By t of Nestoired of nautical life. tually non-stop all t time, only putting into s noon for freser, and only t was sunny.

    Nig under sail, or, oucone, o  standing ch.

    Fortunately, ther had been kind.

    It ively uneventful five days.

    too Beardy Point, an unprepossessing peninsula ing features tomed beacream. Devoid of life, it  time, Sabriel could no longer sense t. A good, strong, souterly  too fast a pace for it to follow.

    t to ts rocky cliffs climbing senement, o tens of t late in ternoon, tretco bursting, clinker-built  salted mouths, eyes and bodies.

    It  narrorait t led to t t ricky sailing, so t t o just out of sigo  for t of day.

    “toucone explained, as   yet pulled itself out of tern. “It  to keep pirates and suc of t believe t—I can’t imagine  rung across.”

    “ill it still be tiously, not ing to prevent toucone’s strangely talkative mood.

    “I’m sure of it,” replied toucone. “e’ll see toe s. inding Post, to to th.”

    “Not very imaginative names,” commented Sabriel, unable to errupting.

    It  suco talk! toucone o non-communication for most of t for eig leave mucion.

    “ter toucone. “hich makes sense.”

    “o let vessels past t Belisaere. Could it be like Nestoy abandoned, riddled oucone. “I  t about t. In my time, ter,  s says, ty o anarchy . . .”

    “tfully.

    “So even if , trouble. I tter reverse my surcoat and  wrapping.”

    “ about toucone.

    o dra tig ly nudging tiller to take advantage of a s in to say t.”

    “I’ll just look like a necromancer,” Sabriel replied. “A salty, unwashed necromancer.”

    “I don’t knooucone,  Sabriel  into ty, or ay alive, in—”

    “In your day,” interrupted Mogget, from e post on t t necromancers and  uncommon sights in Belisaere.”

    “I’ll arted to say.

    “If you say so,” toucone said, at time. Clearly,  believe t. Belisaere al, a y, o at least fifty toucone couldn’t imagine it fallen, decayed and in te  kno t totle different from two-hundredyear- old images locked in his memory.

    t confidence took a blooe srait.

    At first, to grealler as  toelescope, Sabriel sa tiful, rosy-pink stone t once must . Noy vanis  top torys, from seven; Boom ood as tall as ever, but sunligerior to be a gutted ruin. toll collector, hing alive.

    t boom-cill stretcrait. , rose green and barnaclebefouled out of ter and up into eaco could be seen in trouger of the deep.

    “e’ll o go in close to t toep t and ro rises,” toucone declared, after studying tes telescope, trying to gauge  even ively s boat, it oo risky, and t  for ide, late in ternoon. At some time in t, peroo its maximum tension. t iceable slippage.

    “Mogget, go to t for anyter. Sabriel, could you please coo guard against attack.”

    Sabriel nodded, pleased t toucone’s stint as captain of t to remove t nonsense out of ,  for , jumped up to t protest, despite t occasionally burst over  diagonally across toriangle of opportunity between shore, sea and chain.

    tepping t. tered by t tide urned, and a tidal race o run from to t mast and sail, tooucone rorengt to keep steerage er a moment, took one of toget yoions.

    Every fe troke, s, Sabriel snatc crumbling sea, and t of t-floe frot gargantuan c the sea’s whim.

    “Port a little,” yo. toucone backed , t jumped down, yelling, “Ship oars and duck!”

    ttling, splasoucone simply lying do some rocked and plunged, and terrible.

    Sabriel, one moment looking up at t sa green, re up, s and touc boom-ch.

    t, and toucone o ted to lie t looking up at t t  up and resumed y as a rower.

    ter che Sea of Saere.

    Sabriel trailed , marveling at its clear turquoise ss color, it ransparent. ter  s tc’s wake.

    S relaxed, momentarily carefree, all troubles t lay aemporarily lost in single-minded contemplation of ter. tant ao Deater Magic ed at sea. For a fees, s about toucone and Mogget. Even s coolness on her hand.

    “e’ll be able to see ty soon,” toucone said, interrupting al oill standing.”

    Sabriel nodded tfully, and sloook ing from a dear friend.

    “It must be difficult for you,” s to  really expecting o answer.

    “two o ruin w.”

    “I didn’t really believe it, till I saoooucone. “No city t I never believed could really change.”

    “No imagination,” said Mogget, sternly. “No ter. A fatal flaw.”

    “Mogget,” Sabriel said indignantly, angry at t for crus anotion.

    “o toucone?”

    Mogget led on his back.

    “I am accurate, not rude,” urning o tudied scorn. “And .”

    “I’m sick of toucone,  kno I don’t?”

    toucone , knuckles iller, eyes focused on tant owers of Belisaere.

    “You’ll o tell me eventually,” said Sabriel, a touc entering her voice.

    “It can’t be t bad, surely?”

    toucone  ated, then spoke.

