even-and I don’t see any weapons. We could do it right now. The three of us. Hadrian, lend us your swords and get that big one from your cabin. We’ll all have at him and then roll the bastard into the water, just like he did to Farlan.”

Sebastian was nodding with stern resolution, a judge presiding over a hearing.

Hadrian had spilled enough blood for three lifetimes. However, it was possible, probable even, that they were right. Even more condemning was Mr. Hood himself. Why was he so distant? He must be able to hear their conversations. Why not deny the charges if he was innocent? His behavior invited suspicion and his attitude was worrisome, but that wasn’t proof.

“No,” Hadrian replied. “I won’t kill a man on speculation. Something happened to Farlan, something unexplained, but we don’t even know if he’s dead. Even if it was murder, who’s to say it was him? So the man keeps to himself, big deal. So you don’t like the look of his eyes. What does that prove? Why couldn’t it have been Eugene, or one of you two, or even me for that matter?”

The two merchants shook their heads in dismay, their mouths agape.

“There’s just too much we don’t know,” Hadrian continued. “I think we should do exactly what Farlan had been planning. We get through the rest of today and tonight, and when we arrive in Colnora, Andrew can fetch the sheriff. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll ensure that nobody leaves until he arrives and gets to the bottom of all this.”

“You can’t be serious,” Sebastian said.

“Farlan might be safe and sound, drinking hot soup back at the last outpost. How will you feel when he turns up in Colnora and you know you killed an innocent man?”

“Do you really expect us to do nothing except wait to be slaughtered?”

“I expect you to let the law decide what’s to be done.” Hadrian stood up, taking advantage of his superior height to make his point. “And if you attempt to lay a hand on him, I’ll see that you lose it.”

“You would defend a killer!”

“No, but I’ll protect what could be an innocent man from a mindless mob. You’ve had it out for him since he came on board.”

“And what about Miss Vivian? Didn’t you promise her just yesterday that you would protect her?”

“I did and I will.” He looked directly at her. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise you that.”

“And what about us?” Samuel asked.

“I suggest you stay together. You said it yourself, about being vulnerable when alone. Don’t give him any opportunities, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“That won’t change anything. Can’t you see the danger we are all in? You’re blind and a fool!” Samuel said.

Hadrian laid a hand casually on the pommel of his short sword and Samuel stiffened. “I’ll add deaf to that list, but only this once,” Hadrian said softly.

He walked away, annoyed by the smallness of the boat and feeling Samuel’s glare on his back. Sebastian’s mood was harder to gauge. Hadrian thought it a fair bet that both merchants were displeased with him; whether that constituted a change in their opinion was difficult to tell.

From the high rail of the gunwale, Hadrian realized he could climb onto the top of the cabin area-a modestly sloped roof made from pitch-covered boards. In the direct sun the pitch was soft, but not tacky. He sat alone on what he realized was the highest point on the barge. From here, he had a clear view of the entire deck. At the stern, Eugene sat with his feet up, much the way Farlan had, and Hadrian hoped the old steersman had made it to shore. From the little interaction between them, he had liked the man. Below, Sebastian and Samuel continued to speak, but now in hushed whispers, huddled close together in their matching robes, Vivian at their sides. On the bow, the hooded man appeared oblivious as he stared out at the river.

Hadrian was back at his new favorite spot on top of the cabins, staring at the stars. With nothing to lean back against, it wasn’t as comfortable as sitting on deck, but the difficulty of reaching it-requiring a significant effort to climb-guaranteed privacy. None of the jewelers were going to scale the railing in their fancy, flowing robes, nor was Vivian. That left only the hooded man, and Hadrian doubted he would make an appearance.

The day had passed uneventfully. Without Farlan, they managed as best they could. Sebastian, Samuel, and Vivian had set out the midday meal as well as supper. Hadrian had served his time at the tiller after Eugene. Samuel took the duty next and Sebastian would take the last leg. Although whose turn it actually was would make little difference. All three merchants were gathered at the back of the boat, and Hadrian guessed none of them would sleep at all that night. They would keep each other awake, and safe, trading off as needed. The hooded man continued his vigil at the front of the boat, and Vivian had locked herself in her cabin for the duration.

