"Dariel!" Tunnel called to him from the edge of the pier. "Come. See it."

He jogged forward and looked down, for the water was well below the level of the pier. There, tethered to a lower platform at water level, was the boat. A very peculiar boat, similar to the sailless craft he saw slicing the water beside the Ambergris out in the barrier islands. Walking down the ramp toward it, his eyes took in every line and shape of it. It was so sleek, low to the water, covered all over with that white coating particular to league ships. It ran more than a hundred feet long, but was narrower than any seagoing vessel he had seen before. A water arrow. The steering wheel was in a raised, semi-enclosed structure near the back.

The others waited for him, standing uneasily beside the rocking vessel, seemingly at a loss. This, after all, was where Dariel's expertise was supposed to take command. As yet, he had no idea how to make the thing work, but that was a small detail, certainly. Spratling could sail any vessel, even one, he hoped, without a sail.

Dariel inhaled a deep breath, filled his chest with it, and leaped across the narrow gap. What began as a graceful move, however, did not conclude as one. The slick surface of the deck shed the leather soles of his sandals so completely that he spent a few frantic seconds dancing as if unexpectedly thrown onto ice, his arms wheeling. He just managed to get down to his hands and knees, where he paused, breathing heavily.

The others watched him, perplexed and more than a bit concerned.

"It's slippery," he explained.

Skylene squinted one eye, raising the brow of the other.

Dariel had felt the slippery surfaces of league ships before, on Sire Fen's league warship, the Rayfin, and most recently the Ambergris. This one felt even slicker. It may not have been so, but he needed to keep his feet under him now more than ever. Remembering that some of the sailors on the Ambergris had worked barefoot, he sat and unlaced his sandals. Barefoot, he rose to stand again. It helped. His skin clung to the coating in a way leather did not. He almost felt he could squeeze the deck with his toes.

Looking at the Free People watching him, he said, as if impatient, "Come on. Take 'em off and climb aboard."

Inside the steering cabin a few moments later, Dariel gripped the wheel and said, "What powers this?"

Birke stood next to him, wolflike, waiting, and then confused. "What do you mean?"

"What-With the boats I know, we use the sails and the wind to push the vessel across the water. Or we use oars at times. Understand? There has to be something to provide the power, but here is nothing but-but the wheel." He stared at it, as if his explanation made him even more confused about the situation.

"Wind?" Birke asked. His lip curled back, exposing his canines. He seemed to find the idea barbaric. He waved until he got Tunnel's attention. "You use wind? The power is in the boat. Just think it to do what you wish."

"Think it? Be serious!"

"What?" Tunnel appeared, fresh from organizing the others, positioning them to best cast the boat off. Birke answered him, speaking in Auldek, gesturing toward Dariel. Tunnel brushed past him and grabbed Dariel by the wrists. He slammed his hands onto the wheel. "You brigand, yes? Act like it! Hold the wheel. Drive the boat." Dariel began a sputtering protest, but Tunnel spoke over him. "I know you'll do it." He added the last sentence casually. As he turned away, he pulled Birke with him.

Alone, seeing the motion on the deck below him, feeling the rocking of the boat, Dariel realized that the prow had already been cast off. It floated free of the dock. These people know nothing of boats! They think a boat moves because the pilot thinks it into motion? This is a fool's mission, and I'm captain of it.

"How about waiting for captain's orders?" he shouted.

A few of the crew looked up, perplexed. Dariel waved them away. This, apparently, was read as a sign to cast off the other lines. Before he could stop them, the entire vessel was loose and pulled by the outgoing tide. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the jagged teeth of the nearby skerries, no longer exciting. Terrifying instead. He cursed to himself and then out loud to everyone. They were about to be dashed against stone, end of the mission and end of his hopes. How had that happened so quickly?

"I never said to cast off!" he yelled, though it was a futile. The "crew" had all they could handle keeping themselves from sliding off the deck, especially as it began to roll more in the growing chop.

Just think! Drive the boat by thinking? He still gripped the wheel, tugging it as if he would rip it off. And then he realized how strange his hands felt on the wheel. The material, whatever it was, hummed against his palms. He half pulled back, but his hands did not want to leave the thing. It held him. He could have jerked them away. He knew that. It was a gentle pull, filled with energy. It was waiting for him.

"By the Giver," he mumbled. The ship was waiting for him! Whatever was going to drive it was not in the motion of the air, nor in the pull of oars against water. It was in the vessel itself! He felt it so clearly it was almost as if the boat spoke as much to him.

Tunnel, standing on the heaving deck, drenched by the waves sending spray high into the air, his arms outstretched for balance or in threat or both, roared, "Daarrriiiieeeeellllll! Drive it!"

It was the prod the prince needed. Without loosening his grip on the wheel, he craned his head around. They were nearly upon the rocks. They rode on the pull of water being sucked out to sea so forcefully that within a few seconds the stern would crash against the rocks with shattering force. Dariel imagined the prow of the ship slicing through the water. His head flew back, pulled by the force of the vessel being wrenched forward. For a split second he believed it was the force of impact, but in the next moment he realized there had been no impact. The boat flew away from the rocks with a speed that amazed him.

He yanked his body back into position just in time to wrench the wheel to starboard so that the boat would not slam back into the pier. The crew tumbled and slid about the deck, grasping for holds; all except Tunnel, who still managed to stand upright, grinning and laughing and roaring with glee, "Daarrriiiieeeeellllll! Rhuin Fa! Rhuin Fa!"

The next few minutes of his life were as hair-raising as any he had yet lived. The boat was a wonder, yes, but he had so little control of it. It responded to his thoughts, but it was hard to remember to think constantly. He would let his attention wander for a moment, only to realize they were about to smash up against some rocks. He would start to shout commands before realizing he had all the command he needed in his hands. It should have been easy, but he brought the vessel near to destruction a dozen times before they slipped out of the fingers of reaching stones and found deeper, open water.

There he pressed the vessel forward. They sped through the night, the prow of the boat slapping down each time they came to a wave crest, sending up spray. Had he ever sailed as fast as this? He was not sure, could not truly tell with the night so dark around them. He did believe he could go even faster, and longed to do so in the light of day, with no fear of crashing into some outcropping of rock.

By the Giver this is a ship! This is a ship!

How could they destroy it? It seemed a mad idea. The power of it! The things he could do with a vessel like this! He could be Spratling again, but a Spratling like the world had never seen before. He would run rings around the league, around anyone!

"Don't enjoy it too much," Skylene said. He had not noticed her come up beside him. "Remember why we're here."

"You can't still want to destroy this," Dariel said. "Feel it. This is a wonder. Do you know what I could-"