    “It upidity on my part, not evil, milady.

    t I am partly responsible for the royal line.”

    “!” exclaimed Sabriel. “how could you be?”

    “I am,” continued toucone miserably, iller moved, giving t a crazy zigzag here was a . . .

    t is . . .”

    ook a deep breat up a little straiginued, as if reporting to a senior officer.

    “I don’t kno involves t Cers. art? it son, Rogir, . I  into terests. No terests must ed it t ive, and often away.

    “to  before ter Festival. I o see o be more like  interest in ties t tracted  more time together again; hawking, riding, drinking, dancing.

    “te one afternoon—one cold, crisp afternoon, near sunset—I y, guarding to o come o t Stones are . . . !”

    “Yes,” interrupted Mogget. ired, like an alley cat t oo many. “time.

    e can speak of t Cers, at least for a little  was so.”

    “Go on,” said Sabriel, excitedly. “Let’s take advantage of it ones ones and mortar of t Cer?”

    “Yes,” replied toucone, remotely, as if reciting a lesson, “ever t Cers, put tions: t Stones. All tones draher.

    “t Stones . . . Rogir came and said  t look into.  s take great account of rouble ones. Ser Mage and felt not Cranaque, so sold o  till morning. Rogir turned to me, asked me to intercede, and, Cer rusted he Queen. Finally, she agreed.

    By t time, t. iting,  doo t Stones are.”

    toucone’s voice faded to a winued, and grew hoarse.

    “terrible  it   Stones and t being broken, broken ers, sacrificed by  seconds, t ing across ter. I felt tones breaking and I remember Rogir, stepping up beriking so sly across . o catc I oo slooo slow . . .”

    “So tory you told me at  true,” Sabriel ears rolled down  survive . . .”

    “No,” mumbled toucone. “But I didn’t mean to lie. It was all jumbled up in my head.”

    “ did happen?”

    “two guards were Rogir’s men,”

    toucone continued,  ears, muffled tacked me, but Vlare—one of ting—t mad, battle-mad, berserk. I killed boto tones, ing, dark-coone, t to be broken. I couldn’t reacime, I kne fleraigrue, taking  above t. urned back toransfixed by my s still walking,  vile cup of blood up, as if offering me a drink.

    “‘You may tear t, like some poor-made costume.

    But I cannot die.’ “o  t lay so close beures . . .

    te liging on ter like oil. I turned, saairs; a burning, ting column of ed, or  me till only remember in sches.”

    “You sold me,” Sabriel said, trying to put as muc per o  for t binding spell. tell me, t the Abhorsen?”

    “I don’t knooucone. “Probably.”

    “Almost definitely, I would say,” added Sabriel.

    S Mogget, t column of ting fire. “You oo,  you, Mogget? Unbound, in your other form.”

    “Yes, I . “it time. A very poer of t a little too good-ed to deal reacerrible trouble getting o Belisaere, and in t timely enougo save ters.”

    “ oucone.

    “ happened?”

    “Rogir o Belisaere,” Mogget said o a creen cronies. “But only an Ab, and  there.

    Rogir’s real body  for his physical form.

    “Someake life all time to stay out of Deat ter made it very difficult for o do t anyer.

    o breaking a feones, some o prey on, and t him down.

    So o break t Stones, and for t  t .

    “Because  ac Stones ers tle too late. true, o drive o Deat since rue body inued to exist. Even from Deation of t a royal family,  Cers crippled, corrupting and  really beaten t nig delayed, and for to come back, trying to re-enter Life—”

    “ errupted Sabriel. “ing for generations,  trying to keep in Deater Dead , ter of t.”

    “I do not kno. “Your fat so.”

    “It is oucone said, distantly.

    “Kerrigor .

    his full ceremonial name was Rogirek.”

    “s—must o Belisaere just before  aloud. “I o Life so near the all?”

    “ be near to be close to it,” Mogget said. “You s. to reneer spell t prevents e.”

    “Yes,” replied Sabriel, remembering t suppressed it, before it became a racking sob. Inside, s like screaming, crying. Sed to flee back to Ancelstierre, cross t sed  first,  find my father’s body.”

    t, save for t he rigging.

    toucone .

    “to ask.  my spirit in Deathe figurehead?”

    “I never kne.  toucone’s gaze, and it  t  must  you out of t Stones. No memory, not seems too long for a rest cure.

    be nearing ty, and the binding resumes . . .”

    “No, Mogget!” exclaimed Sabriel. “I  to knoo knoion  . . .”

    and a star-  tled gargle  came out.

    “too late,” said Mogget. arted cleaning ongue darting out, brig we fur.

    Sabriel sig at turquoise sea, t te-streaked blue. A lig on ao join a squaing near the surface.

    Everyt tang on ink of fisoucone’s grim past, t of Rogir/Kerrigor and th.

    “e so be very careful,” Sabriel said at last, “and  . . .  you said to tooucone?”

    ely w s.

    “ ter preserves us all.”