“I don’t know what you’re saying!” he said, his voice drowned out by the woman’s yells.

Then, ignoring Viola’s and the man’s protests, the villager grasped Barclay by the wrist and dragged him with her down an alley.

“Wh-whatever it is,” Barclay blubbered, “I was only trying to drive the Sleábeaks away! I was protecting the town from…”

He trailed off when he saw where the woman had led him—a completely ruined home, collapsed into a heap of rubble. Though the woman kept yelling, Barclay no longer seemed to hear. He was reminded all too well of a festival in Dullshire, when his Lore had gone out of control and destroyed the town’s famous clocktower. It was one of his worst memories, when everyone he knew had turned on him.

Had he done this?

Even if he had, this time wasn’t like what had happened in Dullshire. He’d saved Knunx, not destroyed it.

But the angry crowd who swarmed around him disagreed. They shouted at him, and even though Barclay didn’t understand the words, their voices were so loud and mean that he trembled all over.

“His fault?” Tadg snapped at a villager, caught up in yet another argument across the street. “It’s thanks to him that your whole sorry town doesn’t look like that!”

Barclay had never heard Tadg defend him before, but he was too frustrated to feel grateful. Because Tadg was right. Knunx should be thanking them. But instead, they would probably distrust Lore Keepers more than ever now.

Something struck Barclay’s back, and an extremely rotten crab apple tumbled to the ground. Someone had thrown it at him, no different from Dullshire.

The crowd parted as Runa marched through to Barclay’s side. “Come on. We’ve clearly overstayed our welcome. And we need to find someone to sail us to the Sea before this storm hits.”

If the villagers had more rotten fruit, they didn’t dare pelt it at Barclay with Runa beside him. And so, his stomach in knots, Barclay let Runa lead him, Viola, and Tadg back to the beach. The haggard man and Yasha waited for them on the pier.

“Cheer up, kid,” the man told Barclay. “You took on a whole flock of them, which was far more than I managed.”

“And you are?” Runa asked, staring at the man carefully, as though she couldn’t tell whether they’d met before.

“Edwyn Lusk.” The man gave a small flourish of his hand. With his other, he held the strips of his shirt together. “And this is my apprentice, Yasha Robinovich. We’re also looking for passage to the Sea.” He glanced overhead, where dark clouds rolled across the sky. “Though this might not be the weather for it.”

“Do you know Sea-speak? This one”—Runa frowned at Tadg—“isn’t much of a charmer.”

Tadg scowled.