The river continued to narrow and the canyon walls rose ever higher. Hadrian knew the navigable portion of the Bernum River ended at Amber Falls, just south of Colnora. He didn’t have a clue how he knew this, any more than he knew not to stick his hand in a fire or stand on a hill in a lightning storm. Someone must have told him, but he couldn’t remember who or when. A lot of his knowledge had been gained that way, and he guessed a good deal of it was wrong.

As a boy living in a small village, he had heard many stories delivered by visitors-tinkers mostly. They had been the only ones to enter the Hintindar Valley on a regular basis, and Hadrian suspected that little had changed since he had left. Usually it would be Packer the Red, who could be spotted a mile out by the sound of his rattling wagon and the sight of his flaming hair. When the sun was setting, it looked as if Packer’s head was literally on fire. The tinker sold and traded with practiced skill, but his stories had always been free, which granted him a welcomed place in everyone’s home.

Packer said he had traveled to the far reaches of the known world, from the deep forests near the Nidwalden-which he claimed marked the boundary with the ancient elven kingdom-to the immeasurably high towers of Drumindor, an ancient dwarven fortress that could spew molten stone hundreds of feet through the air. Everyone delighted in his tales, which usually featured Packer on lonely roads in the middle of the night. Most often he spun fantastical stories about encounters with ghosts, goblins, or faeries who attempted to lure him to an untimely death.

When Hadrian was young, one of his favorite tales was about Packer finding himself surrounded by a bunch of goblins. He had described them as little green men with pointed ears, bulbous eyes, and horns. Fastidious little folk who Packer declared wore formal coats and tall hats. They were dapper in the moonlight and spoke with Calian accents. The goblins had wanted to take Packer to their city to wed their queen, but the tinker outsmarted them. He convinced the goblins that a copper pot had magical properties and when worn on the head showed visions of the future. Packer’s grand tale had kept everyone in the village huddled at the hearth, riveted and squealing at every turn, Hadrian included. He had clearly imagined the goblins Packer described and believed every word. That was long before Hadrian had left Hintindar, before he had gone to Calis and seen a real goblin. By that time, Hadrian had already begun to doubt Packer’s worldliness, but he knew just how ridiculous the tinker’s stories had been the moment he entered the jungles and saw his first Ba Ran Ghazel. Packer had never seen a real goblin. If he had, he never would have lived to tell the tale.

Much of Hadrian’s education had been gained kneeling around various hearths in the winter or beneath shady trees in summer, told by people who never traveled more than a few miles from home. No one in Hintindar knew anything about what lay beyond the valley, except Lord Baldwin and his father.

Danbury Blackwater hadn’t been from Hintindar. His father had come to the village only a few years before his son’s birth, but he never spoke of the days of his youth. Presumably because there was nothing to tell. Danbury was a simple man, more concerned with creating a plowshare than adventuring. Hadrian resented his small-minded attitude, and it was just one of the reasons he had left home, anxious to find out more about the world.

Packer may have lied about his goblins, ghosts, faeries, and elves, but his geography was impeccable. The river would indeed end at Amber Falls near Apeladorn’s largest city-Colnora. Beyond that, the river would fracture into a handful of fast-flowing, rough cascades that came from the highlands where Hadrian had spent most of his soldiering years. In all that time, though, Hadrian had never set foot in the city.

He yawned, regretting the hours of lost sleep. His legs were stiff, and just as he stood up to stretch, the hooded man headed toward the cabin door. Hadrian moved quickly and climbed down. He entered the cabin area only to find Mr. Hood simply going to his room.

Hadrian headed for his own door, but his footsteps must have unnerved Vivian, who called out in a wavering voice, “Who is it? Who’s there?”

“Don’t worry, Miss Vivian. It’s just me, Hadrian.”

“Oh, thank Maribor. Can you please wait just a minute?”

Hadrian heard dragging noises, and after some fumbling with the lock, the door opened.

She waved him in, opening the door wider. “I need to give you back your cloak and want to ask you something.”

