Balance in all things. As the wheel of fortune lifted Fish and Rigel on high, it rolled right over the four unfortunates following in their wake. There was turbulence from the first.

Sters caught his wind swiftly and bent his back to the task, seemingly to spite Revel. The nobleman made good on his promise and rowed hard to make up for the burden he’d brought. The long canoe rocked with their strokes, caught between two tempests. Yellowhat and El Sha La could barely get an oar in edgewise.

El was about to say something when Yellowhat stood up abruptly. His patience wore away as the ochre sheen faded from his eyes.

“None of you know how to row.” The bard shook his head with contempt and snapped orders to re-arrange the seating. He took the stern, then Sters, then El, and put Revel at the bow.

El nearly bucked. She did not want the wharf rats at her back, but the bard’s charge was true. El Sha La had no clue how to captain the canoe. They set to and spun in circles; the new arrangement seemed even more awkward.

To her surprise, Yellowhat sang. He crooned a timeworn tavern tune, “This Old Broken Hoe.” El must have heard it a hundred times. Coarse with cane, Hat’s voice rasped through the ribald verses. Unwittingly, their strokes slipped into sync, the ship shot forward and sliced through the surf. It felt like magic. El glanced back over her shoulder. The bard returned a crooked grin.

“It’s a shanty, originally. Quatrain, stroke on each refrain, works whether one’s rowing, humping, or hoeing. The old ones knew what they were doing.”

Hat sang on, his supply of smutty songs seeming inexhaustible. Lhaz disappeared into the mist as they left the mainland behind. The other boats grew few and far between until the long canoe rowed alone. It was low tide. The shoals of Pelikle Archipelago rose ahead in a spiny maze, but Revel knew the way.

He steered them northeast until they found the mainland again. Canebrakes crept along the seams of lazy streams, willows wept, and saw-whet owls hooted across the misty moor.

“Huh,” Sters grunted, dark eyes wide.

El marked the way his gaze darted from tree to tree and his head cocked at the slightest sound. Had he noticed some danger she’d overlooked? Then, it came to her.

“Sters, have you ever set foot outside of Tinkerton?”

Sters jutted his chin and shook his head.

“Can’t say I have.”

A murmur ran through the other three. El tried to imagine what it would be like to spend her whole life on the docks. Small wonder Sters was so ornery. They paddled on until the day faded.

“I thought we’d have reached the Rakkar by now,” El Sha La remarked. She worried they might have somehow missed the river mouth in the mist.

“I think we’ve a ways yet. Check the map.” Revel cracked a self-satisfied smile. There was a bit of everything stuffed in his bulging backpack.

“You found a map of the Rakkar? It’s supposed to be uncharted.” El Sha La squinted in the harsh sun, unconvinced.

“Red Rondie’s got it all. Took him quite some time rummaging through his vault to find this gem. Take a look.” Revel beamed as he drew the long reed tube from the side of his pack. He handed it over to El Sha La.

“Let’s pull in for a spell,” El suggested.

They pulled into a cove and moored against the many-branched roots of a mangrove. Yellowhat and Sters were glad for any excuse to take in oars. The three men clustered on either side of El Sha La as she uncorked the reed and unfurled the vellum. Yellowhat let out a low whistle.

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Revel had spent a minor fortune on an elaborate Khemerian trade map. Fine lines traced shoals, ship routes, and safe harbors across the entire southeast. Dotted lines sprang from the hammer and anvil banner of Lhaz and leapt south toward the lyre-and-eye of Terhaljatan, north toward the mailed fist of Khaz, then to the coin-and-swordfish of Khemeria. Arrows pointed west off the map to the white spires of Aran and the howl-and-moon insignia of Ibexia.

The map was clearly the work of a Khem. At the very top of the map, a small arrow pointed to Yarlsbeth. Their emblem was omitted, and the lettering for the city was half the size of the others, as if it were a minor village of little consequence. In truth, El Sha La knew Yarlsbeth was fully twice as large and prosperous as Khemeria. The Khem had hated the Yarlee for centuries.

