"NOTHING yet?" William glanced at Cerise.
The hobo girl shook her head. The fishing line trailed forgotten behind the boat. She sat alert, her gaze scanning the banks, her body calm but ready. Like a veteran soldier expecting an attack.
"Something's wrong," she murmured. "The stream should be teeming with fish. It's too well blocked for sharks and too small for ervaurgs."
"Or you might suck at fishing." He surveyed the swamp. Torn clouds dappled the sky. The willows lined the shore, like slender women washing their locks in the water. No small noises, except for the distant shrieks of some insane bird.
William inhaled deeply. No odd scents, beyond the usual smorgasbord of algae, fish, and vegetation. And Cerise. She was right. It was too quiet.
The hobo queen rolled into a crouch and reached into her jacket. Here comes the blade. He'd been waiting for her to pull it out again. A foot long, narrow, single-edged, simple hilt. In good shape. She wasn't homeless - the sword gave her away before the teeth did - but the way she held it struck him as odd. Her grip was loose. Almost delicate, with the hilt caught in her long slender fingers. Clutching your weapon made you clumsy, but a firm grip was best. If you held you sword like it was a painting brush, sooner or later someone would knock it out of your hand.
Ahead an old willow leaned over the bank, its long branches cascading down to the river. A dark shadow shifted in the water under the willow leaves.
"Don't move," Cerise whispered.
He froze, pole in his hand. The boat glided slowly, using up the last of its speed.
Ripples pulsed under the willow, wrinkled the river, and vanished.
Cerise crouched at the bow, watching the water like a hawk.
A huge blunt head sliced through the river an inch from the surface, followed by a sinuous serpentine body. William held his breath. It kept coming and coming, impossibly long, moving in total silence, so enormous it seemed unreal. A low fin sliced through the water, sun glinted on the brown hide speckled with yellow flecks, and the creature vanished.
At least fifteen feet. Maybe more.
"A mud eel," Cerise whispered.
William nodded toward the pole. She shook her head.
The boat drifted downstream, heading for the right bank. The bottom scraped mud. They stopped. He raised the pole to push off.
The eel smashed into the side of the boat with a thud. The craft went flying. William leaped onto the bank. His feet touched the mud, it gave, suddenly liquid, and he sank to his hips.
The eel's blunt head reared from the water and hissed, its black maw flashing a forest of sharp needle teeth. The creature lunged onto dry land, clawing at the mud with short stubby paws. The damn thing had legs. Fucked-up place, fucked-up fish.
William spun the pole and rammed it into the nightmarish mouth. Jaws locked on the wood, ripping it out of his hands. Round fish eyes fixed on him, expressionless and stupid.
He pulled a knife from his jacket.
The eel reared back. A bright red mark glowed on its forehead, a crimson skull with two gaping black circles for eyes.
William snarled.
The fish lunged.
Steel flashed, biting deep into the eel's left orbit, and withdrew. The milky gel of the fish eye slid free, its golden iris glistening like a small coin on wet cotton.
The eel jerked. Its huge body whipped around. The fish plunged into the river and sped away.
The hobo girl sighed and wiped the blade on her sleeve. "A single sinkhole on this bank for fifty feet in any direction and you managed to jump right into it. That takes real talent. Are you trying to make my job harder, Lord Bill?"
Lord Bill?
"The name's William. You stole my kill." He put his hands against the mud, trying to lift himself free, but it just crumbled under him. She could slit his throat from ear to ear, and there wasn't much he could do about it.
"Sure I did. You were just about to rip that big bad fish to tiny pieces." Cerise grabbed a willow with her left hand and leaned toward him. He gripped her fingers. She grunted and pulled him free.
Strong for a woman. And quick, too. That was one of the fastest strikes he'd ever seen.
Cerise was looking at him. "You look adorable."
Black slimy mud stained his pants, filling the air with the scent of old rot. Great. And he didn't even get to kill the fish.
"It's peat," she said. "It will wash right off. The eel won't be back for a few minutes, so if you want to clean up, now is your chance."
William pulled off his boots, emptying half a gallon of sludge onto the bank, and waded into the stream. The oily peat rolled off him in a slick wave, leaving no stains.
That was a hell of a sword thrust, fast, precise. Professional. The Mirror had no female agents in the Mire. Maybe she was Hand, one of Spider's crew. William ran through Spider's known flunkies in his mind, mentally comparing her to the women. No match. Either the Mirror had no information about her or they had neglected to share it.
William had a distinct urge to turn around, grab her, dunk her under the water, and wash all that dirt off her face, so he could see what she looked like.
He was a blueblood. He had to keep his cover.
William climbed out. The hobo queen greeted him with a huge smile. "So how are you enjoying your tour of the swamp so far?"
Smart-ass. He pulled on his boots. "Branded fish with legs weren't in the guidebook. I want a refund."
She blinked. "What do you mean, branded?"
"It had a skull etched between the eyes."
"Did it glow red?"
"Yes."
Her face dropped. She tilted her head to the sky. "That was rotten of you. I didn't deserve that. I have more than enough to deal with, so how about you stop throwing rocks at my windows? If you don't like the way I'm handling things, come down and try fixing this mess yourself."
"Who are you taking to?"
"My grandparents."
"In the sky?"
She faced him, her dark eyes full of indignation. "They're dead. Where else would they be?"
William shrugged. Maybe it was one of the odd human things changelings didn't understand. Or maybe she was just crazy. All Edgers were mad. He'd known that from the start. He was letting a crazy woman lead him deeper into the swamp. How could this not turn out well?
Gods, he missed his trailer. And his coffee. And dry socks.
Cerise strode to the overturned boat.
"What does the skull mean?"
"Never mind."
He picked up the pole and stepped in front of her. "What does the skull mean?"
She flipped the boat over. "It's Sect."
He followed her. "And that means what?"