«That? But that was… she liked that?»

I held up my hands in a shrug. «All I said was, it caught her attention. By now, I'm sure she realizes you aren't the demonic horror we claimed you were. But she's still here, isn't she? What do you think of her?»

«I don't know…»

«Do you want her to go away, or do you want her to stick around?»

«Oh, I don't want her to go away.»

«That's all you have to know at this point,» I told him. «You want to spend time with her and see what happens. Right?»

«Right.»

«So don't start worrying about a million other things.» I gave him a quick smile. «You've known her less than two days. There may come a time when you should start thinking of the future, but right now, stick to the present.»

«Thanks, Britlin,» Hezekiah answered earnestly, as if he believed I'd given him advice instead of platitudes. «I've been really confused about… oh, hi Eustace, what are you doing here?»

«Eustace?» I repeated. The boy was looking at something behind my back. «Eustace?» I choked. And then I was diving out of the way as sharp wight claws sliced down through the position I'd occupied a split-second earlier.

One cannot paint while wearing a sword, so I had set mine down… only a few paces away, but the wight now stood between me and the weapon. While alive, this particular wight had been mostly human, but back a generation or two his family must have received an infusion of giant blood – the creature stood close to seven feet tall, with shoulders as wide as a wheelbarrow. He looked vaguely familiar; and in the split second before he lunged for another attack, I realized where I'd seen him before.

This was one of the wights attending Rivi when she confronted us back in the Glass Spider.

«She's found us!» I yelled to Hezekiah; then I was too busy rolling out of the way as two handfuls of talons tried to embed themselves in my chest.

«That isn't Eustace, is it?» Hezekiah observed.

The boy was still sitting blithely on his tree stump, watching as the wight took another whack at me. This time, the monster dug his claws so deep into the muddy ground I had time to scramble to my feet before he could pull his hands free. With a snap of his wrist, the wight flicked the muck on his fingers into my face, spattering my cheeks and nearly blinding me in one eye. A moment later, he charged straight for me, hoping to run me through while I was distracted. He very nearly managed it too; but I dove over the skiff I'd been painting and scudded away along the slippery mud.

«My sword!» I gasped to Hezekiah. «Get me my sword!»

The wight didn't bother to jump the skiff after me; he simply bent down, planted his hands on the boat, then shoved it forward with all his strength, like a carpenter shoving a wood-plane over the flat of a board. The keel of the boat skimmed up a mound of mud as it skated over the ground, but the resistance wasn't enough to slow down the wight. In an instant, the skiff slammed into me and propelled my whole body forward, knocking me roughly down the beach. I could handle the bruises; but another five paces would drive me straight into the River Styx. From the blazing fury in the wight's eyes, I guessed that was precisely the plan.

Digging my heels into the mud, I tried to resist the steady push forward; unluckily for me, the wight's toe-claws gripped the ground and gave him excellent traction, much better than the smooth leather soles of my boots. I slipped and slipped and slipped again, as the wight bent his back into one heave after another. There was no respite to let me stand up, no chance to scramble away around the front or back of the skiff. It might have been possible to clamber over the gunwale into the boat, but that would only put me within range of the wight's life-draining touch.

«Hezekiah!» I yelled. And the lapping sound of the Styx was almost as loud in my ears as my own voice.

The wight hissed with glee. The river was only inches behind me; one more push and I'd be swimming… at least for a second or two, before the memory-stealing waters wiped out all knowledge of how to keep myself afloat. The wight's arms flexed, ready for the final thrust…

…and then he stopped and turned around, an expression of polite curiosity on his face.

Behind him Hezekiah held my sword, both hands on the pommel. The boy had taken a swing at the wight, perhaps trying to whack off the creature's head with a single mighty blow. However, he'd scarcely made a mark; he had botched the angle of attack and delivered a glancing strike with the flat of the blade. To the wight, it was no more than a shaving nick. The creature curled his lip in something approaching a grin and reached out toward the boy, close enough to crush Hezekiah's head like a wineskin.

That's when I shoved on the boat with all my strength and caught the wight at the back of his knees.

The skiff was the perfect height for buckling the monster's legs. He jerked backward, trying to keep his balance; and at the same time, Hezekiah had the presence of mind to jab forward with the rapier. It didn't actually pierce the wight's chest – the boy hadn't kept his wrists straight as he thrust out – but the tip of the blade banged against the creature's breastbone, giving him some extra momentum for falling. As the wight began to topple backward, I reached up and helped him along, grabbing a handful of his ripped clothes and yanking with all my strength.

For a moment, the wight's arms flailed. His rotting face loomed close to mine, his pointed teeth gnashing, his hot breath hissing rankly against my cheeks. Then he was spearing down headfirst into the black water, his body collapsing into globules of greasy pus the moment he hit the surface.

I froze. He hadn't made much of a splash as he went under, but a small shower of droplets had spattered over my clothing. Should any of that wetness soak through to touch my skin… so I didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't blink an eyelash. If I lost my memory now, I'd have to start experiencing life all over again from the very beginning. I might even have to eat another swineberry.

Seconds passed. The only dampness on my flesh was sweat, pouring out in gushers. Thank all the friendly powers, the day had been cool and I was wearing my jacket; it had given me that extra bit of protection against the splash. At last I let out a shuddering breath and struggled to my feet.

«That was exciting, wasn't it?» I said to Hezekiah.

He nodded. «I can hardly wait to tell Miriam.»

«Wonderful. Give me my sword.»

«Could I practice a little with it?»

«No. Give me my sword.»

«Yes, Britlin.»

No other wights showed their decaying faces before lunch. Over the meal, however, the six of us met and agreed it was only a matter of time before we received more undead company. Rivi must have brought the Glass Spider back to an even keel, then sent wights through the portal to search for us. When that ugly basher from the riverside didn't report back to Rivi's base, she would eventually muster other wights to find us. Dangers like the Tooth-Storm bushes might slow her forces down, but I doubted the nasty wee albino would be completely stymied by such nuisances. To someone as vicious as Rivi, the swamps of Othrys might look as congenial as a backyard garden.

The news was not good from Wheezle and Kiripao either. For the umbrals, negotiations were a process of «becoming one mind»… a process that consisted of long silences, punctuated by grisly stories of life among the fiends. «The stories are bad,» Wheezle murmured, «and the silences are worse. They press in on one's brain…» He shook his head and refused to say more; but his face looked more haggard than it had through all the trials of the Glass Spider.