Anya thought for a moment, then produced the Wallet of Crunchings and Munchings.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Street rat, scum girl, you good-for-nought,” said the child bitterly. She was still intent on carving the beef, each piece no larger than a silver penny.
“What is it really?” asked Anya.
“Truvence,” said the girl. She looked across at Anya properly for the first time, and down into the boat. “Here, who are you lot?”
“Never mind that,” said Anya hastily. She handed over the wallet. Truvence took it gingerly.
“That’s a magical wallet,” said Anya. “Three times a day, when you open it, there will be a large biscuit inside.”
Truvence opened it as Anya spoke, and looked at the biscuit suspiciously.
“They’re not very nice biscuits,” said Anya. “But they’re food, and the wallet will never run out. But you’ll need to keep it secret. Don’t let any others see it, or someone will steal it from you.”
Truvence was still looking at the biscuit.
“Why you giving us this?” she asked.
“Because … because I want to make even a little difference,” said Anya quietly. “Maybe later I can make a big difference.”
She hesitated, then added, “People call me the Frogkisser. Remember that, because one day I’ll be back to do more.”
Truvence nodded mechanically, lifted the biscuit, and took a tiny bite. Anya expected her to make a face, but she didn’t. She just chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds, then handed the biscuit slowly to the closest child.
“Small bite,” she said firmly. “No bigger than mine, then pass it on. Bread and meat coming.”
“We have to go,” said Anya. “Good luck.”
“Thanks, miss,” said the girl. “I mean, Frogkisser.”
The other children whispered their thanks too. Anya rowed away with a quiet chorus of “Frogkisser … Frogkisser … Frogkisser” echoing in her wake.
Anya thought Ardent might have something to say about her giving away the Wallet of Munchings and Crunchings. But he didn’t. No one said anything as she rowed on, until Smoothie lifted her head at the bow and pointed.
“Turn coming up,” said the otter-maid. “Sharp right, three, two, one … now!”
The statue without a head was some kind of gargoyle projecting from the house on the corner of the small canal. It had a chest and arms, and a broken bit where it probably once did have a head. It didn’t have legs, joining the brick wall at the waist.
It was instantly darker in the narrow, lesser canal, which was so choked with garbage the water had the consistency of oatmeal and it smelled worse than the main canal, if that was possible. Even Ardent, who liked smells of all kinds, scuffed at his nose with his forepaws. Anya breathed through her mouth and tried to ignore it, telling herself that this is what she had to expect if they were going to sneak into a fortress via a sewer.
“I don’t know how they can swim in this,” muttered Smoothie. “You wouldn’t be able to get clean for ages. Even the river would take a long time to get this muck off.”
A chittering noise from the water a few seconds later seemed to confirm this assessment. Smoothie listened for a moment, then squeaked and chirruped back.
“It is too foul,” she said to Anya. “They have to get out. The grating is under the second bridge. They wish us luck and also advise to not put your head under the water.”
“Yes indeed,” agreed Anya fervently. “Please give them my thanks, and if there is ever anything I can do for the otters of the Yarrow River, they have only to ask.”
Smoothie repeated these words in Otterish, there were some discreet splashes, and Diver and Swiftie were gone, speeding back to the main canal … and from there to the clean water of the river.
The canal wasn’t wide enough for Anya to row normally, so she had to dig the oars in close to the side of the boat, several times scraping the walls on the left or right. But they continued to make their way along, passing under the first narrow bridge without incident.
They stopped under the next bridge. There was a narrow tunnel leading off the canal there, which had once been barred but was now open, with only a few stubs of rusting iron left behind from the former grille.
Ardent, peering over the side, said, “It smells even more horrible. I didn’t think it c-c-ould.”
“We have to go up there, no matter how it smells,” said Anya. She unshipped an oar and used it to probe the water, checking the depth. “It’s not very deep. About up to my waist, I’d say. I can wade.”
“You can wade,” said Ardent. “I’ll have to swim. So will Shrub.”
“I don’t mind,” said Shrub. “I can’t smell much anyway. No worse than mud.”
“It’s a lot worse than mud,” said Anya. She accidentally breathed through her nose for a moment, and felt the gorge rising in her throat. “But we have to do it. You take the lead, Shrub. Look for the way into the meetinghouse. Ardent, you go next. I’ll follow with Denholm. Smoothie, you bring up the rear.”
Before they went over the side, Anya put the bottles of druid’s blood and witches’ tears down the front of her jerkin so they’d stay out of the water. She rolled up her cloak and tied it high on her back as well. The money in her belt purse and her knife would hopefully be no worse for immersion.
All that done, the princess tied the boat up to a protruding hook that stuck out of the wall and slid over the side, holding the blue lantern in one hand and Denholm in his cage high in the other hand, well clear of the polluted water.
It actually wasn’t quite as bad as Anya feared. The water wasn’t cold, the smell was no worse, provided she breathed through her mouth, and the lantern didn’t shed enough light to see more than she cared to see floating about. She waded after Ardent, who was paddling hard, keeping his snout well up and out of the water.
Twenty or thirty paces in, Shrub called out.