Lirael (Abhorsen 2)

It had missed the boat by only a few feet. The wave from its impact almost swamped the bathtub. Sam watched the creature’s last moments, as did the Dead halted in the doorway above, and felt enormous relief well up inside him.

“Amazing,” said Mogget. “We actually got away. What are you doing?”

Sam stopped squirming and silently held out the cake of dried, sun-shriveled soap he’d just sat on. Then he put his head back and draped his hands over the sides to rest in the sweet river that had rescued them.

“In fact,” said Mogget, “I think I can even say ‘Well done.’ ”

Sam didn’t answer, because he’d just passed out.

Part

Three

The Old Kingdom

Eighteenth Year of the Restoration of King Touchstone I

Chapter Thirty-Four

Finder

The boat was tied up at a subterranean dock that Lirael knew about but had visited only once, years before. It was built all along one end of a vast cavern, with sunlight pouring in at the other end where it opened out onto the world, the Ratterlin welling up with frothing vigor below the dock. A line of icicles across the cavern-mouth testified to the presence of the glacier above, as did the occasional fall of ice and snow.

There were several boats tied up, but Lirael instinctively knew that the slim, curving vessel with the single mast was hers. She had a carved fantail at her stern and an arching figurehead at the bow—a woman with wide-awake eyes. Those eyes seemed to be looking straight at Lirael, as if the boat knew who her next passenger would be. For a moment Lirael thought the figurehead might even have winked at her.

Sanar pointed and said, “That is Finder. She will take you safely down to Qyrre. It is a journey she has made a thousand times or more, there and back, with or against the current. She knows the river well.”

“I don’t know how to sail,” said Lirael nervously, noting the Charter marks that moved quietly over the hull, mast, and rigging of the boat. She felt very small and stupid. The sight of the outside world beyond the cavern-mouth combined with her weariness and made her want to hide somewhere and go to sleep. “What will I have to do?”

“There is little you need attend to,” replied Sanar. “Finder will do most of it herself. But you will have to raise and lower the sail, and steer a little. I will show you how.”

“Thank you,” said Lirael. She followed Sanar into the boat, grabbing at the gunwale as Finder rocked beneath her. Ryelle passed Lirael’s pack, bow, and sword across, and Sanar showed her where to stow the pack in the oilskin-lined box at the vessel’s forepeak. The sword and bow went into special waterproof cases on either side of the mast, to be more accessible.

Then Sanar showed Lirael how to raise and lower Finder’s single triangular mainsail, and how the boom would move. Finder would trim the sail herself, Sanar explained, and would guide Lirael’s hand on the tiller. Lirael could even let the boat steer herself in an emergency, but the vessel preferred to feel a human touch.

“We hope that there will be no danger on the way,” said Ryelle, when they had finished showing Lirael over the boat. “Normally the river-road is quite safe to Qyrre. But we cannot now be sure of anything. We do not know the nature of whatever lies in the pit you Saw, or its powers. Just in case, it would be best to anchor in the river at night, rather than going ashore—or to tie up at an island. There are many of those downstream. At Qyrre and onwards, you should seek whatever help you can get from the Royal Constables. Here is a letter from us as the Voice of the Watch, for that purpose. If we are lucky, there will also be guards present, and the Abhorsen may have returned from Ancelstierre. Whatever you do, you must make sure that you travel with a large and well-armed party from Qyrre to Edge. From there, I fear, we cannot advise you. The future is clouded, and we can See you only on the Red Lake, with nothing before or beyond that.”

“All summed up, that means ‘Be very careful,’ ” said Sanar. She smiled, but there was the hint of a frown in her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. “Remember that this is only one possible future we See.”

“I will be careful,” promised Lirael. Now that she was actually in the boat and about to depart, she felt very nervous. For the first time, she would be going out into a world that was not bounded by stone or ice, and she would have to see and speak to many strangers. More than that, she was going into danger, against a foe she knew nothing about and was ill prepared to face. Even her mission was vague. To find a young man, somewhere on a lake, sometime this summer. What if she did find this Nicholas and somehow survived all the looming dangers? Would the Clayr let her back into the Glacier? What if she was never allowed to return?

