Then Lief smelled smoke, and understood.
“Fire!” he shouted.
As the word left his mouth there was a roar from somewhere in the ship’s belly. The portholes shattered and jets of flame belched from them. Great cracks opened in the ship’s side, and the gaps were filled with raging fire. The rain hissed and steamed as it hit the burning wood.
Dain and the polypan leaped together, crashing down into the rowboat. It tilted sideways, a great wave of water surging over the side, throwing Lief backwards, tearing the oars from his hands.
The boat righted itself again. It wallowed in the swell, rapidly drifting sideways, weighed down by two extra passengers and the water that swirled inside it. Stunned by his fall, Dain lay slumped against a seat as Jasmine bailed frantically and Lief and Barda scrambled for the oars. The polypan screamed, clinging to the point of the bow. It knew boats. It knew all too well what could happen to this one.
Cries of rage rose from the riverbank. The pirates had heard the noise, discovered the loss of the boat and seen the fire. Lief, grimly trying to keep the boat steady, saw their shadows leaping in the glow of the lantern they had lit once more. But that tiny glow was nothing compared to the inferno that the ship had become.
It seemed incredible that fire could rage while rain poured from above and angry water rushed below. But the fire had started below the deck, and roared out of control through the stores.
“It was the polypan!” Dain shouted, pulling himself upright. “It threw a lantern into the cabin under the deck where the oil, grease, and paint are stored. The rain and the pirates’ beatings have driven it mad!”
As has its longing for the brown gum it loves to chew, perhaps, thought Lief, staring at the screeching, long-armed figure clinging to the bow. Ah, how it must wish it had never left the River Queen.
“We must get away from the ship!” Barda roared over the rain. “If it begins to sink it will pull us down with it!”
He and Lief bent again to the oars. But their clumsy efforts were of little use. Nothing seemed to stop that perilous sideways drift. As fast as Jasmine bailed, more water splashed over the side.
The polypan shrieked, its eyes glazed with terror. Then, without any warning, it suddenly sprang from its place at the bow and leaped for Lief and Barda, thrusting them aside and seizing the oars itself.
Cursing, Barda lunged for it.
“No!” shouted Lief. “Leave it! It can row far better than we can. It can save us all!”
With two deft sweeps of the oars, the polypan turned the boat. Then, back bending, powerful arms bulging, it began to row. And as if the boat recognized that at last it was in the hands of an expert, it began to cut through the swell like a knife through warm butter. In moments it had pulled clear of the burning ship and was heading straight across the river.
Jasmine continued to bail and as the water slowly disappeared from the bottom of the boat their speed increased. Soon the burning ship was far behind them. They knew that ahead was the broad, straight water of Broad River, and the bridge that arched over it. Ahead, too, was the sad village of Where Waters Meet, and the little jetty that bore the River Queen sign.
Filli chattered excitedly, snuffling the air.
“We are very close!” Jasmine exclaimed. “We are almost at the bank!”
The polypan turned, baring its brown, chattering teeth. Its arms did not stop their work for a moment, but its eyes seemed to burn as they searched the darkness.
Water swirled around them as the swollen waters of the two rivers mingled. The boat raced forward. It is like cutting through a whirlpool, Lief thought, gripping his seat. If the polypan was not rowing, we would never survive this.
But the next moment, the polypan was not rowing. It had jumped from its place, abandoning the oars. It was springing to the bow and leaping past Jasmine and Dain — out and away into the darkness.
There was a thump, and the sound of running feet.
“The jetty!” Jasmine screamed.
Wildly she leaned from the boat, snatching at the piers of the old jetty, at the pole that supported the River Queen sign. But the raging water snatched the boat away before she could take hold. Then the boat was being swept down the river, spinning, spinning. One of the dragging oars dug deep into the water, pulled free, toppled into the swirling tide and was lost.
Barda lunged for the other, but reached it too late. Before he could grasp it, it had followed its fellow.
Then the companions could do nothing — nothing but cling to the sides of their lurching craft, as the treacherous waters swept them away.
Stillness. Silence. Pink light through closed eyelids. Lief woke in confusion. Lay still in fear. The last thing he remembered was the boat crashing against something, spinning around, then continuing its mad, swirling dash into darkness.
Did I fall asleep? he thought. How could that be?
But he had slept, or else fainted. That much was clear. For here he was, waking. The rain had stopped. The terrible night had passed.
Or — was this death? This light, peaceful drifting — was it how all the struggle ended?
He opened his eyes. The sky was pink above him. Dawn.
Slowly he sat up. Before him was a lake — a huge lake, smooth as glass. Jasmine slept beside him, her cheek on the hard boards of a bench, Kree standing guard beside her. Barda lay not far away, breathing steadily. And Dain — Dain was sitting in the bow, his dark eyes filled with wonder.
Lief wet his lips. “Where are we?” he heard himself ask huskily. “What happened?”
“We hit something — a sandbar, I think, made by the flood,” Dain said slowly. “It must have knocked us into a channel separated from the main river. So we floated here, into the great lake, instead of being swept farther downstream.”
“But there is no lake beside the River Tor!” Lief protested. He shook his head, unable to believe his own eyes. Yet he could see in the distance the broad band of the river moving on to the sea.
“Once, it seems, there was a lake,” said Dain softly. “And now, because of the flood, there is a lake again. Do you not see? These are the reed beds, Lief. Now they are a lake, as once they always were. And now there is no fog to hide what lies at the lake’s edge.”
He pointed. Lief turned. And there, directly behind him, was dry land and a vast shimmer of light.
“It is Tora,” Dain whispered. “Tora.”
Lief narrowed his eyes against the dazzling glare, and finally made out the gleaming shapes of towers, turrets, and walls. In his amazement he thought at first that the buildings themselves were shining, glowing from within by some sort of magic. Then he realized that the shimmer was caused by the rays of the early morning sun striking thousands of hard white surfaces, polished smooth.
He looked away, rubbing his streaming eyes. It was impossible to see the city clearly. And yet, he had seen enough to feel puzzled, as well as filled with awe, at its silent, untouched beauty.
“Tora was carved by magic from a marble mountain,” said Dain. “It is perfect — all of one piece, without crack or seam.”
His voice seemed stronger, deeper. Lief glanced at him, wondering, and saw that he was sitting very upright. As had happened once before since Lief had known him, he suddenly looked older, prouder, and less frail. His mouth was firm. His eyes were shining. It was as though a mask had dropped from his face, leaving it unguarded.
He felt Lief’s gaze and turned away quickly. “Now would be a good time to enter the city,” he said, in his normal voice. “It is very early. Most people will not yet be stirring.”
Without waiting for an answer, he crept gently to the end of the boat, and climbed onto the shore. The boat rocked gently. Jasmine and Barda opened their eyes and sat up, startled.