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.

For the third time in her life, Prim wished someone dead, and no sooner did the thought form in her mind than the Beedle ceased to exist. She stooped to pick up his knife, which looked more wieldy than Elshield’s sword. Then she put her bare foot in the stirrup and mounted up into the saddle. No one seemed to notice or care save Sooth, who had been seeing all of this from the top of the wall above. “After her! After her!” Sooth screeched as Prim kicked the mount up to a canter.

The gate leading from the quay into the city was wide open. She rode through, turned south on the main street, and made the mount gallop. Behind her she could hear hooves on paving stones and knew that some Autochthons were in pursuit.