“I hear you been asking about missing boats,” said Berry.

His general friendliness gave way to something more urgent. “Did you all come from downriver?”

“No—the Fetch is a flat—but we’re heading that way. See, last fall my papa and brother took a flat down from Clearcreek and never came back. No word. It was like they just vanished. So I’m on the lookout for them, or news of them.”

“The boats we’re missing disappeared in this spring’s rise, much later, but here, sit…” He half-rose, gesturing at the other three chairs around the square plank table. An uncleared plate opposite him, piled high with empty shells, indicated that a companion had left—perhaps another informant? Cutter sank back, frowning a little, as they settled themselves.

“Boats?” asked Fawn curiously. “More than one?”

He nodded. “I started out as a keeler out of Tripoint, till I married and the tads started coming along, and my missus wanted me more settled. So I took up a goods-shed there and started sending cargoes instead of hauling them. First cargoes, then a boat, then two boats, then four. My luck was fair in general, and I’ve mostly found steady men for my bosses. They were good boats, too, solid work out of Beaver Creek. Not like those homemade tubs the hills boys cobble together, with green or rotten timbers and bad caulking—I lost a cargo on one of those flats, once, learned my lesson. It went down on a sunny day in nineteen feet of clear water, stove in, I swear, when it struck nothing harder than the head of a yellow-bellied catfish.”

Having seen a channel cat, Fawn was not so sure this represented defects in the boat, but she held her peace.

“Sound boats, sound crews,” Cutter went on, “but two out of four didn’t come back this summer. And when I got to asking around, turned out they weren’t the only ones. There’s nine boats or flattie crews out of the Tripoint area didn’t come back when they should of. You might expect to lose one or two a season, but nine? And even sunk boats come up again, or are seen, or salvaged. Bodies come up, too, and folks who have the snagging and burying of ’em generally pass the word along. When we all got together and figured it, it was right plain someone needed to go take a closer look, and I was it. Losing those two boats was a blow to me, I don’t mind telling you.”

A scullion interrupted then, clearing the odd plate and asking if they’d like anything. Fawn shook her head warily, and Berry, intent on Cutter, waved the offer away, but Whit ordered a plate of mussels and a beer to go with.

“My papa was twenty years and more on the river,” Berry said after the scullion departed. “A good boat-builder, and his crew was all local fellows who’d gone down and back with him before. I usually went along myself, ’cept this last time.”

Cutter’s eyes opened. “Say, do you play the fiddle?”

Berry nodded. “I got good pay, playing the keeler boys upstream.”

His smile turned a shade more respectful, not that he’d been at all rude before. Some kind of river fellowship at work, Fawn guessed. “I’ve heard tell of you! Yellow-headed gal who travels with her daddy and scrapes real lively, has to be.” He sucked out the contents of another mussel shell, and went on, “My keel tied up down the bank is the Tripoint Steel, and I picked my crew special. Big fellows all, and we’ve come pretty well-armed, this time. Some of them were missing friends or kin, too, and volunteered when they heard what I was up to. Whatever this trouble is, we’re hoping to find it.”

Berry rubbed her nose. “Steel won’t help if it was sickness or shipwreck, but I admit it sounds right heartening. Are you thinking it was some kind o’ boat bandits? Boatmen’s been robbed before, it’s true, but usually word gets out pretty quick.”

Cutter scratched his short beard in doubt. “There would be the hitch in it. So many gone, so quiet-like…Some of us think there’s something uncanny about it.” His mouth tightened. “Like maybe sorcery. Or worse. Thing is, not only are the boats and bodies not showing up between the outlet of the Grace and Graymouth, neither are the goods, seemingly. Which makes a fellow wonder—what if they were diverted north to Luthlia instead, up the Gray into that wild Lakewalker country?”

Fawn sat up in indignation. “Lakewalkers wouldn’t rob farmer boats!”

Cutter shook his head. “They were valuable cargoes. Fine Tripoint steel and iron goods, plus I’d sent a deal of silver coin along with my keel bosses to buy tea and spices with, down south. Anyone could be tempted, but for some, it might be…easier.”

“It makes no sense,” Fawn insisted. “Leaving aside that Lakewalkers just don’t do things like that, Luthlia’s one of the few Lakewalker hinterlands that makes iron and steel on its own, and it’s good work, too. I’ve seen some. Dag says Luthlian mines and forges supply blades to the camps north of the Dead Lake nearly to Seagate! They can make steel that doesn’t even rust! Why would they rob yours?”

Cutter’s voice lowered. “Yeah, but there’s also the missing bodies to be accounted for. I can think of another reason they might not turn up downstream, and it ain’t a pretty one.” He ran a thumbnail between his teeth in a significant gesture, then glanced guiltily at the paling Berry. “Sorry, miss. But a man can’t help thinking.”

Fawn wanted to jump up and stalk out in a huff, but Whit’s mussels and beer arrived just then, and by the time the scullion took himself off again she had re-mastered her wits. “I can think of a reason a lot more likely than Lakewalkers—who do not either eat people—for folks to go missing, and that’s malices. Blight bogles. I was mixed up in that malice kill near Glassforge last spring—as close a witness as I could be. Bogles take farmer slaves, if they can. If one’s set up on the river, it’d be just as happy to take boatmen slaves, I’d imagine. And it wouldn’t necessarily know about selling stolen goods downstream.” Although its new minions might. Could a malice dispatch them to such a distance without risking losing control of them? Maybe not.

And yet…the whole Grace Valley was well-patrolled, not only by Lakewalkers from the several ferry camps strung along the river, but also by any Lakewalkers passing up or down in their narrow boats. It wasn’t a neglected backwoods region, by any means. Could a malice as strong as the Glassforge one pass undetected for a year or more? The Glassforge one did, she reminded herself. I need to tell Dag about this.

Cutter looked as if the idea of a river bogle didn’t sit well with him, but he didn’t reject it out of hand. If it was a malice snatching boats, all Cutter’s big men with big knives would be no use to him. But a lot of use to the malice. Fawn shivered.

Whit, watching her mulish expression anxiously, said, “Hey, Fawn, try one of these!” and pushed his plate of gaping mussel shells toward her. She picked one up and eyed it; Berry leaned over and showed her how to detach the morsel from its housing. Fawn chewed dubiously, without as much effect as she would have thought, gulped, and stole some of Whit’s beer for a chaser. Berry absently helped herself to a few more.

“If you find a pearl,” Cutter put in, watching Fawn with some amusement, “you get to keep it. They take back the shells, though.”

All those buttons, after all. Still, the notion of a pearl was enough to make her try one more, till Whit pulled back his plate in defense.

Cutter turned more seriously to Berry. “Your missing folks aren’t necessarily connected to ours. Or else the problem goes back farther than I thought. But my keel will be downriver before your flat, I expect, and I can ask after your folks, too, while I’m asking. What are the names again?”

Cutter listened carefully to Berry’s descriptions of her papa, brother Buckthorn, Alder, and their crewmen. She didn’t mention her betrothal, and from the pause in his chewing Fawn thought Whit noticed this. Remarking that two sets of ears were better than one, Cutter returned the names and some descriptions of the Tripoint boats and bosses—bewildering to Fawn, especially as some boats were named after men, but Berry seemed to follow it all. Berry even remarked of one boat, or boss, “Oh, I know that keel; Papa and us worked it upriver from Graymouth ’bout three years back,” which made Cutter nod.