“Remo. And me. And Hod, but he was too scared to hit him very hard.”

“Ow,” said Fawn.

“He earned it.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

The clinging river mist closed around the narrow boat, although the disembodied cries of Blight it! drifted back for a while longer.

Berry squinted out in satisfaction. “Right. That should make the Fetch a sight more peaceful.” She dusted her hands and led her crew back in to find breakfast.

Fawn hesitated by Dag, who stood with his hand on the rail looking out into the layer of gray damp, but seeing, she suspected, much more than she did. There was scant satisfaction in him, only close attention. “There,” he said at last, straightening. “He’s got his paddle back.”

“Is that the end of him?” Fawn asked hopefully.

Dag smiled down at her. “Well, there’s this. He’s a Lakewalker boy away from home for the first time, all alone. He’s not going upstream by himself, that’s for sure. His only choice is to keep going down, like us. So we’ll see.”

She frowned at him in doubt. “Do you want him to come back?”

“I don’t like losing patrollers.”

“You kept Remo. That’s one.”

“I don’t like losing two patrollers ’bout twice as much as I don’t like losing one.”

“Well, I hope you can find more value in Barr with your groundsense than I can with my eyes and ears.”

“I hope I can, too, Spark,” he sighed.

Though the weather stayed cloudy and chilly, the Fetch made steady downriver progress all that day. The enclosing hills flattened out, sign, Berry explained to Fawn, that they were passing west out of the hinterland of Oleana into level Raintree. The riverbanks were drained of color, sodden brown with gray tree boles broken only by an occasional glum-looking river village, or sometimes dun farm fields open down to the water. No longer autumn…not yet winter.

Berry kept Remo on the sweeps with her—possibly, Fawn figured, to avert another grounding, since she encouraged Remo, in a way Bo had not, to offer warnings. At least Bo did not ignore Dag’s laconic remarks. Clearly, river pilot could be another job for Lakewalkers amongst farmers, in addition to medicine maker. When Fawn started sorting through the possibilities with an open mind, it seemed to her that farmers and Lakewalkers offered vast possibilities to each other, for all that Lakewalkers scorned any task that diverted them from hunting malices. Yet someday the last blight bogle ever had to emerge and be destroyed. What would patrollers do when there was no more need for patrols? Not in my lifetime, Dag had said. Maybe Lakewalkers were better off not dwelling on an end none of them would live to see.

She glimpsed Barr’s narrow boat ahead of them a couple of times that day, and what might have been a campfire on the far shore that night, till the rains came again and doused the distant glow. The following day she saw his boat trailing far behind, an ink-stroke on the gray water, before the Fetch rounded another curve and the shifting shoreline hid it.

“Isn’t a narrow boat faster than us?” she asked Dag, peering under the edge of her hand when they were both out on the back deck for a moment. “I’d think he should have pulled ahead. Or stopped somewhere and bought that broke-down horse.”

“He imagines he’s trailing us just out of groundsense range. Which he is—of his and Remo’s. Though not of mine.”

“How long d’you think he’ll follow us?”

“Not much longer. With all his gear we threw into his boat, no one included any food. And I doubt hunting in the rain and dark on shore is likely to offer him much reward, especially without a cook fire.”

Fawn hadn’t noticed Barr’s lack of supplies in the rush. Dag did. And had said nothing. What was he up to?

Dag went on, “Rain again tonight, I expect. Perfect.”

“Perfect for what?”

“Sober reflection, Spark. Fasting is supposed to be good for meditating on one’s sins.” His dour smile faded a trifle. “Barr’s in trouble and he knows it. He’s getting his first taste of banishment. There are reasons in our grounds that Lakewalkers regard banishment as the next thing to a death sentence. If he’s let his bow-strings get as wet as I think, I give him till tomorrow night, tops.”

“To do what?”

“Well, that’ll be somewhat up to him.”

“I dunno, Dag. If I wanted some particular thing, I don’t think I’d leave it entirely up to Barr.”

He gave her a reassuring nod. “I’m not planning to, Spark.”

The narrow boat trailed them disconsolately all the following morning. Around noon, it spurted forward as if in sudden decision. Fawn wondered if this had anything to do with the smell of the baking apple pies wafting in their wake, which Dag had asked for especially for today’s lunch. She and Dag stepped out onto the back deck to lean on the rail and watch as Barr paddled close to the side of the Fetch where Remo held a sweep. Berry and Whit were on roof crew with him, this hour. They all stared down coldly as Barr hailed them. He looked pinched and pale, and nothing like as self-righteous as upon his first arrival.

Berry glowered over the side. “What are you doin’ back here?”

Barr jerked his chin. “It’s a free river.”

Berry shrugged; her frown did not change.

“Remo,” Barr called plaintively, “what is it you’re planning to do once you get to the blighted sea, anyway?”

Remo gave his sweep a long pull. “Turn around. Or keep walking, maybe. Depends on how I feel about things by then.”

Barr winced. “All right. It’s plain you won’t come back with me. I, um, accept that.”

Remo said nothing.

Barr took a fortifying breath. “Can I come with you?”

Remo’s brows flew up. “What?”

“To the sea. Can I come with you?” Barr stared up in something very like pleading.

Remo stared down in unflattering astonishment. “Why would I want you? Why would anyone?”

“I sure don’t,” said Berry.

“Ma’am.” Barr ducked his head at her. “I could pay my passage. Partway, at least.”

“I wouldn’t have you on my boat for any money,” said Berry.

“I could work? Like Remo?”

“You?” She snorted. “I ain’t seen you lift a hand yet.”

“You wouldn’t have to pay me…Look, I’m sorry, all right?”

Dag’s lips twitched; he gave Fawn’s shoulder a squeeze and climbed up onto the Fetch’s roof. Bending his head, he murmured to Berry. She shot him a startled frown, then a slow, respectful look that started at his boots and traveled to his serious face, and said, “I don’t know, patroller. I suppose you can try.”

He nodded and dropped back down to the rear deck. “Barr, bring your boat alongside. You and I need to have a private talk about some things.”

He motioned Barr closer. When Barr brought his boat clumping up to the hull, Dag climbed down and lowered himself into it, facing Barr, and shoved them away. Barr stroked slowly backward till they were well out of earshot, then set his paddle across his lap. Only then did Dag lean grimly forward and start talking.

Fawn scrambled up onto the roof to stand in the line with Remo, Whit, and Berry, watching.

“What’s Dag doing?” asked Whit, craning his neck.

“Well,” said Berry, “he said he wanted to talk to the boy, patroller-to-patroller like. And then we’d see what we’d see.”

Barr waved his hands; Dag’s spine straightened in skepticism. He leaned forward and spoke again, and Barr rocked backward.

“I think that may be more like company captain to patroller,” Fawn allowed.

“Was he a—oh, yes, in Raintree,” began Remo. “I suppose the famous Fairbolt Crow wouldn’t have given Dag that command if he hadn’t thought he could handle it.”

“Fairbolt didn’t just think,” said Fawn. “He knew. Dag’d been a company captain before, when he patrolled up in Luthlia.”

“Luthlia!” said Remo. “That’s tough country. I met a couple of patrollers from there once, came across our ferry. They scared me.” He eyed Dag in new speculation.