Within each category, the level of difficulty of the riddles varied. A not-too-simple simple one, then, he thought, and aloud he said, “Another gent I came athwart; he shook me down to pay his part. After that, the boat, it sank. Who was he?” It was the same sort of conundrum as the last, but Knickpointe had met plenty of adults who’d had trouble with it.
The boy groaned. “A shoal.”
“Still not thorny enough?”
“Nooooo.” It was as much whine as word.
“Fine,” the Ferryman said, then mentally switched baskets, and dug for a medium-difficult riddle. “Silver thimble with a tongue, might fit on a giant’s thumb.”
At this, the boy actually stamped his foot. “A church bell. Why are you making this so easy?” he demanded, grabbing the side of the boat as it lurched sideways.
“Good grief. Fine.” The Ferryman gave up trying to pull his punches. “I saw a jackdaw all in black, with silver eye and heavy pack.”
“A thief escaping with his haul.” The boy’s face was pink with frustration.
“Silver yarn a-fraying, eleven threads a-playing.”
His cheeks went redder still. “The Skidwrack in the moonlight!”
“I trust it in a sangaree but never underfoot.”
“THAT’S ICE!” the boy howled, clenching his hands at his sides.
Knickpointe ground his teeth at the noise. “And where has all the church plate gone?”
The kid didn’t answer for a beat, but only because he paused to get his vexation under control. “With the thief to the bottom of the channel, where the ice wouldn’t hold,” he answered bitterly.
The Ferryman rolled his eyes, kept punting, and went on throwing riddle after riddle at the boy, enduring the rising tantrum as his passenger answered every one correctly, until they reached the Nagspeake side of the Tailrace.
When they arrived, the Ferryman fended the Inferus off the dock and whipped a line around the iron cleat in a neat hitch to make the boat fast. Then he turned to consider his small passenger. “Did you not actually want to cross at all?” he asked quietly.
A tear slipped down the boy’s cheek. “I did, but only for the riddles.”
The Ferryman looked at him in disbelief. “You only wanted to cross because you knew I would ask you riddles?”
The child nodded. “Nobody else I know is any good at them. I thought you might have some I hadn’t heard before.”
“What about your three acorn caps?”
He shrugged. “I thought I should offer something.”
The Ferryman pointed at the Nagspeake shore. “And what were you going to do when we got here?”
“Ask to go back, and answer more riddles for passage,” the boy replied, as if this ought to be obvious. Then a thought appeared to occur to him. “Are you very angry?”
“Why should I be angry?” the Ferryman asked.
“I thought you might feel this was a waste of your time. I didn’t think of that before,” his small passenger admitted.
The Ferryman sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Caster. Cas for short.” He looked at the dock, and the shore beyond. “I suppose I have to get out here.”
The Ferryman nodded. “But first, your token.” He held out a hand, and Cas put the carved driftwood coin into it. Then the boy climbed out of the Inferus and onto the dock. He and the Ferryman looked at each other.
“Will you still take me back home?” Cas asked.
“My job is to cross the river.”
“But are those all the riddles you had?” The boy’s voice wavered with all the frustration and injustice that only a child who wants something and is being given everything but that thing can possibly feel.
The Ferryman held out a token for the return trip, this one carved from a cross-section of an old stained antler. “Those were about a third of the riddles I have.”
Cas took the coin and climbed back down into the boat. “You have more? Are they as easy as the other ones?”
“Half of the remaining ones are too easy. The others . . .” The Ferryman smiled as he cast the Inferus off again. “Only you can say. They are riddles without answers.”
The boy’s eyes opened wide. “Without answers? Then how does anyone answer them?”
“I couldn’t possibly tell you.” The Ferryman pushed the boat away from the pier with one booted foot. “That’s the whole trick.”
Cas sat on one of the boat’s benches, practically vibrating with anticipation. “I’m ready.”
“Here goes, then. Take your time: Whisper and say where you find extra moons anytime you want them.”
Finally, gratifyingly, Cas hesitated, and his brow furrowed. He tilted his head, then tilted it the other way, then dropped his elbows to his knees and his chin into his palms. The Ferryman watched this out of the corner of his eye as he navigated the rocks and the rapids of the Tailrace. About halfway across, Cas lifted his head, a look of delight on his face. “My fingernails,” he said, remembering to speak softly.
The Ferryman considered, then nodded once. “I believe you’re right.”
Cas laughed. Then he frowned. “But that means it does have an answer.”
“It means you gave it one,” the Ferryman said. “That’s different. It has an answer now.”
“Can I . . . can I have another?” Cas asked. “Not because that one wasn’t hard. Because it was fun.”
They were passing the halfway point of the Tailrace. The Ferryman nodded. “You may. But only one more. We can’t go through all the answerless riddles I’ve got, or when we’re done, I won’t have any left.”
Cas nodded. “All right. One more.”
“Very well. I startled a cardinal off of his lectern. What did he say?”
The boy settled into his thoughtful posture again and stayed hunkered down until just before the Ferryman brought the Inferus up to the dock.
“I have it,” Cas announced. And by way of answer, he whistled four notes.
The Ferryman took a moment
