“I most certainly do.”

“Even though you look nothing like Ben Holiday at all, you wear a workman’s clothing, and you travel without retainers or standard?”

“I explained all that …”

“Yes, yes, yes!” The River Master shook his head. “You certainly have the High Lord’s boldness, if nothing else.”

He seemed to consider the matter for a moment, saying nothing. The guards about him and the chastened guide were like statues. Ben waited impatiently. A handful of faces appeared from behind the trunks of surrounding trees, materializing through the rain and gloom. The River Master’s people were growing curious.

Finally, the River Master cleared his throat. “Very well. I don’t accept that you are Landover’s High Lord, but whoever you are, allow me to explain a few things about the creature with whom you travel. First, prism cats are fairy creatures—true fairy creatures, not exiles and emigrants like the people of the lake country. Prism cats are almost never seen beyond the mists. Second, they do not normally keep company with humans. Third, they are uniformly unpredictable; no one pretends to understand fully what they are about. And fourth, wherever they journey, they bring trouble. You are fortunate that you were allowed into Elderew at all in the company of a prism cat. Had I known that you traveled with one, I would almost certainly have kept you out.”

Ben sighed wearily, then nodded. Apparently superstitions about cats weren’t confined to just his world. “Okay, I promise to keep all that in mind in the future,” he replied, fighting to keep the irritation from his voice. “But the fact remains you did not keep me or the cat out, so here we are and whether you believe that I am High Lord of Landover or not doesn’t really matter a rat’s whiskers. I still need your help if I …”

A sudden gust of rain blew into his face, and he choked on what he was about to say next. He paused, shivering within the cold and damp of his clothing. “Do you suppose that we could continue this discussion somewhere dry?” he asked quietly.

The other man studied him silently, his expression unchanged.

“River Master, your daughter may be in great danger,” Ben whispered. “Please!”

The River Master continued to study him a moment longer, then beckoned him to follow. A wave of one hand dismissed the guide. The faces of the watching villagers disappeared just as quickly. They walked a short distance through the trees to a gazebolike shelter formed of sculpted spruce, the guards trailing watchfully. A pair of benches sat within the shelter facing each other over a broad, hollowed stump converted to a planter of flowers. The River Master seated himself on one bench, and Ben took the other. The rain continued to fall all about them, a soft, steady patter on the forest trees and earth, but it was dry within the shelter.

Dirk appeared, jumped up beside Ben, settled down with all four paws tucked away, and closed his eyes sleepily.