On certain other details, their stories diverged wildly. Two of them said the boat was heading east, two others south, while four said it looked to be on a northerly course. Five saw no one besides their Duke on the boat, one beheld a grizzled captain of indeterminate age, and two reported a young woman, dressed in white, with a white orchid in her hair.
Accounts of the flag were equally varied. One saw the old flag of Goldshire, another a blue star upon a white field, while a full six told of a spiral with a four-pointed star in the middle, though no two would give the same color for the spiral or star.
As the ship faded from view, the Duke had shouted something back; whether a shout of sorrow or joy, none could say. One old man swore that the Duke had stared straight at him, and promised to return during Brookshire's hour of greatest need. A young woman had said no, he was singing a solemn song, of which she could pick out only the words "Sail away, never die, the gods are at your side...sail away through the night...sail away..."
As the sun rose and the good folk of the Duchy awoke to find Yvain missing, the people of Syrelwynn launched a frantic search for any clue behind the Duke's disappearance. In his study, they found a note, lightly encrypted in a cypher that took the Ducal Cryptographer only a few minutes to break:
Beneath the note was a locked jewel box, which the Duke's trusted servant Cedric confiscated before anyone could look inside. The people of Syrelwynn hunted till nightfall, but found no clue to the fate of Yvain Wintersong.THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF YVAIN WINTERSONG
I leave 100 erb, plus whatever bounties the Crown may still owe me, to Master Unjeweller Michael Fors, for the payment of Brookshire taxes now and in the future, and the continuing prosperity of these lands. I leave 39 erb to the Jacobus Fund, for the promotion of Shirerithian culture. And I leave 150 erb to Scott of Hyperborea, for reasons of my own.
My last request is that the flag of Ynnraile be changed to this design, containing the upper half of the Flag of Goldshire, just as Vorpmadal's banner shows the lower. I believe that someday, Goldshire will regain its freedom. On that day, look for me among the revellers.
His Niftiness Kaiser Ayreon the Ordinal-less will be without a Minister of Information. Before he appoints a new one, he may want to confer with his advisors about whether the position is still meaningful, or whether the Ministry should be renamed, redefined, or eliminated.
I leave the Ducal coronet of Brookshire to Baron Krasniy Yastreb of Vorpmadal, who has ever been my most loyal servant and my wisest councillor. I will be leaving for Duke Krasniy a list of some ideas that I never had a chance to implement, for him to use or ignore at his pleasure.
Beneath this note is a jewel box with a letter in it. On this page I write my last confession. Read it well, but not yet. When the time has come, you will know, and it will be waiting for you.
Mors spare Brookshire, Vivantia bless Goldshire. When I see them, I will say it to their faces.
*sniff* 
(It's good to be Grand Vizier... even if you're subjected to some godawful unconstitutional Triumvirate)
That and all my theories about micronational secrets are invariably wildly inaccurate.
