irt and breeches； he had tumbled down from above。 He felt himself gingerly； but other than the long； healing wound on his back and some ugly toothmarks on his leg； he seemed only bruised and scraped and very； very stiff。 He grabbed a protruding root in his hand and clambered painfully up the side of the dell。 His legs were trembling as he scrambled over the edge and stood up。 A monotonous profusion of snow…robed trees stretched away in all directions。 There was no sign of his friends or his horse； in fact； there was no sign of anything but endless white forest。
Simon tried to remember how he had e to this place； but drew only a shuddering memory of the last mad hours in Skodi's abbey； of a hateful； icy voice that had plagued him； and of riding into blackness。 Afterward there had been a gentler； sadder voice that had spoken long in his dreams。
He looked around； hoping at least to find a saddlebag； but with no luck。 His empty scabbard was tied to his leg； after some searching； he finally spotted the bone knife from Yiqanuc lying at the bottom of the dingle。 With many a self…pitying curse； Simon climbed back down to retrieve it。 He felt a little better to have something sharp close to hand； but it was a very tiny consolation。 When he reached the top once more and looked around at the inhospitable expanse of wintery woods； a sense of desertion and fear crept over him that had been absent for a long while。 He had lost everything…everything！ The sword Thorn； the White Arrow； the things that he had won； all were gone！ And his friends were gone； too。
〃Binabik！〃 he screamed。 Echoes fled and vanished。 〃Binabik！ Sludig！ Help me！〃 Why had they deserted him？ Why？
He shouted for his friends again； over and over as he stumbled back and forth across the forest clearing。
His voice hoarse； his many cries unanswered； Simon slumped down on a rock at last and fought back tears。 Men shouldn't cry just because they were lost。 Men didn't do that sort of thing。 The world seemed to shimmer a little； but it was only the fierce cold that made his eyes sting so。 Men shouldn't cry； no matter how terrible things had gotten。。。
He put his hands in his cloak pocket to ease the chill and felt the rough carvings of Jiriki's mirror beneath his fingers。 He lifted it out。 Gray sky was reflected there； as though the looking glass were full of clouds。
He held the scale of the Greater Worm before him。 〃Jiriki；〃 he murmured； breathing on the shiny surface as though his own warmth might lend the thing a kind of life。 〃I need help！ Help me！〃 The only face that looked back was his own； wearing a pale scar and a sparse red beard。 〃Help me。〃
Snow began to fall once more。
19
Children of the Navigator
MIRIAMELE awakened slowly and unpleasantly。 The pounding in her head was not helped at all by the side…to…side swaying of the floor； and she was unhappily reminded of a particular Aedonmansa supper at the palace in Meremund when she was nine years of age。 An indulgent servant had allowed her to drink three goblets of wine； the wine had been watered； but Miriamele had still bee very ill； throwing up all over her new Aedontide frock and spoiling it beyond reclamation。
That long…ago bout of stomach…sickness had been preceded by just such a sway as she was now feeling； as though she were aboard a boat rocking up and down in the midst of the ocean。 The morning following her drunken adventure she had remained in bed with a horrific headache…a pain almost as bad as the one she was experiencing now。 What grotesque indulgence had led her to this dreadful pass？
She opened her eyes。 The room was fairly dark； the roofbeams overhead heavy and crudely cut。 The mattress on which she was lying was impossibly unfortable； and the room would not stop its terrible tilting。 Had she been so drunk that she had fallen and struck her head badly？ Perhaps she had split her crown and was even now dying。。。 ？
Cadrach。
The thought came to her suddenly。 In fact； she remembered； she hadn't been drinking or doing anything of the sort。 She had been waiting m Father Dinivan's workroom； and。。。 and。。。
And Cadrach had struck her。 He had said they could not wait any longer。 She had said they would。 Then he had said something else and hit her on the head with something heavy。 Her poor head！ And to think that for a foolish moment she had regretted trying to drown him！
Miriamele struggled to her feet； holding her head between her hands as though to keep the pieces together。 It was just as well she was bent double： the ceiling was so low that she could not have stood up。 But the swaying！ Elysia； Mother of God； it was worse than being drunk！ It seemed mad that being cuffed on the head could make things veer and wobble so。 It was indeed just like being on a ship。。。
She was on a ship； and a ship under sail at that。 The realization came suddenly from a subtle amalgam of clues： the movement of the floor； the faint but definite creaking of timbers； the thin； saltier…than…usual scent of the air。 How had this happened？
It was hard to make out anything m the near…blackness； but as far as Miriamele could tell she was surrounded by casks and barrels。 She was m the hold of a ship； that was certain。 As she squinted into the darkness； another sound began to make itself heard； something that had been there all along； but was only now being clear。
Someone was snoring。
Miriamele was immediately filled with a mixture of rage and fear。 If it was Cadrach； she would find him and strangle him。 If it was not Cadrach… Merciful Aedon； who could say how she had wound up on this boat； or what the mad monk might have done that had made them both fugitives？ If she revealed herself； it might be to a stowaway's death sentence。 But if it was Cadrach…oh； she so wanted to catch hold of his flabby neck！。。
She hunkered down between a pair of casks； the sudden movement sent a stabbing pain down the back of her neck。 Slowly and quietly； she began to crawl toward the source of the rasping noise。 Whoever was burring and mumbling so did not seem apt to be sleeping lightly； but there was no sense taking unnecessary risks。
A sudden thumping from overhead set her cowering both from possible discovery and the painful noise itself。 When nothing followed but softer repetitions； Miriamele decided it was only the normal business of the ship going on above。 She continued to stalk her snoring prey through the rows of close…stacked barrels。
By the time she was a few cubits away from the snorer； she no longer felt even the slightest doubt…she had heard that sodden； drunken rumble too many nights to mistake it。
At last she crouched over him。 Feeling with her hand； she located the empty jug curled in the crook of his arm with which he'd besotted himself。 Above that； she felt Cadrach's unmistakable round face； the wine…sour breath piping wetly in and out of his open mouth as he snored and muttered。 The feel of him filled her with fury。 It would be so easy just to crack his sodden skull with the plundered jar； or topple one of the leaning barrel towers to crush him like a bug。 Hadn't he plagued her since she had met him？ He had stolen from her and sold her to her enemies like a slave； and now he had struck her and dragged her by force out of God's house。 Whatever else she was； whatever her father had bee； she was still a princess of the blood of King Prester John and Queen Ebekah。 No drunkard of a monk had a right to lay hands on her！ No man！ No one。
Her anger； which had been curling and spiraling higher within her like the flames of a wind…tortured fire； blazed up and then abruptly vanished。 Tears choked her； sobs thudded painfully in her chest。
Cadrach stopped snoring。 His slurred； querulous voice rose from the darkness before her。 〃My lady？〃
For a moment she did not move； then； sucking m a fierce gasp of breath； she struck out at the invisible monk。 She made only the most incidental contact； but it was enough to locate him in the darkness。 Her next blow landed stingingly on something。 〃You whoreson rogue！〃 she hissed； then struck again。
Cadrach let out a muffled cry of pain； scrambling away from her so that her fingers st