All the ship’s cabins were the same, except perhaps the one the merchants rented, which Hadrian expected was a double where Eugene probably was forced to sleep on the floor.-Vivian’s room was identical to his with one narrow bed and a trunk beside it that doubled as a table. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and Hadrian bumped it with his head just as he always did in his own room.

After entering, he was surprised that Vivian motioned for him to close the door. She worked at the ties of the cloak, her hands shaking. “Thank you for this,” she said when she finally got it free.

He took it from her and she rubbed her arms.

“You can keep it, if you’re still cold. I don’t mind.”

She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. At least I hope not.”

Hadrian wasn’t sure what she meant.

Vivian licked her lips, then said in a whisper, “I know this will sound unusual, but then again this night can hardly be considered a common situation.” She hesitated, the cabin’s lantern casting a halo of light around her thin frame. “I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Blackwater, that I am very frightened. I fear that if I close my eyes tonight, I shall never open them again.”

“I said I’d protect you. I may seem young, but you can trust me. I’ll be right next door. If anything-”

“That’s precisely the problem. What if he blocks your door and you can’t get out? Or what if you fall asleep and don’t hear him breaking in? How long does it take to slit a throat?”

Her hand went to her neck, then lowered slowly, brushing past her breast. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and said, “I would feel much safer if you spent the night in my room.”

Hadrian raised his eyebrows.

“I can’t begin to tell you how I would appreciate it. These last few days have been the worst of my life. I’ve lost everything. My whole life and I’m certain that man is planning to kill me.” She shivered, drawing closer. “Please, it would mean so much. I’ll make certain you stay very warm tonight.” She took his hand in hers.

Hadrian narrowed his eyes. He was young, not stupid. “All right. I’ll … I’ll sit here next to the door-put my back against it, so even if I fall asleep, there’s no way anyone can get in without my knowing. How’s that?” It wasn’t a serious question. He just wanted to see her reaction.

She didn’t keep him waiting.

No stunned surprise, no frustration at his ignorance or her need to spell things out, no clumsy debate. She merely faced him and began to untie the delicate ribbons of her gown. The lantern caused her shadow to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, keeping time to the musical creaking of the wooden vessel. Loosing her bodice, she continued to tug at the satin, working free the strained material that pulled away and revealed pale skin. Hadrian finally understood why she was always so cold-all she wore was the dress.

Vivian had stopped shivering. Any chill that the cabin originally held had burned away. Her nimble fingers no longer trembled, and her eyes never left his. “I want to thank you for spending the night with me,” she said in a breathy whisper. “I know it’s a terrible hardship. I only hope I can make your sacrifice worthwhile.”

“I don’t want to ruin the moment, but didn’t your husband just die? Murdered you said.”

“What’s your point?” Her hands were back at work, this time on his sword belt.

“I’m guessing you weren’t the faithful type.”

“The man is dead. I’m alive, and I’d like to stay that way.” She arched her back, rose on her toes, and closed her eyes.

“Then I’d get your hands off my belt.”

Her eyes opened. “What?”

“You want to tell me what’s really going on?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I-that’s the problem. Your husband wasn’t killed, was he?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need a protector.”

“From what?”

That’s when the screams began.

Hadrian reached the deck with sword in hand, but found no one.

The cries had stopped long before he opened Vivian’s door. He had told her to lock it behind him, then raced to the deck. He listened for the scuffle of a fight, but the cries had ended decisively. There should have been the sound of boots on decking, the killer running away, but all Hadrian heard was the lap of water.

He waited.

Silence.

No, not silence-the river still spoke. For days the voice of the river breaking against the bow had been a constant frothy rush. Now the tone was different. The lapping against the hull was a lower pitch, quieter. It didn’t feel right. And that wasn’t the only change. The barge was no longer moving.

He scanned the open planking.

Nothing moved.

Hadrian walked slowly to the stern and found Samuel not far from the tiller. He was facedown in a spreading pool of blood.

Where are Sebastian and Eugene?

Hadrian had seen plenty of death. He’d killed more men than he wanted to remember but had convinced himself that each one was necessary. This was a lie-one he never actually believed, no matter how much he wanted it to be true. Still, all his fights had been on battlefields or in arenas. This was different-unprovoked butchery.

