More shuffling footsteps crossed from shore, the boat dipped as many feet thudded onto the deck, and the rest of the party arrived on a wave of raised voices too mingled to make out the words, except for some You dids, an I didn’t! and rather a lot of Dag! Dag! Dag winced and took a long swallow of tea, then turned in his chair as the whole mob piled into the little kitchen-bunkroom.

The left side of Barr’s face was deeply reddened; his eye was already swelling shut. Any other damage Fawn could not see, but both Remo and Whit were out of breath, and Hod, of all people, was rubbing his knuckles and looking ready to burst into tears. Barr’s voice broke briefly above the babble: “I did not! Use some sense! Is this the time of day for that sort of thing? Ow, stop that, blight you!” He rose on his toes as Remo hoisted him higher.

Dag pitched his voice, Fawn noticed, really deep: the rumble somehow cut through the noise. “One at a time, please. Boss Berry?”

The uproar died as Whit and Hod poked each other for attention to Dag, and even Hawthorn swallowed his squeaks. Berry stepped forward, grim and angry.

“That patroller of yours”—she pointed a shaking finger at Barr—“tried to do something to my head. Some sorcery.”

“Yeah, and we know what it was, don’t we?” said Remo, hoisting again.

“Ow, no, blight it!”

“Dag?” said Fawn uneasily from the place of safety she’d sought behind his shoulder. “Can you tell who’s telling the truth?”

Dag looked around, pursed his lips, and dipped his chin. He cleared his throat. “Boss Berry, may I touch your head?”

She hesitated a long moment, then looked up to seek Fawn’s eyes: Fawn nodded vigorously. Berry shrugged and stepped forward. Dag leaned back and collected Fawn in the circle of his arm, not for his own reassurance or hers, but for Berry’s, Fawn realized. Very carefully, Dag touched the back of his hook to Berry’s pale forehead. He had to have done something with his ghost hand, because Barr’s mouth dropped open and even Remo’s eyes widened.

“I thought he was just a patroller!” Barr whispered to his partner.

“You thought wrong,” Remo growled back.

“Well.” Dag sighed without pleasure. “There’s a new bit of ground reinforcement here. It’s trying to be shaped as a persuasion, but it isn’t very well made, so I’m not quite sure what it was intended to do if it had been finished.”

“Can you get it back out o’ there?” said Berry nervously.

“I can release any beguilement, and undo the shape so it’s no more directed than any healing reinforcement. Your own ground will convert it in a couple of days. There shouldn’t be any other effect than, well, you won’t be getting any headaches for a bit. Shall I do this now?” His voice, Fawn realized, had gone very gentle.

“Yes!” said Berry. “I don’t want no one puttin’ things in my head I can’t see.”

The little bit of absence in Dag’s eyes passed faster than a blink. “There,” he said, dropping his left arm. “All undone now.”

Berry rubbed her forehead. “I suppose I have to take your word for that.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I didn’t—” began Barr.

“What?” said Dag.

Just that word, with a faint twist of astonishment, but the look that went with it was like nothing Fawn had ever encountered in Dag’s eyes before. She’d never seen his waking face so absolutely wiped clean of any humor whatsoever.

Barr flinched. “I wasn’t trying to seduce her,” he got out, in a much smaller voice.

“What were you trying, then?” said Dag, still in that dead-level tone.

Barr’s teeth clamped.

“I know where Berry keeps the rope, up in the stores,” said Whit grimly. “We could hang him. Plenty of trees back in those woods.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” said Remo. Barr winced.

Berry pressed her temples uncertainly. “It seems I took no harm. Thanks to you boys,” she added a little gruffly, with a nod all around at her crew. The young men all stood a bit taller. “Hanging might be too much.”

“Too much, or too good?” said Whit.

Hod offered helpfully, “My sister made me drown some extra barn kittens once—tied ’em in a sack with some rocks, see. We got some feed bags up front, and there’s plenty of rocks on the bank. We could do that.”

Barr’s eyes shifted toward Hod in deep uncertainty.

“Dag?” said Whit, and “Dag?” echoed Remo and Hod.

“Wait, how’d I get elected judge, here?” said Dag. “It’s Berry’s boat. She’s boss; any decision’s hers.”

“You’re the expert in Lakewalkers,” Berry said. The only trusted one, she did not add aloud, but it sort of hung in the air implied, Fawn felt.

“I’m not Barr’s patrol leader. I’m not even a member of Pearl Riffle patrol. Dag No-camp, indeed. Closest thing Barr has to a senior officer here would be Remo.” Dag tilted his head invitingly at the dark-haired patroller.

What are you thinking, Dag? Fawn wondered. Besides ahead…

Barr said desperately, “Remo, Amma’s holding me responsible for you, and I can’t make you do anything! It’s not fair!”

“Now you know how I’ve always felt about you.” Remo took a breath, nostrils flaring. “It’s Berry’s boat. Whatever she decides, I’ll abide.”

“It wasn’t what you think…”

Berry stalked up to Barr, sweeping her blistering gaze from his boots up to his blond hair. “You are about the most worthless sack of skin I ever met. You ain’t payin’, you ain’t workin’, and you ain’t welcome on my boat. So git!”

“No!” cried Barr in ill-considered defiance. “Not without my partner!”

Dag’s brows went up. “You heard the boat boss. Hod, Whit, get his boat in the water. Fawn, Hawthorn, fetch his things and bung them in. Remo…” Dag stood to his full height as Barr started to struggle. “I’ll lend you a hand.”

The crew of the Fetch scattered into action. Fawn brought the bedroll, conveniently already rolled up, and the bow and quiver, and flung them any which way into the rocking narrow boat right after Hawthorn tossed down the pack and the sacks.

Dag and Remo manhandled the struggling Barr through the door, although he stopped fighting and froze once Dag’s hook eased around and pressed into the corner of one eye. “Don’t move sudden. That’s better. Now, you got two choices,” Dag advised. “You can climb down into your boat from the deck, here, or you can climb up into it from the water, over there.”

The water was black and utterly opaque this morning, and even here by the shore the current raced, making strange patterns on the surface. And it looked so cold Fawn would not have been surprised to see little skins of ice jostling, but it was likely still too early in the season for that.

“I’ll climb down,” Barr choked. The two released him, and he scrambled over the rail, bitter fury in every jerky motion. The narrow boat rocked only a little as he sank, balanced, into his seat. Remo bent down and gave it a hard shove out into the swirling current.

Barr looked around him. “Hey!” he said indignantly. “Where’s my paddle?” He held up both empty hands in protest as his boat drifted farther from the bank.

“Oh, leave him go, just like that!” cried Whit in delight. “Downriver bass-ackwards!”

Berry, lips clamped, stalked over to retrieve one of the narrow boat’s paddles from where they lay by the cabin wall. She strode to the back rail and launched it endwise; it landed a good thirty feet downstream of Barr’s narrow boat, and was caught by the current. If she’d thrown it the same distance upstream, it would have drifted right to Barr’s reaching hand.

“There’s your paddle, patroller boy! Chase it!” she yelled after Barr.

“Nice,” said Whit, leaning on the rail with eyes aglow.

Barr, with a lot of choked muttering in which Blight! was the most frequent word Fawn could make out, leaned from side to side and began clawing the water with his hands in an effort to overtake his paddle’s head start.

“Who gave Barr the shiner?” Fawn asked, leaning beside Whit.