At the Queen_s command

Owen opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, but Nathaniel held up a cautionary finger. Owen caught a scent, the sweet scent of green wood that's been split open. It shifted a little to become the loamy scent of a forest after a soaking rain.

After a minute Kamiskwa grew silent and stood. There's no hole. Owen stepped closer. He could see no sign of the hole. No scar, no discoloration, nothing. Try as he might, he could not see where the hole had been.

He shivered. He'd heard rumors of tailors and seamstresses fashioning clothes without seams for nobility, but when he'd had a chance to view their handiwork, he'd always found that needle and thread had been applied generously. One of the Coronet 's sailors had always used magic to reinforce sail patches, but he secured them with thread regardless. As good as his work might have been, picking out the patch had never been difficult.

But this, what Kamiskwa had done, it simply couldn't be done. It would require him to be more powerful than any mage in Norisle-and that mage would have been exhausted after accomplishing so much. The Altashee didn't even look the least winded.

The Prince, however, looked delighted. "Every time I see that, it amazes me."

Nathaniel smiled. "Our canoes do seem to be in the accidental way lots around here."

Vlad shot Nathaniel a sharp stare. "Mr. Woods, were I wishing a demonstration, I would prepare one so that I could fully measure what happens and seek to replicate it myself. I am sure that Prince Kamiskwa would oblige me if I asked."

Kamiskwa nodded, but smiled as well.

Vlad held up a finger. "That reminds me." He turned, and scurried off into the wurmrest.

Woods placed his pouches toward the canoe's front end. "Good craft, these. Sturdy and not so delicate as you might be wanting to imagine. Still, you have to be careful. You don't want to put a foot or an oar through the sides."

Kamiskwa went back to where the canoe had been stored and returned with three leaf-shaped paddles. He handed one to Woods, but didn't give Owen the second.

Owen frowned. "I may not be in the navy, but I can paddle."

"The spare is just in case we need it. This canoe only requires two. It would steer funny if you was paddling." Woods pointed toward the middle of the boat. "You're just self-loading cargo, Captain."

"Here is more cargo, for your father, Kamiskwa." The Prince returned with a burlap bag. He pulled out one of Mugwump's scales. "There's four. He'll find something to do with them, I hope."

Owen held a hand out and accepted the scale from the Prince. "Did you have this painted and lacquered?"

"No. I just pulled four from a pile."

The soldier traced a finger along a scarlet stripe. "Wurmriders paint and lacquer scales. Even when they do that, they're never as pretty or polished as this."

Vlad took the scale back and slipped it into the sack. "While you're gone, I shall experiment. I'll leave some in the sun and see if that has any effect. Another mystery to explore. I shall be pleased to share the results upon your return."

Kamiskwa accepted the gift. "The Prince again proves himself to be a good friend of the Altashee."

"Merely returning kindnesses the Altashee have showed me."

Kamiskwa stowed the scales with his other gear, then he and Nathaniel hefted the canoe and carried it down to the river. They slid it into the water, then pulled it around parallel to the shore.

Nathaniel looked Owen up and down. "You'll be wanting to take off your boots and stockings. Your feet will get wet, but will dry off faster. Help your feet heal, too."

That made sense, so Owen went barefoot. The cool water and oozing mud actually felt good as he put his gear into the canoe. A small deck made of gapped cedar planking kept him from thrusting his feet through the canoe. He arranged his pack so he could use the back of it as a desk, and slid his musket in on the right, keeping it close at hand.

Prince Vlad held on to the canoe's stern as the other two men got in, then gave it a shove into the current. He waved from the shore. "Good luck!"

They headed upriver. Though the Benjamin didn't have a strong current, Nathaniel and Kamiskwa paddled steadily to make headway. Both men glistened with sweat after a short time, but made no complaints about their labors.

"I reckon, Captain, you figgered that rivers is our roads. Work fine going up, better coming back. Canoe full of pelts make a man rich down to Temperance."

"I can see that." Owen studied the shore. Mostly forests, with the occasional swampy meadow full of cattails, long grasses, and bright flowers. "Do you know the river's speed?"

Nathaniel shook his head. He'd removed his buckskin shirt, baring his upper torso. The man's muscles worked fluidly beneath tanned skin. A few scars stood out. Owen recognized the raised welts of a whip, a couple of knife cuts, and one gunshot wound, but asked about none of them. If Nathaniel wanted him to know, he'd tell him, otherwise it was none of his business.

"She flows as she flows."