The night, which had been so tranquil, wore a new expression. Quaint swinging lanterns offered poor light and the moon showed less than half a face, giving life to a thousand silhouettes. Hadrian wasn’t afraid for himself; what had happened was over. As far as he could tell, the deck was secure, leaving only the hold and the cabins. Taking a lantern, he crept to the bow where he found the other two merchants. Both dead. Throats cut. Lying in their own blood.

A few feet from their bodies was the trapdoor leading to the hold, the padlock gone, hatch open. Hadrian peered in. Crates, sacks, bags, and boxes were tightly packed. No one waited in the shadows. Again he listened, again silence. His short sword ready, Hadrian moved through the narrow pathways that ran half the length of the barge. He found the huge trunks belonging to the merchants. They, too, were unlocked. Inside were more robes, silver plates, silverware, gold goblets, necklaces, candelabras, bowls, and crystal stemware. He also found a small chest and a strongbox. Both were open, two padlocks lying nearby. Inside, he found nothing.

Leaving everything as he found it, Hadrian climbed back onto the deck.

Everything was still quiet … and dead.

At that moment, Hadrian remembered Andrew and the fact that the barge wasn’t moving. In the dim moonlight, all he saw was the outline of the horse team illuminated by Andrew’s lantern.

Hadrian returned to the cabins.

He found the hallway as he had left it, Vivian’s door intact. He knew she would be terrified, and this time for good reason. At least he could report they were safe. The hooded man was gone.

“Unlock the door, Miss Vivian,” he said, knocking. “It’-s-”

The door creaked inward. The shock of its movement halted his breathing and set his heart pounding. Pushing it revealed the little cabin still illuminated by the lantern. The door stopped short with a dull gut-wrenching thump. All he saw beyond its edge was a hand-her hand, fingers slightly curled. Vivian lay on her stomach in a lake of blood that spilled out across the floor, soaking into the dry wood.

What if I never reach Colnora? What if he kills me right here on this barge?

Hadrian felt sick. He shook his head as he backed out, knocking it against the lantern and setting the shadows dancing around the walls.

He had promised to protect her. He had assured her she was safe.

Walking backward out of the cabin, he noticed the crimson stains he was tracking on the corridor floor.

What is it with me and death? Hundreds of miles and I’m still leaving bloody footprints.

Hadrian returned to his cabin and gathered his belongings. His one bag, comprising the accumulated wealth of his life. Hoisting it made him think of Pickles. That officer on the dock might just have saved the boy’s life. Hadrian’s great sword still hung on the wall peg. He slipped the baldric over his shoulder, centered the spadone on his back, and climbed to the deck.

Without the pull of the horses or proper steering, the barge had already closed the distance to the towpath like the pendulum of a clock. Hadrian made an easy jump from the barge and landed on solid ground. Reaching the horses, his fears were confirmed. Andrew was gone. There was no body, but the pool of blood and the trail leading to the river told the story.

Standing on the towpath, Hadrian was at the base of the exposed stone cliff that blocked out most of the sky. Andrew’s lantern displayed his shadow against the stone wall as if he were a giant. Other than the blood and the missing postilion, the scene was as quiet as the boat. The lead line of the horses had been fastened to a tree, and Bessie and Gertrude waited for a signal to start again.

Hadrian tied off the bow line to another tree, then unfastened the horses from their harnesses. Given the strong current, he wedged the bar of the tackle between two boulders just to make sure the boat remained secure. Then he returned to the horses. He tied Bessie-or was it Gertrude? — to the same tree as the boat’s line and leapt on the other’s back. “No sense leaving you here,” Hadrian told the animal, and gave it a light kick. The horse wasn’t trained for riding and refused to do more than plod. The animal’s pace was aggravatingly slow but better than walking.

Hadrian couldn’t help wondering if he might stumble upon the hooded man in some inn or tavern. He imagined him drinking with his feet up and boasting about how he’d just slaughtered a boat full of people on the Bernum. Picturing the scene made Hadrian feel better.

He was tired of killing, but for the hooded man he could make an exception.