A nightwatchman slid up behind her. "Pardon, are you Mrs. Bonner?"

She rounded on him, grabbed him by the grubby blanket coat. The horses danced away in alarm, their hooves striking sparks on the cobblestones. The man looked at her as if she might eat him whole.

And well I might, she thought. "The Isis." He tried to jerk away, and she dug in her fingers. "Where is she?"

He jumped, his eyes round with fear. "Sailed, ma'am. Sailed not an hour ago for home."

"For where? Where is home? Tell me, man, where is that ship bound!"

He let out a cry of pain and yanked free of her grip. "Scotland! She's bound for the Solway Firth."

The Solway Firth! On the southern shore of Dumfrieshire. Where Carryck had his seat.

"Tell me," she said hollowly. "Who owns the Isis? Would it be the Earl of Carryck, by any chance?"

Major Johnson made a humming noise, his head nodding. "Yes, that's right. These are Carryck's boatyards, too--I thought you would have known that."

The Isis belonged to the Earl of Carryck. This was Moncrieff's doing, all of it, perhaps from the very beginning. Elizabeth's hands went suddenly numb, and she thought she might swoon. But the watchman was talking, and she forced herself to concentrate and listen to him.

"There's a man asking for you," he was saying, still rubbing his arm.

"A man? Where, what man?"

He jerked with his chin toward the warehouse. "We carried him over there. A big Indian, with a bump on his head the size of a cabbage."

But Elizabeth was already off at a dead run, falling once on the wet wood of the dock and then up again before anyone could reach her.

They had propped Runs-from-Bears up against the wall. Blood trailed in spider's legs down his temple, but he blinked up at her. Alive. Alive.

She went down on her knees. "Tell me."

He held up his fist. In it, a letter smeared with dirt and his own blood. Elizabeth's hands shook so that she could barely manage to break the seal. In the light of a single lantern the penstrokes leaped crazily.

My dear Mrs. Bonner:

Permit me to reassure you that Mrs. Freeman and your children are in perfect health and will enjoy every comfort and protection that the Isis can offer. I had not planned to sail without you, but the governor saw fit to take you away at a most inopportune moment. Fortunately, the first officer's guidwife is on board and will serve as an excellent wet nurse.

All three children will want for nothing but your company, a lack which will be soon remedied: I have arranged passage for yourself, your husband, and father-in-law with Captain Morris of the Osiris, who will present himself to you tomorrow. It is his first and most important obligation to deliver you with all haste to the Solway Firth. With good luck the westerlies will have you there in less than thirty days.

I regret the necessity of such a drastic step, but your father-in-law denied me every other more reasonable alternative. In anticipation of the day on which you will be reunited not with one family, but two, I remain

Your willing servant

Angus Moncrieff

Major Johnson walked up close, his curiosity crawling on his face like lice. "What does it say?"

Elizabeth crumpled the letter against her bodice. "He has stolen my children," she said dully. "My children are gone."

Runs-from-Bears put a bloody hand on her wrist. In Kahnyen'kehâka he said, "You must find Wolf-Running-Fast."

"Your husband," said Johnson, not realizing that he echoed Bears. "Where is your husband? You need him now." He was trying not to grin, but his expression was sharp and eager in the lantern light.

Contempt filled Elizabeth's mouth with bitterness. He thought anger would cripple her, that grief would rob her of purpose. How little men knew of women; how little this one knew of anything at all.

"I'm going to find them now," she said to Bears in Kahnyen'kehâka. "Tell Will what has happened. And then go home. Go home and tell them that we will be there when we have my children back."

He blinked at her. "Bring Moncrieff's scalp with you."

"With pleasure," said Elizabeth. She put both hands on his face and then she did something she had never done before; she leaned forward and kissed Runs-from-Bears on the cheek. His skin was cold to the touch, but the arm that came up around her was strong.

"Farewell, my friend," she said. She got to her feet, raised her chin, and met the major's eager gaze. "Major Johnson."

"Yes, Mrs. Bonner?"

"I find myself somewhat faint ..." With a vague movement of her hand she indicated a pile of crates against the far wall of the warehouse. "My cousin the viscount is in rooms in the Rue St. Gabriel. Will you fetch him?"

Johnson snapped to action, marching off to bark orders at the soldiers still milling around the Nancy. She had pleased him with this sudden transformation into what he wanted and expected of her: a woman in need.

Bears reached out to squeeze her hand. Elizabeth squeezed back with all her strength, and then she slipped into the shadows.

She made her way quietly, feeling with her mind, throwing her senses out into the dark. How many times had Nathaniel spoken to her of this, the skill of moving through the night. You feel shapes even when you cannot see them. In English it sounded strange but in Kahnyen'kehâka it made perfect sense. Now she whittled down all her senses and moved fast, swallowing the sound of her own breathing and the hollow rattle of her heart. As she came around the far end of the warehouse a watchman passed with a lantern swinging on his pole; she pulled back until he was gone. Hoofbeats on the cobblestones; a man's voice raised in question. She held her breath and then she ran.