“What happened?” she whispered.

“Blod’s gone.”

“I thought you had run away together!”

“Together? Why would I run away?”

“Aren’t you in love with Blod?”

“Certainly not.”

“Oh.” Ethel looked thoughtful, readjusting assumptions. “Then why did you go out with her in the middle of the night?”

“Just to see her on her way.” Edgar did not like lying but, he was beginning to realize, one deception led to another.

Ethel noticed something. “The boat has gone.”

“I’ll tell you the whole story another time,” Edgar said. “Meanwhile, we have to act normally. We say we don’t know where Blod is, we don’t understand her disappearance, but we’re not worried, she’s sure to turn up.”

“All right.”

“For a start, I’ll get you some wood for the fire.”

Ethel went inside. When Edgar reentered with the wood, Dreng and Leaf were awake. Dreng said: “Where’s my dagger?”

“Where you left it last night,” Leaf said tetchily. She was never cheerful in the morning.

“I left it here, in its sheath, attached to my belt. The belt is in my hand now, and the sheath, but there’s no knife.”

“Well, I haven’t got it.”

Edgar dumped the wood and Ethel started to build up the fire.

Dreng looked around. “Where’s that slave?”

No one answered.

Dreng focused on Edgar. “Why are you fetching wood? That’s her job.”

Edgar said: “I expect she went to the churchyard, to visit the grave of her child. She sometimes does that first thing in the morning, when you’re still dead to the world.”

Dreng said indignantly: “She should be here!”

Edgar picked up the bucket. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the water.”

“Fetching the water is her job, not yours.”

Edgar was about to make another conciliatory remark when he realized it would be suspicious if he seemed too emollient, so he let his real feelings show. “You know something, Dreng? Life makes you so unhappy that I wonder you don’t just jump in the godforsaken river and drown your miserable self.”

That got to Dreng. “You insolent puppy!” he shouted.

Edgar went out.

As soon as he was outside he realized he needed to show surprise at the disappearance of the ferry.

He opened the door again. “Where’s the boat?” he said.

Dreng answered. “Where it usually is, you foolish boy.”

“No, it’s not.”

Dreng came to the door and looked out. “Then where has it gone?”

“That’s what I asked you.”

“Well, you should know.”

“It’s your boat.”

“It’s floated off. You didn’t tie it up properly.”

“I tied it up tight. I always do.”

“I suppose the fairies must have untied it,” Dreng sneered. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“Them, or Ironface.”

“Why would Ironface want a boat?”

“Why would the fairies?”

A suspicion began to dawn on Dreng. “Where’s that slave?”

“You already said that.”

Dreng was malign, but he was not stupid. “The boat has gone, my dagger has gone, and the slave has gone,” he said.

“What are you saying, Dreng?”