be rid of this.' She gathered up the hair cuttings and opened the window to fling them out onto the wind. Then she shut it and brushed off her hands.
'Thank you,' I said awkwardly.
'You're welcome,' she told me. She glanced about the room, and breathed a small sigh. 'I'm going to miss that bed,' she told me. She set to packing with a swift efficiency. She caught me watching her and grinned. 'When you're a minstrel who wanders, you learn to do this quickly and well.' She tossed in the last items, then laced her pack shut. She swung it to one shoulder. 'Wait for me at the bottom of the back stairs,' she commanded. 'While I go settle my bill.'
I did as she bade me, but waited substantially longer in the cold and wind than I had expected. Eventually she emerged, rosycheeked and ready for the day. She stretched herself like a little cat. 'This way,' she directed me.
I had expected to shorten my stride to accommodate her, but found that we matched pace easily. She glanced across at me as we strode away from the merchants' sector of town, and headed to the northern outskirts. 'You look different today,' she informed me. 'And it's not just the haircut. You've made up your mind about something.'
'I have,' I agreed with her.
'Good,' she said warmly, as she took my arm companionably. 'I hope it's to trust me.'
I glanced at her and said nothing. She laughed, but did not release my arm.
The wooden walkways of the merchants' section of Blue Lake soon disappeared and we walked in the street past houses that huddled against each other as if seeking shelter from the cold.
The wind was a constant chill push against us as we strode along cobbled streets that gave way eventually to roads of packed earth that ran past small farmsteads. The road was rutted and muddy from the rains of the last few days. This day at least was fair, even if the blustery wind was cold. 'Is there much farther to go?' I finally asked of her.
'I'm not certain. I'm simply following directions. Watch for three stacked rocks at the side of the road.'
'What do you really know of these smugglers?' I demanded.
She shrugged a bit too casually. 'I know they are going to the Mountains, when no one else is. And I know they are taking the pilgrims with them.'
'Pilgrims?'
'Or whatever you wish to call them. They go to honor Eda's shrine in the Mountain Kingdom. They had bought passage on a barge earlier in the summer. But then the King's Guard claimed all the barges for their own use and shut down the borders to the Mountain Kingdom. The pilgrims have been stuck in Blue Lake since then, trying to find a way to continue their journey.'
We came to the three stacked rocks, and a weedy track through a rocky, brambly pasture surrounded by a rock-and-pole fence. A few horses were grazing disconsolately. I noted with interest they were Mountain-bred, small and patchy-coated at this time of year. A little house was set well back from the road. It was built of river rock and mortar, with a sod roof. The small outbuilding behind it matched it. A thin trickle of smoke escaped its chimney, to be swiftly dispersed by the wind. A man sat on the fence, whittling at something. He lifted his eyes to regard us and evidently decided we were no threat. He made no challenge to us as we passed him and went to the door of the cottage. Just outside the cottage, fat pigeons cooed and strutted in a cote. Starling knocked at the door, but the answer came from a man who walked around the corner of the house. He had rough brown hair and blue eyes and was dressed like a farmer. He carried a brimming bucket of warm milk. 'Who do you seek?' he greeted us.
'Nik,' Starling replied.
'I know no Nik,' the man said. He opened the door and went into the house. Starling boldly followed him, and I trailed her with less confidence. My sword was at my hip. I put my hand closer to the hilt but not on it. I didn't want to provoke a challenge.
Inside the hut, a driftwood fire burned in the hearth. Most but not all of the smoke was going up the chimney. A boy and a spotted kid shared a pile of straw in one corner. He regarded us with wide blue eyes, but said nothing. Smoked hams and sides hung low from the rafters. The man carried the milk to a table where a woman was chopping up fat yellow roots. He set the bucket down beside her work and turned to us mildly.
'I think you've come to the wrong house: Try down the road a ways. Not the next house. That's where Pelf lives. But beyond, maybe.'
'Thank you kindly. We shall.' Starling smiled round at them all, and went to the door. 'Coming, Tom?' she asked me. I nodded pleasantly at the folk and followed her. We left the house and walked up the lane. When we were well away I asked her, 'Now what?'
'I'm not precisely sure. From what I overheard, I think we go to Pelf's house and ask for Nik.'
'From what you overheard?'
'You don't think I have personal knowledge of smugglers, do you? I was in the public baths. Two women were talking as they bathed. Pilgrims on their way to the Mountains. One was saying it might be their last chance at a bath for a while, and the other was saying she didn't care as long as they finally got to leave Blue Lake. Then one told the other where they were supposed to meet the smugglers.'
I said nothing. I suppose my expression said it all, for Starling asked me indignantly, 'Do you have any better ideas? This will either work out or it won't.'
'It may work out to us with our throats cut.'
'Then go back to town and see if you can do better.'
'I think if we did that, the man following us would decide we were certainly spies and do more than just follow us. Let us go on to Pelf, and see what comes of it. No, don't look back.'
We returned to the road and walked to the next farmstead. The wind had become stronger and I tasted snow on it. If we did not find Nik soon, it was going to be a long, cold walk back to town.
Someone had once cared about this next farm. Once there had been a line of silver birches to either side of the drive. Now they were brittle scarecrows of trees, their branches long bare, bark peeling in the wind. A few survivors wept yellow coin leaves in the wind. Extensive pastures and fields had been fenced, but whatever stock they had held was long gone. The weedy fields went unplanted, the thistly pastures ungrazed. 'What happened to this land?' I demanded as we walked past the desolation.
'Years of drought. Then, a summer of fire. Out beyond these farmsteads, the riverbanks used to be covered with open oak forests and grazing land. Here, these were dairy farms. But out there, smallholders ran their goats in the free pasturage, and their haragars scavenged under the oaks for acorns. I've heard it was magnificent hunting as well. Then came the fire. It burned for over a month they say, so that a man could scarcely breathe and the river ran black with ash. Not just the forests and wild meadows, but hayfields and homes were torched by the flying sparks. After the years of drought, the river was no more than a trickle of itself. There was nowhere to flee from the fire. And after the fire came more hot dry days. But the winds that blew carried dust now as well as ash. Smaller streams choked with it. It blew until the rains finally came that fall. All the water that folk had prayed for years came in one season. Floods of it. And when the water went down, well, you see what was left. Washed-out gravelly soil.'
'I recall hearing something of the sort.' It had been a conversation long ago. Someone … Chade? … had told me that the people held the King accountable for everything, even droughts and fires. It had meant little to me then, but to these farmers it must have seemed like the end of the world.
The house, too, spoke of a loving hand and better times. It was two stories, built of timber, but its paint was long faded. Shutters were closed tight over the windows in the upper story. There were two chimneys at either end of the house, but one was losing its stones. Smoke rose from the other one. A young girl stood before the door of the house. A fat gray pigeon perched on her hand and she was stroking it lightly. 'Good day,' she bid us in a pleasantly low voice as we approached. Her tunic was leather over a loose cream shirt of wool. She wore leather trousers as well, and boots. I put her age at about twelve, and knew she was some kin to the folk in the other house by her eyes and hair.
'Good day,' Starling returned to her. 'We are looking for Nik.'
The girl shook her head. 'You have come to the wrong house. There is no Nik here. This is Pelf's house. Perhaps you should seek farther down the road.' She smiled at us, no more than puzzlement on her face.
Starling gave me an uncertain glance. I took her arm. 'We have been given poor directions. Come, let us take
