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.