“Sails?” Hadrian asked.
“Just over this rise is the millwright Ethan Finlin’s windmill,” Royce explained. “Finlin is a member of the Diamond. His windmill is used to store smuggled goods and also serves as a signal that can be seen from the far hills. If the mill’s sails are spinning, then all is clear. If furled, then there’s trouble. The position of the locked sails indicates different things. If straight up and down, like a ship’s mast, it means he needs help. If the sails are cockeyed, it means stay away. There are other signals as well, but I’m sure they’ve changed since I was a member.”
“All clear,” Etcher notified them as he strode back down the hill.
They each took a pack, waved goodbye to Wally, and climbed up the slope.
Finlin’s mill was a tall weathered tower that sat high on the crest of a grassy knoll. The windmill’s cap rotated and currently faced into the wind, which blew steadily from the northeast. Its giant sails of cloth-covered wooden frames rotated slowly, creaking as they turned the great mill’s shaft. Around the windmill were several smaller buildings, storage sheds, and wagons. The place was quiet and absent of customers.
They found their horses, as well as an extra one for Etcher, along with their gear in a nearby barn. Finlin briefly stuck his nose out of the mill and waved. They waved back, and Royce had a short talk with Etcher as Hadrian saddled their animals and loaded the supplies. Arista threw her own saddle on her mare, which garnered a smile from Hadrian.
“Saddle your own horse often, do you?” he asked as she reached under the horse’s belly for the cinch. The metal ring at the end of the wide band swung back and forth, making catching it a challenge without crawling under the animal.
“I’m a princess, not an invalid.”
She caught the cinch and looped the leather strap through it, tying what she thought was a fine knot, exactly like the one she used to tie her hair.
“Can I make one minor suggestion?”
She looked up. “Of course.”
“You need to tie it tighter and use a flat knot.”
“That’s two suggestions. Thanks, but I think it’ll be fine.”
He reached up and pulled on the saddle’s horn. The saddle easily slid off and came to rest between the horse’s legs.
“But it was tight.”
“I’m sure it was.” Hadrian pulled the saddle back up and undid the knot. “People think horses are stupid—dumb animals, they call them—but they’re not. This one, for instance, just outsmarted the Princess of Melengar.” He pulled the saddle off, folded the blanket over, and returned the saddle to the animal’s back. “You see, horses don’t like to have a saddle bound around their chest any more than I suspect you enjoy being trussed up in a corset. The looser, the better, they figure, because they don’t really mind if you slide off.” He looped the leather strap through the ring in the cinch and pulled it tight. “So what she’s doing right now is holding her breath, expanding her chest and waiting for me to tie the saddle on. When she exhales, it’ll be loose. Thing is, I know this. I also know she can’t hold her breath forever.” He waited with two hands on the strap, and the moment the mare exhaled, he pulled, gaining a full four inches. “See?”
She watched as he looped the strap across, then through and down, making a flat knot that laid comfortably against the horse’s side. “Okay, I admit it. This is the first time I’ve saddled a horse,” she confessed.
“And you’re doing wonderfully,” he mocked.
“You are aware I can have you imprisoned for life, right?”
Royce and Etcher entered the barn. The younger thief grabbed his horse and left without a word.
“Friendly sorts, those Diamonds are,” Hadrian observed.
“Cosmos seemed hospitable,” Arista pointed out.
“Yeah, but that’s how you might expect a spider to talk to a fly as she wraps him up.”
“What an interesting metaphor,” Arista noted. “You could have a future in politics, Hadrian.”
He glanced at Royce. “We never considered that as one of the options.”
“I’m not sure how it differs from acting.”
“He never likes my ideas,” Hadrian told her, then turned his attention back to Royce. “Where to now?”
“Hintindar,” Royce replied.
“Hintindar? Are you serious?”
“It’s out of the way and a good place to disappear for a while. Problem?”
Hadrian narrowed his eyes. “You know darn well there’s a problem.”
“What’s wrong?” Arista asked.
“I was born in Hintindar.”
“I’ve already told Etcher that’s where we’ll wait for him,” Royce said. “Nothing we can do about it now.”
“But Hintindar is just a tiny manorial village—some farms and trade shops. There’s no place to stay.”