Maximilian and his party had been pushing hard for the Isembaardian east coast. They’d travelled all day and well into each night, stopping only for a brief meal from their dwindling supplies and a few hours’ sleep before rising before dawn the next day. All of them were close to exhaustion, crabby, hungry and a little anxious about what might await them on the coast. What if no one from Elcho Falling had managed to send a vessel south? What if there was a vessel, but it was under the control of someone antagonistic? Maximilian had heard nothing from the north for a long time and no way of knowing what had played out at Elcho Falling. Were former allies now enemies? And where were the Skraelings? Had some of them come back, hoping for a quick seaside snack?

The disappearance of the rat and the Book of the Soulenai had not worried them overmuch. The book had clearly nothing more for them, as also the rat, and Maximilian and Ishbel decided both had vanished until they were needed again.

But everything else . . . Hairekeep had taught everyone to be careful. The One was finally gone; or so they thought. Maximilian, while optimistic the Twisted Tower was now drifting further and further from their world, was not prepared to depend on that belief totally.

The One had surprised them before.

Maximilian held up his hand, stopping his companions.

They had entered Isembaard’s only eastern port earlier. The small town — little more than a village — was completely deserted. No people, no dogs, no rats.

The Skraelings had been active here.

They had been walking through the abandoned town, looking down every side street and alley, keeping alert for any danger. Now, as they reached the single pier and the crescent of fine sand that defined the beach, Maximilian stopped them, nodding to the middle of the pier.

There sat a man before a metal circular bowl in which smouldered a small fire. He appeared to be toasting a fish over the coals.

“I’ll go ahead,” Maximilian murmured.

“We’ll come with you,” Ishbel and Serge said at the same time, while Doyle nodded his general agreeance with the statement.

“I should —” Maximilian said.

“We’ll come with you,” Ishbel said, “and don’t argue the point, Maxel. We’re all too tired for it.”

Maximilian thought about sighing, but he was too fatigued even to do that, let alone fight with Ishbel. “We’ll need to be careful,” he said.

“Do you sense anything wrong?” Serge said.

“Apart from the fact I can’t see a bloody ship anywhere?” Maximilian said. “No. I sense nothing wrong. Come on, then. Let’s get this over and done with.”

They walked forward, and as their boots struck the timber decking of the pier, the man half turned and saw them.

He did not appear worried, or even particularly surprised, to see the four people walking up the pier toward him. He carefully balanced the stick holding the fish on the side of the brazier, then rose, wiping his hands down his leather trousers.

He was a tall, lean man, dark haired and with the weather-beaten, stubbled face of an experienced seaman. His eyes were bright brown specks almost completely lost behind wrinkles and wreaths of skin, and his teeth were startlingly white and strong when he smiled as the four neared.

“You’re the ride, then,” he said.

“The ride?” Maximilian said, feeling stupid in his weariness.

“The passengers I was sent to pick up,” the man said.

“We were expecting a ship,” Ishbel said.

The man looked at her. “And I was expecting a little courtesy, perhaps.”

“I apologise,” Ishbel said. “My name is Ishbel Persimius, and this is my husband, Maximilian. Our two companions are Doyle and Serge.”

The man nodded at each in turn. “I am Abe Wayward,” he said. “Who do you think sent me to wait for you?”

For a moment Maximilian could make no sense of the question, then he realised Abe was testing them. Maximilian managed a moment of inner humour, thinking that here he’d been, scrying out everything he could about this man, and yet here Abe was, testing them.

“It would have been either Axis SunSoar,” said Maximilian, “or Georgdi, the Outlander general. The message would have originated from Elcho Falling, what you would have known as Serpent’s Nest before .”

“Before everything went awry,” Abe said, and nodded. “Good enough. Georgdi it was. Sit down and we can have a meal of carawait fish before we go. Tide won’t be right for sailing until this evening, anyway.”

“You have a boat?” Ishbel said, hoping her question didn’t sound as desperate as she felt, or that Abe once more decided she was being impolite.

Abe nodded over the side of the pier. “Right there.”

As one the four stepped up to the side of the pier and looked down. Far below, tied to the carbuncled piles of the structure, was a small sailing vessel little bigger than a rowing boat.

None of them knew what to say.

Abe chuckled at the looks on their faces. “The Outlanders are not known for their great fleet, my friends. We have a few fishing boats, but that’s it. For everything else seaworthy, we depend on what the Vilanders supply us. They’re the sailing nation, not us. Georgdi should have asked the Vilanders to send one of their cargo cobs to fetch you, eh? You could all have had individual cabins with velvet curtains, then.”

“It looks an honest boat,” Maximilian said, not knowing what to say.

Now Abe’s chuckle turned into a hearty laugh. “And to think you’re going to have to sit in it all the way north toward Margalit . . . or is it Elcho Falling you want to reach?”

“Elcho Falling,” Maximilian said.

“Elcho Falling, then,” Abe said. “Well, she’s surely an honest boat, and keeled and rigged for speed. If the weather gets rough, then there’ll be enough hands on deck to bail her out. Difficult when I’m on my own. And look on the bright side . . . it’s not too far to lean over the side when you decide you’re going to lose your breakfast.”

“We are grateful for any ride,” Maximilian said, “for we are heartily sick of using our feet. Sitting down on the journey sounds like heaven to me. Thank you, Abe Wayward. We shall be glad and grateful to accept your aid.”

Maximilian stepped forward and offered Abe his hand.

Ishbel, Serge and Doyle all watched, their eyes sharp.

Abe didn’t miss their scrutiny. He smiled once again, and grasped Maximilian’s hand. “Do I pass?” he said.

Maximilian gripped the seaman’s hand, holding it for a long moment, staring the man in the eyes.

Then he nodded. “You pass, my friend. I apologise for my suspicion. We have had trials on our journey to meet you.”

“Then we shall have much conversation on the way north,” Abe said, “between bouts of bailing.”