The false map worked too well.
On the third morning a party of mixed hardliners and Archive trackers—eight in total—followed the lying chart straight into the mudflats south of the main canal. Their shouts of betrayal carried on the wind. Kael, watching from a rise with obvious joy, declared it the finest practical joke of his career.
Unfortunately one tracker among them was better than the rest. She cut free of the mud, read the real towpath signs, and came after the party at a dead run with two hardliners who had not trusted Pell’s chart in the first place.
The chase was sudden and muddy. Lira’s group abandoned the open path and cut through a stand of reed and shallow water. Cal slipped, was hauled up by Sela, and both went down again in an explosion of black water and laughter that w
