"What! Before you join us at table? Sophie and I wouldn't hear of it! It's a tradition when the sheriff comes calling to sup together. We always looked forward to Sheriff Joyner's visits."

Gerard protested weakly, knowing from the start that his words were falling on deaf ears. All too soon he was seated at the table in a huge farmhouse kitchen that would have sufficed to serve everyone at the Inn of the Last Home on a busy night. Sophie slaved furiously at the stove while Tom droned on about acreage under cultivation and crop yields and market prices. As he spoke, a pungent, peppery odor began to permeate the air, and Gerard felt like weeping.

"Here you go!" Sophie said at last, plunking a large serving dish down on the table. "I know Laura Majere sets great store by her spiced potatoes, and that recipe's a treasured family secret. But I'll wager my spiced potatoes will stand up against anyone's!"

Gerard groaned inwardly. If anything, Sophie's potatoes smelled even more robustly flavored than Laura's. At the risk of committing a grave breach of etiquette, he grabbed the nearest serving spoon and began dishing himself up a modest helping, figuring he was likely to get off with smaller portions if he served himself than if he left the job up to his hosts. Indeed, Sophie frowned at the small amount on his plate and looked ready to object.

"I can't wait to try them!" Gerard exclaimed, shoveling in a mouthful before Sophie could interrupt… and almost dropped his spoon on the table. The potatoes were hot! Not stove hot, but spicy hot, peppery hot, peel-the-skin-off-the-roof-of-your-mouth hot. Gerard gasped and gulped at the mug of ale Tom had set before him. The burning sensation diminished only as long as he kept drinking, for soon as he stopped for breath, the searing pain returned full force. "More!" he choked, finishing his ale and pushing the mug toward Tom. "Please, some more."

Tom laughed good-naturedly and refilled the mug while Sophie beamed as though Gerard had just paid her the highest form of compliment. "I'm glad you like them," she said, blushing.

Gerard didn't try to correct her misapprehension. He continued drinking ale, though at a slower rate. Finally, he was able to tolerate the twinges that continued to plague his trembling mouth. He set the mug down, wiped his lips with his sleeve, and looked at his plate.

One mouthful down, and who knew how many more yet to go. He let out a deep breath and resolutely picked up his spoon. As Tom and Sophie looked at him, beaming, and eagerly beginning to devour their own hefty servings, Gerard began toiling through the rest of the portion on his plate.

By the time he was through, his stomach was heaving and his head was spinning with the effects of the ale. He had to have Tom's help clambering back into the saddle. He headed back into town at the gentlest pace he could coax from Thunderbolt, who was still impatient for a good run. His shadow stretched far into the field on his right. Even at a plodding walk, the potatoes and ale were not long with him. Indeed, all the day's victuals were soon left behind at the side of the road.

He had made an entire sea voyage at the height of a storm, he thought miserably, and never once was seasick. Yet here he was now, unable to keep simple farm fare down on a neighborly visit through the countryside.

From now on, he resolved, he would stick in town where he belonged.

CHAPTER 11

One morning a few days later, Gerard hummed as he strolled along the bridge-walks, nodding and greeting people. He got a wan smile from the bemused baker, Brynn Ragulf, whose mind was undoubtedly far from Solace, sailing the high seas and living a life of adventure. "Rising," Ragulf said distractedly in answer to the stock question citizens always asked about how the bread business was doing, despite the fact that Gerard hadn't asked. "Always rising." He wandered off, already back in his reverie, oblivious to the flour that dusted his face and clothes.

Gerard's reception from Kedrick Tos, the gangly goldsmith and councilman who fancied himself a ladies' man, was more effusive. "Sheriff, just the man I wanted to see! I have an idea for helping to ensure the safety of Solace from attack. A ditch and palisade constructed around the entire town." He waved his hands expansively to indicate the scale of the project.

Gerard smiled. "And who do you think is going to attack?"

"Oh, I don't know. Brigands, I suppose. Outlaws. Villains of every stripe. We should be prepared in any event, don't you think?" Gerard tried to envision digging a trench around the whole of Solace and erecting a palisade alongside it. Such a structure wouldn't even protect the town against imaginative kender, supposing the project could ever be completed in the first place-a proposition Gerard highly doubted. Even the checkpoints on the major roads into town were drawing criticism from a number of merchants and private citizens alike. Anything more ambitious than that would never find sufficient support from the rest of the council. "I'll take the matter under consideration, Councilman," he said thoughtfully, knowing Tos would forget all about the idea now that he had passed it along to Gerard. Tos was enthusiastic that way, and absentminded afterward. Tangletoe Snakeweed passed beneath the bridgewalk, crying out the news of the day-or what passed for news in his spiel. "For all those who were wondering, it turns out Lady Drebble will be all right," Tangletoe announced grandly. "Healer Argyle Hulsey says Lady Drebble's features merely froze for a while from the unaccustomed effort of arranging them into a smile. Argyle Hulsey says it was the worst case of rictus she's ever seen outside of a three-day-old corpse, but Lady Drebble's face should be back to its habitual expression within a few days."

Early though it was, the town was already bustling.

Horses, carts, and wagons passed along the streets below, raising clouds of dust, now that the days were hot and dry, that rose even to Gerard's perch among the trees. By day the cicadas droned; by night the crickets chirped. And always there was the turmoil of a town undergoing unprecedented growth, with all the opportunities and problems that afforded, which meant that the town sheriff played a vital role.

Gerard drank in the morning air. There was real satisfaction in his job, a kind of contentment that had eluded him all those years he had served as a knight Who would have thought, he mused, that he would find a source of such pride here in Solace, where he had been forced to endure such humiliation during the war?

He reached the home of Palin and Usha and knocked. The door opened almost immediately, revealing Palin in his usual early-morning garb of embroidered robe and slippers. Gerard tried to stop in every day to talk with the mayor. After Palin heard of Gerard's misadventures on his farm rounds, he made a point of inviting the sheriff to daily breakfast, assuring him that his eating habits were his own. So Gerard had began showing up as a regular guest at their morning table.

The Majeres were willing to serve Gerard plain, unsweetened porridge without cinnamon or cream, if that was his desire. But he was gradually tempted by the blueberry muffins and jam or honey, with stacks of buttermilk pancakes swimming in syrup, which Palin and Usha often enjoyed.

"Come on in," Palin said, showing Gerard to his customary chair. "What's the word out in the world this fine morning?"

Gerard sprawled in the chair Palin had offered him, feeling right at home. "The word is that Lady Drebble's face froze when she attempted to smile at Goodwife Gottlief. At least, that's what Tangletoe Snakeweed is claiming this morning on his rounds."

Palin laughed as he took his own chair. "For once, I can believe the kender got his facts right. Lady Drebble's face would freeze if she tried to smile, especially if the recipient was to he Goodwife Gottlief. But you know, I really think you're the one who is to blame."