“Remember,” the princess whispered through the metal grid. “Go to Gutaria Prison and speak to Esrahaddon. And please, keep my brother safe.”

An incomprehensible series of mumbles emitted from the prince from under the potato sack. While they were not certain exactly what he was saying, Royce and Hadrian could tell the prince was doing his best to shout and was decidedly displeased with his situation.

The cold water backing up from the Galewyr River into the sewer woke him. They were waist deep in it now and while the smell was better, the temperature was not. Looking out through the end of the cistern, the first pale light of dawn revealed the difference between the forested horizon and the sky. Night was melting away fast, and they could hear the Mares Cathedral bell ringing for early service. The whole city would be waking soon.

Hadrian calculated they were below Gentry Square, not far from Artisan Row where the city met the river. Determining their location was an easy guess, because it was the only section of town with covered sewers. A metal grate enclosed the end of the sewer. Hadrian was relieved to find hinges and a lock sealing it instead of bolts. Royce made quick work of the lock, and the rusted hinges surrendered to a few solid kicks from Hadrian. With the way clear, Royce went out to scout while Hadrian sat at the mouth of the sewer with Alric.

The prince had worked his gag loose, and Hadrian could recognize his words now. “I’ll have you flailed to death! Release me this instant.”

“You’ll be quiet,” Hadrian replied, “or I’ll let you go into the river and we’ll see how well you tread water with your hands and feet tied.”

“You wouldn’t dare! I am the King of Melengar, you swine!”

Hadrian kicked Alric’s legs out from under him, and the prince fell face down. After allowing him to struggle for a few moments, Hadrian pulled him up. “Now keep your mouth shut or I might leave you to drown next time.” Alric coughed and sputtered but did not speak another word.

Royce returned, having slipped into the sewer soundlessly. “We are right on the river. I found a small boat by a fisherman’s dock and took the liberty of commandeering it in His Majesty’s name. It’s just down the slope in a stand of reeds.”

“No!” The prince protested and shook his shoulders violently. “You must release me. I am the king!”

Hadrian gripped him by the throat and into his ear whispered, “What did I tell you about talking? Not a sound or you swim.”

“But—”

Hadrian dunked the prince again, pulled him up for a short breath, and dunked him once more. “Not another sound,” Hadrian growled.

Alric sputtered, and Hadrian, dragging the prince with him, followed Royce down the slope.

The craft was little more than an oversized rowboat, bleached by the sun and filled with nets and small painted buoys. The heavy smell of fish from the boat helped to mask the stench of sewage. A tarp, stretched to form a little tent used to store gear or to serve as a shelter, covered the bow. They stuffed the prince underneath, pinning him there with the nets and buoys.

Hadrian pushed off the bank with a long pole he found in the boat. Royce used the wooden rudder to steer the small craft as the river did the work of propelling them downstream. Near the headwaters, the current of the Galewyr was strong, and forward momentum was no problem. They found themselves working to keep the boat in the center of the river as they moved swiftly westward. Just as the sky was turning from a charcoal gray to dull steel, they passed under the shadow of the city of Medford. From the river, they could see the great tower of Essendon Castle, its falcon standard flying at half-mast for the dead king. The flag was a good sign, but how long before they discovered the prince was missing and they removed it?

The river marked the southern edge of the city, skirting along Artisan Row. Large two-story warehouses of gray brick lined the bank, and great wooden wheels jutted out into the river, catching the current to power the millstones and lumberyards. Because the shallow waters of the Galewyr prevented the passage of deep-keeled ships, numerous docks serviced flat-bottomed barges that brought goods from the small seaport village of Roe. There were also piers built by the fishing industry, which led directly to fish markets, where pulleys raised large nets and dumped them onto the cutting floor. In the early morning light, the gulls had already begun to circle the docks where fisherman had started to clear the lines on their skiffs. No one paid particular attention to the two men in a small boat drifting down the river. Nevertheless, they stayed low in the boat until the last signs of the city disappeared behind the rising banks of the river.

The day’s light grew strong, as did the pull of the current. Rocks appeared and the river trench deepened. Neither Royce nor Hadrian was an expert boatman, but they did their best dodging the rocks and shallows. Royce remained at the tiller, while Hadrian, on his knees, used the long wooden pole to push the bow clear of obstacles. A few times, they glanced off unseen boulders, and the hull lurched abruptly with a deep unpleasant thud. When it did, they could hear the prince whimper, but otherwise, he remained quiet, and their trip was a smooth one.

In time, the full face of the sun rose overhead, and the river widened considerably and settled into a gentle flow with sandy banks and rich green fields beyond. The Galewyr divided two kingdoms. To the south lay Glouston, the northern marchland of the kingdom of Warric. To the north was Galilin, the largest province in Melengar administered by Count Pickering. At one time, the river had been a hotly disputed division between two uneasy warlords, but those days were gone. Now, it was a peaceful fence between good neighbors and both banks remained lovely, untroubled pastoral scenes of the late season, filled with hay mounds and grazing cows.

The day became unusually warm. Being so late in the year, there were few insects about. The cicadas’ drone had disappeared, and even the frogs were quiet. The only sound that remained was the soft gentle breeze through the dry grasses. Hadrian reclined across the boat with his head on the bundle of the steward son’s old clothes and his feet on the gunwale. His cloak and boots were off and his shirt was open. Similarly, Royce lay with his legs up, idly guiding the boat. The sweet scent of wild salifan was strong in the air, the fragrance more pungent after surviving the year’s first frost. Except for the lack of food, the day was turning out to be quite wonderful and would have been even if they had not just escaped a horrible death hours before.

Hadrian tilted his head back to catch the full light of the sun on his face. “Maybe we should be fishermen.”

“Fishermen?” Royce asked dubiously.

“This is pretty nice, isn’t it? I never realized how much I like the sound of water lapping against a boat before. I’m enjoying this: the buzzing of a dragonfly, the sight of the cattails, and the bank drifting lazily by.”

“Fish don’t just jump into the boat you know?” Royce pointed out. “You have to cast nets, haul them in, gut the fish, cut off their heads, and scale them. You don’t just get to drift.”

“Putting it that way makes it sound oddly more like work.” Hadrian scooped a handful of water from the river and splashed it on his warm face. He ran his wet fingers through his hair and sighed contentedly.

“You think he’s still alive?” Royce asked, nodding his head toward Alric.

“Sure,” Hadrian replied without bothering to look. “He’s probably sleeping. Why do you ask?”

“I was just pondering something. Do you think a person could smother in a wet potato bag?”

Hadrian lifted his head and looked over at the motionless prince. “I really hadn’t thought about it until now.” He got up and shook Alric, but the prince did not stir. “Why didn’t you mention something earlier!” he said, drawing his dagger. He cut through the ropes and pulled the bag clear.