Beside each city emblem was an inset enlargement. The map of Lhaz displayed all four districts, the two bridges over the Yomba, and the seven main avenues. Tinkerton was marked with a small, unambiguous triangle, three daggers interlocked around a skull.

Beside the enlargement was a table that displayed what each city bought and sold. The chart claimed Lhaz sold fine weapons, inferior beer, and cheap salted fish. In the bought column, it listed armor, spices, silks, and a word she could not translate but suspected was intoxicants.

El snickered with delight as she reviewed the goods listed for the other cities. The chart for Yarlsbeth listed two lines only. Apparently, the city imported poxed whores and exported spineless cowards.

She pointed it out. Hat cackled, and Revel guffawed at the catty cartographer’s handiwork. Sters screwed up his face; she’d forgotten he couldn’t read.

The fun done, they tried to figure out how far it was to the mouth of the Rakkar. Again, they found the three-dagger warning skull penned into the delta. The trade route from Lhaz looped well out of the way to avoid the whole area.

The white horn of Mount Spinimoi marked the turning for northbound trade. On the horizon, a hint of the famous peak was already apparent. Reckoning by the horn, they were still some leagues short of the river mouth. All their eyes fell on the course ahead.

The Rakkar snaked north in a valley between the Zeivechi and Solkheries Mountains. A few landmarks were indicated, a swamp, a forest, and a ruined city. Written across the region were three words El could not make out. Her Khem wasn’t the best, and the hand was cramped and hard to read, especially while she bobbed in a canoe.

“Hat, can you read this?”

“May I?”

Yellowhat took the map and held it out at arm’s length, for he was farsighted. Cane smoke had stained his fingertips the color of clay.

“It says, ‘all is lost,’ I think. Or maybe, ‘everything is ruined.’ Doesn’t matter either way, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because the bit with the Rakkar is a recent addition. I suspect Red Rondie penned it in himself so that he might charge our young, dumb dukeling double for this indubitably doctored document.”

Revel spun back so fast they nearly capsized. Sters and El Sha La hissed at him to be careful.

“Watch your mouth, wretch. That map is legitimate.”

“Is it? Tell me, Ser Ramos. How long did Rondie hunt in the vault for this gem? Was it about long enough to scrawl a few lines and let the ink dry? I’m surprised he didn’t try to sell you the deed to the Tinkerton Font while he was at it.”

“It’s not a forgery!” Revel insisted.

Just like the mage’s gold, once pierced, the deception was unmistakable. Red Rondie’s hurried emulation of the master mapmaker’s hand missed the mark. His lines were thicker, the new ink was darker. The river’s name, the warning skull, and the mouth’s location were all parts of the original map. Everything afterward was artifice.

Revel grabbed at the map as if he meant to tear it in two. El Sha La pulled it out of reach. The canoe rocked mightily.

“Compose yourself! We’re in a boat, you oaf!” El barked at Revel. Livid as he was, he froze and fell in line. Sters and Hat shared a look.

“Red Rondie is a dead man. When we return to Lhaz, I’ll have the guard storm his shop and clap him in stocks. This stunt will cost him everything,” Revel raged on, just as he’d railed at Fish the night of the theft.

“Nah,” Sters interrupted the tirade. Because he seldom spoke, they hushed to hear him.

“Rondie’s no fool. That’s a good bet.” Sters pointed a thick finger at the ersatz map.

“What are you on about?” Revel glared at Sters.

Sters stared right back, his hook close at hand. There was no room for swordplay here. If it came to hands, El couldn’t tell who would beat who, but everyone in the boat would surely get dunked.

“Red Rondie sold you a fake map because he thinks you won’t come back,” El explained so they didn’t have to wait all night for Revel to figure it out.

“Red Rondie is dead wrong,” Revel said.

“Row like it, then. We have to catch Fish before they reach the Rapaxoris,” El reminded him.

They took up oars again and rowed on in sullen silence as the sun slid lower in the sky. It was a cold and miserable night.