Prim was somewhat crestfallen to learn that she would not be journeying directly to the mainland (to say nothing of acquiring legendary weapons and delving into cryptic archives!) and so was a few moments putting her feelings in check.

“A minute ago you said ‘south of here’ and now it’s ‘down south,’ which to me sounds farther,” Brindle pointed out. “In plain language, just where is this person?”

“Well, it’s impossible to be sure,” said Corvus, “but at last report he was pursuing a line of investigation that only makes sense if he is hanging around along the brink of the Newest Shiver.”

Brindle could scarcely believe it. “But that runs across the Last Bit!”

“Yes,” said Corvus with a nervous sideways hop.

“That is very nearly as far south as Toravithranax!” Prim exclaimed. But whereas Brindle might have said the same words in a stormy tone of voice, Prim couldn’t help sounding rather pleased.

“Yes,” Corvus allowed, “and really it will be simplest if we just tell Robst that that’s where we are going. I’ll mention the side trip to the Last Bit once we are under way.”

“Well, if we’re to sail right under the towers of Secondel . . . ,” Brindle began, employing a common abbreviation of “Secondeltown.”

“No choice,” put in Lyne, “in that small of a boat.”

“. . . then we had better make other arrangements for Edda and Burr!” Brindle concluded.

Prim didn’t entirely follow, but it seemed reasonable to guess that it might have something to do with the detail that had come up the other evening about Burr’s having terminated one of his past lives by getting into some kind of altercation with an angel. That was the sort of activity that could, among the El-fearing souls of Secondel, certainly put a dent in one’s reputation.

Prim had noticed that Edda slept rarely, if at all. She was up at all hours with night owls like Brindle, and yet no matter how early Prim got out of bed, Edda was always awake and engaged in some sort of project. That night, Brindle broke form and went to bed early enough that his breathing kept Prim awake, and so she got up and went to the house’s front room, on its ground floor, where they had piled the things they had carried with them up from the boat. Among those was the tube containing the maps. Prim had a thought that she might unroll the big one—her favorite—and refresh her memory. But as she descended the stairs she saw lantern light flickering on the wall, and when she came round the corner into the front room she found Edda seated cross-legged on the floor with the big map spread out on her lap. It had suffered some damage from moisture. The dyes had dissolved into stains and some of the stitched-on bits had been ruined. Prim’s instinct would have been to make such small repairs as she might, in the hopes of preserving what information still remained. But Edda, not one for half measures, had simply pulled out all the damaged parts, stripping the map down to bare animal hide, and begun to redo them. The old needle holes in the leather, the stains from the dyes, the pattern of faded and unfaded hide, presumably gave her some reminders as to where the rivers were supposed to flow, where cities and mountains were thought to exist, and so on. But as Prim padded over to watch the darting of Edda’s needle, she saw that the giantess was not overly concerned with precisely copying the story that the map had formerly told.