第8章 The Smuggler's Path

Lyra led Edward out of Ashford under the cover of darkness, moving through back alleys and side streets until they reached the city gates. The gates were closed, but Lyra knew a smuggler's tunnel that bypassed them entirely, a narrow passage that ran beneath the river and emerged on the other side of the city walls. She had learned of it during her time with the Order, and she used it now with the confidence of someone who had traveled it many times before. The tunnel was dark and damp, the air thick with the smell of water and decay. Edward followed Lyra through the narrow passage, his hand on his knife, his senses straining to detect any sign of danger. The walls were slick with moisture, and the floor was uneven, treacherous with mud and stones. They walked in silence, the only sound the drip of water and the rasp of their breathing. After what felt like an hour, they emerged into a small cave on the far side of the river. Lyra struck a flint and lit a torch, and Edward saw that they were beneath the city, in a network of tunnels that had once been part of Ashford's defensive system. The Order had used these tunnels to move their agents undetected, and Lyra knew every passage, every turn, every hidden room. We need to reach the coast, she said. From there, we can take a ship to the western islands. But we cannot go through the main roads. The Order will be watching them. Where do we go? Lyra led him through a series of tunnels, each more cramped and dilapidated than the last, until they emerged into a small village on the edge of the city. The village was asleep, its inhabitants unaware of the two figures who slipped through its streets like ghosts. They reached the docks an hour later, where Lyra had a boat waiting—a small skiff that could carry them down the river to the sea. They rowed through the night, the stars their only guide, the river a dark ribbon beneath a sky dusted with light. Edward rowed in silence, his muscles burning, his mind full of thoughts he could not quiet. He was a farmer's son, a bastard, a prince in exile. He had spent his life in shadows, and now he was being pulled into a world of power and danger that he had never imagined. At dawn, they reached the sea. The boat was beached on a stretch of sand, and Edward stood on the shore and looked out at the horizon, where the sky met the water in a line of gold and blue. The western islands lay beyond that line, hidden from view but closer than they had ever been. You ready? Lyra asked. Edward turned to her and nodded. As I'll ever be. They found a merchant vessel at the dock, a cargo ship bound for the western islands, and Lyra used the last of her coin to secure passage for them both. The captain was a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek and a reputation for taking passengers without asking questions, and he agreed to their request with a grunt and a wave of his hand. The voyage took five days. Edward spent most of it on deck, watching the coastline recede behind them and the open sea spread before them like an endless highway. He learned about the western islands from the crew, who spoke of them with a mixture of fear and reverence, as if they were a place of legend rather than a collection of rocky isles off the northern coast. The islands were ruled by a council of nobles who had seized power after the assassination of King Edmund, and they maintained their rule through fear and violence, purging anyone who claimed descent from Edmund's line. On the main island, the captain told him, there is a fortress called Blackstone Keep. It is the seat of the usurper Aldric, the man who killed your father's father-in-law. If you want to claim your throne, you will have to take that fortress. Edward nodded. I know. You know nothing, the captain said gruffly. War is not a game for boys who have never held a sword. Aldric has an army. He has allies. He has power. You have nothing but a crown you haven't found and a bunch of sailors who don't care about your birthright. I have Lyra, Edward said. And I have the truth. The captain laughed, a harsh, barking sound. Truth won't stop an arrow, boy. But good luck to you. He turned away, leaving Edward alone on the deck with his thoughts. He looked at Lyra, who was standing at the railing, watching the sea with an expression he could not read. What are you thinking? he asked. I'm thinking about the people I worked for, she said. About the things I did. And I'm thinking that if we fail, if Aldric defeats you, he will know my name. And he will come for me. Then we cannot fail. We won't, she said. I won't let it happen. The tunnel was dark and damp, the air thick with the smell of water and decay. Edward followed Lyra through the narrow passage, his hand on his knife, his senses straining to detect any sign of danger. The walls were slick with moisture, and the floor was uneven, treacherous with mud and stones. They walked in silence, the only sound the drip of water and the rasp of their breathing. After what felt like an hour, they emerged into a small cave on the far side of the river. Lyra struck a flint and lit a torch, and Edward saw that they were beneath the city, in a network of tunnels that had once been part of Ashford's defensive system. The Order had used these tunnels to move their agents undetected, and Lyra knew every passage, every turn, every hidden room. We need to reach the coast, she said. From there, we can take a ship to the western islands. But we cannot go through the main roads. The Order will be watching them. Where do we go? Lyra led him through a series of tunnels, each more cramped and dilapidated than the last, until they emerged into a small village on the edge of the city. The village was asleep, its inhabitants unaware of the two figures who slipped through its streets like ghosts. They reached the docks an hour later, where Lyra had a boat waiting—a small skiff that could carry them down the river to the sea.