Above she heard Sooth give out a shriek. Other than that, the whole place was silent for a few moments. Then it erupted into a welter of voices, mostly in the crude simple version of Townish spoken by Beedles. They all wished to know where Delegate Elshield was. Very few had seen him cease to exist, and so all they knew was that he was nowhere to be seen and that his clothes and weapon lay on the quay as if he had discarded them.

The only possible explanation seemed to be that he had disrobed and jumped into the water in an effort to rescue Brindle, and so a lot of Beedles who had only just climbed out from trying to rescue Prim now jumped back in again. All was wildly confused.

It wasn’t merely that no one knew what had happened. The removal of Elshield’s mind from the top of the chain of command had left not only the Beedles but the Autochthons uncertain as to what they should do.

Prim, enjoying now the luxury of being completely ignored, became conscious of the fact that from the waist down she was naked except for a pair of dripping-wet drawers, and from there up only had a thin white bodice that was soaked through. Elshield’s long black cloak looked comfortable and warm, and no one was using it. She bent down, picked it up by its collar, and twirled it around herself. The sword and strap tumbled loose. It couldn’t hurt to have such a thing, and Brindle had given her a few lessons in what to do with a sword, so she picked it up and got the whole rig arranged over her shoulder. It dangled much too low on her thigh, but she could adjust it later.

She did not for one moment, though, imagine that swordplay had been what Brindle had meant, a few minutes ago, when he had said she would find it within herself to fight her way out. No, he’d known from the beginning that she was different. Her whole life, he’d lied to her to protect her from the burden of knowing what she was.

The Beedle to whom Elshield had handed the black mount’s reins was just standing there like a flesh-and-blood hitching post, doing his duty as chaos swirled around him. He, at least, had clear orders: hold the horse. He watched her approach. Elshield’s cloak was much too long for Prim, so its skirt dragged behind her as she walked. Scurrying Beedles kept stepping on it. In spite of which she presently drew to within arm’s length of the mount. She reached out and grasped the reins, above where the Beedle was holding them.

“Let go,” she commanded.

“My lord Elshield ordered not let go,” the Beedle answered. Eyeing Prim warily, he transferred the reins to his weak left hand so that his strong right hand could find the pommel of a long knife in his belt.