"You'll find a waterman asleep under his tilt in one of them ere craft, if you look about, Sir," replied Ben, backing water as he spoke. All at once Melusine remembered Pottiswick, and the errand he had run. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. . "I will struggle no longer with destiny. In that sense, my strategy worked.
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