“Why didn’t you kill her?”

“The king expects occasional contact with her. If she totally vanished, he’d grow suspicious.”

“But she has vanished,” Grandmother countered. “She’s vanished to here.”

The captain scratched around his eye socket beneath the patch. “We could force her to write a message or something, so it appeared all was well.”

Grandmother sighed in exasperation. The spy would be too clever, manipulating any message they coerced her to write into revealing her predicament and Second Empire. It was clear to Grandmother that the captain had another agenda when it came to the spy, a personal agenda of retribution that overrode common sense. If she judged the situation right, the spy’s first affront had been becoming the former Lord Mirwell’s closest aide, dearer to him than Captain Immerez. Her second affront had been betraying the old schemer.

“Birch has been sending her out on maneuvers to keep her out of the way,” the captain said. “I suppose he can use that excuse if anyone comes looking for her.”

“Very well,” Grandmother said. The woman stirred with a little cry, then fell unconscious again. The captain had told her that the spy was actually a Green Rider, and it was known to Grandmother that Green Riders, at least historically speaking, had minor abilities with the art. “You know, since we do have this one, there is something I believe I’d like to try.”

“Try?” Captain Immerez asked in surprise.

“I’d like to see what I can learn about the Green Riders and their abilities.”

The captain rubbed the curve of his hook against his chin. “An interrogation would be challenging. She’s a master interrogator herself, and would know how to resist any questioning.”

Grandmother smiled. “It’s not really an interrogation I have in mind, more of a notion of an experiment I’d like to try. Gold chains…” Before she could lose herself in envisioning the procedure, the captain cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I have something for you, carried all the way from Sacor City.” He withdrew a document case from beneath his cloak and proffered it to her with a low bow.

Grandmother clapped in delight. “Wonderful. You and your men have served me well.” She eagerly opened the case. Within lay a fragile, parchment document, scrawled with faint ink. She held it up, the lantern that hung from the center pole of the tent illuminating it with a deep golden glow. She frowned.

“What is it?” the captain asked. “What’s wrong?”

Grandmother sighed and closed the parchment in the case, and handed it back to him. “I can’t read it,” she said.

“You can’t read it?” He opened the case and looked at the parchment.

“Can you?” she asked him.

“N–no. It’s in a different language.”

“That would be ancient Sacoridian,” she told him. “I cannot read it, nor could any of my people here. If Weldon Spurlock were still alive, he might be able to, but he’s very much gone. I need a translation.”

“I–I see.”

“Do you? The parchment is worthless without it. How will you rectify the situation, Captain?”

“I’ll—I’ll find a way.”

“I would not wish for you to fail,” Grandmother said. “I am nearly done with the pouch, but I dare not use it until I have this parchment translated.” She pointed to the pouch, about the size of a finger, lying atop the skeins of yarn in her basket. She had knit all her different colors into it, the red, brown, indigo, and sky blue.

Immerez hooked his thumb into his swordbelt. “I do not understand why—”

“This parchment contains instructions for reading the book of Theanduris Silverwood. Books of magic sometimes require very specific instructions for their handling and reading. I would hate the book to destroy itself before it can be read because it was improperly handled.”

“I see,” the captain said. “I think I know where to find you that translation. It may take a while, though.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the tent.

“Don’t take too long,” she called out after him.

He was a clever man and she had confidence in him. He would find a way for her to translate the instructions. She put it out of her mind for now, gazing down at the spy, who lay at her feet, helpless and hurt. She could go back to her own fire and work on the pouch, which she could easily finish tonight, or make those booties for Amala’s baby that was due in a few weeks. But, when it came down to it, the project that intrigued her most concerned their captive and gold chains.

When she perceived someone watching her, she glanced at the tent flaps and saw light glinting in a pair of eyes. “Come, girl,” she told her granddaughter. “You can help me figure this out.”

Lala stepped into the tent, gazed down at the spy, then up at her grandmother. Yes, they would figure it out together.

FERGAL’S EXPLANATION

Over the days that followed, Karigan’s usual strength returned. She sat in her room and wrote numerous versions of an angry letter to her father, all of which she wadded up and tossed into the fire. There just wasn’t any easy way to address his “association” with the Golden Rudder in letter form that did not make her sound insufferable, especially considering the subject matter. No, she’d have to discuss this with him in person. She was sorely tempted to sail down the Grandgent to Corsa while Fergal continued his recovery, but she dared not leave him unchaperoned for too long in the hands of the ladies of the Golden Rudder.