"It's last year's… it's had a winter to age," I told her, and took it from her to work the cork loose with my knife. She watched me worry at it for a while, and then took it from me, and drawing her own slender sheath knife, she speared and twisted it out with a practiced knack that I envied.

She caught my look and shrugged. "I've been pulling corks for my father for as long as I can remember. It used to be because he was too drunk. Now he doesn't have the strength in his hands anymore, even when he's sober." Pain and bitterness mingled in her words.

"Ah." I floundered for a more pleasant topic. "Look, the Rainmaiden." I pointed out over the water to a sleek hulled ship coming into the harbor under oars. "I've always thought her the most beautiful ship in the harbor."

"She's been on patrol. The cloth merchants took up a collection. Almost every merchant in town contributed. Even I, although all I could spare was candles for her lanterns. She's manned with fighters now, and escorts the ships between here and Highdowns. The Greenspray meets them there and takes them farther up the coast."

"I hadn't heard that." And it surprised me that I had not heard such a thing up in the keep itself. My heart sank in me, that even Buckkeep Town was taking measures independent of the King's advice or consent. I said as much.

"Well, folk have to do whatever they can if all King Shrewd is going to do is click his tongue and frown about it. It's well enough for him to bid us to be strong when he sits secure up in his castle. It isn't as if his son or brother or little girl will be Forged."

It shamed me that I could think of nothing to say in my king's defense. And shame stung me to say, "Well, you're almost as safe as the King himself, living here below in Buckkeep Town."

Molly looked at me levelly. "I had a cousin, apprenticed out in Forge Town." She paused, then said carefully, "Will you think me cold when I say that we were relieved to hear he had only been killed? It was uncertain for a week or so, but finally we had word from one who had seen him die. And my father and I were both relieved. We could grieve, knowing that his life was simply over and we would miss him. We no longer had to wonder if he was still alive and behaving like a beast, causing misery to others and shame to himself."

I was silent for a bit. Then: "I'm sorry." It seemed inadequate, and I reached out to pat her motionless hand. For a second it was almost as if I couldn't feel her there, as if her pain had shocked her into an emotional numbness the equal of a Forged one. But then she sighed and I felt her presence again beside me. "You know," I ventured, "perhaps the King himself does not know what to do either. Perhaps he is at as great a loss for a solution as we are."

"He is the King!" Molly protested. "And named Shrewd to be shrewd. Folk are saying now he but holds back to keep the strings of his purse tight. Why should he pay out of his hoard when desperate merchants will hire mercenaries of their own? But, enough of this…" and she held up a hand to stop my words. "This is not why we came out here into the peace and coolness, to talk of politics and fears. Tell me instead of what you've been doing. Has the speckled bitch had her pups yet?"

And so we spoke of other things, of Motley's puppies and of the wrong stallion getting at a mare in season, and then she told me of gathering greencones to scent her candles and picking blackberries, and how busy she would be for the next week, trying to make blackberry preserves for the winter while still tending the shop and making candles.

We talked and ate and drank and watched the late sun of summer as it lingered low on the horizon, almost but not quite setting. I felt the tension as a pleasant thing between us, as a suspension and a wonder both. I viewed it as an extension of my strange new sense, and so I marveled that Molly seemed to feel and react to it as well. I wanted to speak to her about it, to ask her if she was aware of other folk in a similar way. But I feared that if I asked her, I might reveal myself as I had to Chade, or that she might be disgusted by it as I knew Burrich would be. So I smiled, and we talked, and I kept my thoughts to myself.

I walked her home through the quiet streets and bid her good night at the door of the chandlery. She paused a moment, as if thinking of something else she wanted to say, but then gave me only a quizzical look and a softly muttered "Good night, Newboy."

I took myself home under a deeply blue sky pierced by bright stars, past the sentries at their eternal dice game and up to the stables. I made a quick round of the stalls, but all was calm and well there, even with the new puppies. I noticed two strange horses in one of the paddocks, and one lady's palfrey had been stabled. Some visiting noblewoman come to court, I decided. I wondered what had brought her here at the end of the summer, and admired the quality of her horses. Then I left the stables and headed up to the keep.

By habit my path took me through the kitchens. Cook was familiar with the appetites of stable boys and men-at-arms and knew that regular meals did not always suffice to keep one full. Especially lately I had found myself getting hungry at all hours, while Mistress Hasty had recently declared that if I didn't stop growing so rapidly, I should have to wrap myself in barkcloth like a wild man, for she had no idea how to keep me looking as if my clothes fit. I was already thinking of the big earthenware bowl that Cook kept full of soft biscuits and covered with a cloth, and of a certain wheel of especially sharp cheese, and how well both would go with some ale when I entered the kitchen door.

There was a woman at the table. She had been eating an apple and cheese, but at the sight of me coming in the door, she sprang up and put her hand over her heart as if she thought I were the Pocked Man himself. I paused. "I did not mean to startle you, lady. I was merely hungry, and thought to get myself some food. Will it bother you if I stay?"

The lady slowly sank back into her seat. I wondered privately what someone of her rank was doing alone in the kitchen at night. For her high birth was something that could not be disguised by the simple cream robe she wore or the weariness in her face. This, undoubtedly, was the rider of the palfrey in the stable, and not some lady's maid. If she had awakened hungry at night, why hadn't she simply bestirred a servant to fetch something for her?

Her hand rose from clutching at her breast to pat at her lips, as if to steady her uneven breath. When she spoke, her voice was well modulated, almost musical. "I would not keep you from your food. I was simply a bit startled. You… came in so suddenly."

"My thanks, lady."

I moved around the big kitchen, from ale cask to cheese to bread, but everywhere I went, her eyes followed me. Her food lay ignored on the table where she had dropped it when I came in. I turned from pouring myself a mug of ale to find her eyes wide upon me. Instantly she dropped them away. Her mouth worked, but she said nothing.

"May I do something for you?" I asked politely. "Help you find something? Would you care for some ale?"

"If you would be so kind." She said the words softly. I brought her the mug I had just filled and set it on the table before her. She drew back when I came near her, as if I carried some contagion. I wondered if I smelled bad from my stable work earlier. I decided not, for Molly would have surely mentioned it. Molly was ever frank with me about such things.

I drew another mug for myself, and then, looking about, decided it would be better to carry my food off up to my room. The lady's whole attitude bespoke her uneasiness at my presence. But as I was struggling to balance biscuits and cheese and mug, she gestured at the bench opposite her. "Sit down," she told me, as if she had read my thoughts. "It is not right I should scare you away from your meal."