“On three,” Wally announced, and they began stroking together, pulling hard and fast, so that the bow noticeably rose and a wake began to froth. Caught by surprise, Etcher stumbled backward and nearly fell.

“What the blazes are—” Etcher started when Royce leapt over the gunwale and disappeared. “Damn fool. What does he expect us to do, wait for him?”

“Don’t worry about Royce,” Hadrian replied as he and Wally stroked in unison. To Arista, the wherry did seem to drop farther back but perhaps that was only wishful thinking.

“South Bridge,” Etcher whispered.

As they approached, Arista saw another fire blazing. This time it was a boat dock burning like well-aged kindling. The old South Bridge, which marked the city’s boundary, was not nearly as high as the Langdon, and Arista could easily see the guards.

“They aren’t going for it this time,” Hadrian said. “They’re staying at their posts.”

“Quiet. We might slip by,” Etcher whispered.

With oars held high, they all sat as still as statues. Arista found herself in command of the skiff as it floated along in the current. She quickly learned how the rudder affected the boat. The results felt backward to her. Pulling right made the bow swing left. Terrified of making a mistake, she concentrated on keeping the boat centered and straight. Up ahead, something odd was being lowered from the bridge. It looked like cobwebs or tree branches dangling. She was going to steer around it when she realized it stretched the entire span.

“They draped a net!” Etcher said a little too loudly.

Wally and Hadrian back paddled, but the river’s current was the victor and the skiff flowed helplessly into the fishnet. The boat rotated, pinning itself sideways. Water frothed along the length, threatening to tip them.

“Shore your boat and don’t move from it!” A shout echoed down from above.

A lantern lowered from the bridge revealed their struggles to free themselves from the mesh. Etcher, Wally, and Hadrian slashed at the netting with knives, but before they could clear it, two imperial soldiers descended and took up position on the bank. Each was armed with a crossbow.

“Stop now or we’ll kill you where you stand,” the nearest soldier ordered with a harsh, anxious voice. Hadrian nodded and the three dropped their knives.

Arista could not take her eyes off the crossbows. She knew those weapons. She had seen Essendon soldiers practicing with them in the yard. They pierced old helms placed on dummies, leaving huge holes through the heavy metal. These were close enough for her to see the sharp iron heads of the bolts—the power to pierce armor held in check by a small trigger and pointed directly at them.