But at the same time Lirael also felt a blooming sense of excitement, even of escape, from a life that she couldn’t admit was stifling her. There was Finder, and the sunshine beyond, and the Ratterlin streaming away to lands she knew only from the pages of books. She had the dog statuette, and the hope her canine companion would return. And she was going on official business, doing something important. Almost like a real Daughter of the Clayr.

“You may need this, too,” said Ryelle, handing over a leather purse, bulging with coins. “The Bursar would have you get receipts, but I think you will have enough to worry about without that.”

“Now, let us see you raise the sail yourself, and we will bid you farewell,” continued Sanar. Her blue eyes seemed to see into Lirael, perceiving the fears that she had not voiced. “The Sight does not tell me so, but I am sure we will meet again. And you must remember that, Sighted or not, you are a Daughter of the Clayr. Remember! May fortune favor you, Lirael.”

Lirael nodded, unable to speak, and hauled on the halyard to raise the sail. It hung slackly, the cavern dock being too sheltered for any wind.

Ryelle and Sanar bowed to her, then cast off the ropes that held Finder fast. The Ratterlin’s swift current gripped the boat, and the tiller moved under Lirael’s hand, nudging her to direct the eager vessel out towards the sunlit world of the open river.

Lirael looked back once as they passed from the shade of the cavern to the sun, with the icicles tinkling far above her head. Sanar and Ryelle were still standing on the dock. They waved as the wind came to fill Finder’s sail and ruffle Lirael’s hair.

I have left, thought Lirael. There could be no turning back now, not against the current. The current of the river held the boat, and the current of her destiny held her. Both were taking her to places that she did not know.

The river was already wide where the underground source came to join it, fed by the lakes of snow-melt higher up, and the hundred small streams that wound their way like capillaries through and around the Clayr’s Glacier. But here, only the central channel—perhaps fifty yards across—was deep enough to be navigable. To either side of the channel, the Ratterlin shallowed, content to sheet thinly across millions of clean-washed pebbles.

Lirael breathed in the warm, river-scented air and smiled at the heat of the sun on her skin. As promised, Finder was moving herself into the swiftest race of the river, while the mainsheet imperceptibly slackened till they were running before the wind from the north. Lirael’s

nervousness about sailing lessened as she realized that Finder really did look after herself. It was even fun, speeding along with the breeze behind them, the bow sending up a fine spray as it sliced through the small waves caused by wind and current. All Lirael needed to make the moment perfect was the presence of her best friend, the Disreputable Dog.

She reached into her waistcoat pocket for the soapstone statuette. It would be a comfort just to hold it, even if it would not be practicable to try the summoning spell until she got to Qyrre and could get the silver wire and other materials.

But instead of cool, smooth stone, she felt warm dog skin—and what she pulled out was a very recognizable pointy ear, followed by an arc of round skull and then another ear. That was immediately followed by the Disreputable Dog’s entire head, which was much too big by itself to fit in the pocket—let alone the rest of her.

“Ouch! Tight fit!” growled the Dog, pushing out a foreleg and wiggling madly. Another foreleg impossibly followed, and then the whole dog leapt out, shook hair all over Lirael’s leggings, and turned to give her an enthusiastic lick.

“So we’re off at last!” she barked happily, mouth open to catch the breeze, tongue lolling. “About time, too. Where are we going?”

Lirael didn’t answer at first. She just hugged the Dog very tightly and took several quick, jarring breaths to stop herself crying. The Dog waited patiently, not even licking Lirael’s ear, which was a handy target. When Lirael’s breathing seemed to get back to normal, the Dog repeated her question.

“More like why are we going,” said Lirael, checking her waistcoat pocket to make sure the Dog’s exit hadn’t taken the Dark Mirror with it. Strangely enough, the pocket wasn’t even stretched.