Her husband cleared his throat and rose. The noise in the hall fell off and then vanished; faces turned towards them, some already chewing on rolls or pieces of cheese from the rounds and blocks and wedges that were set out on cutting boards down the tables, alternating with tubs of butter and jugs of milk, beer and cider. ?Well, folks, you all know my brother Ingolf is back for a visit.?

There was a cheer and a ripple of raised mugs; Edward Vogeler looked surprised, and so did Ingolf. ?We all heard how well Ingolf did in the Sioux War,? Ed went on. ?How the Bossman of Marshall gave him that medal and offered to make him a general.?

Rudi and his party looked at Ingolf in surprise; the only tales he?d told them about his part in that conflict had been things comical or tragic, mostly reflecting badly on himself. ?And how his salvage team got all the way to the East Coast after that, chosen by the Bossman of Iowa because he was the best. First people from the Midwest to do dat since the Change!?

Family pride rang in his voice as the folk of the steading cheered again. Then he went on: ?With him is his intended and her brother Rudi Mackenzie, the guy he?s ramrod for now, who comes all the way from the west coast-that?s a first, too! They?re our guests here, and so are their people. Let?s show them hospitality, and how the Free Republic of Richland, and we Readstowners, treat guests. They?ve got a priest with them, good Father Ignatius, and I?d like him to lead us in saying grace.?

He bowed his head, and Ignatius rose: ?O Christ our God, bless?-he signed himself-?the food and drink of Your servants for You are holy always, now and ever, and forever. As Jacob greeted Esau his brother, may we all be as brothers to one another, in Your love. Amen.?

There was a murmur of Amen from up and down the tables. Rudi and the others of the Old Religion waited in respectful silence with their heads bowed-courtesy, and also duty to their host-and then signed their plates with the Invoking Pentagram and quietly murmured: ?Harvest Lord who dies for the ripened corn Corn Mother who births the fertile field Blessed be those who share this bounty;

And Blessed the mortals who toiled with You

Their hands helping Earth to bring forth life.?

He didn?t think Edward Vogeler noticed what they were about, or perhaps he very thoroughly chose not to. Several others-the housekeeper among them-did, he thought.

A girl carried around a tureen of the soup; Wanda Vogeler wielded the ladle for the table, and Rudi accepted his gratefully. Baskets held half a dozen types of bread-fine white loaves with a crackling glaze, black rye, rich coarse-textured pumpernickel, round rolls with crosses cut in their surface, squares of slightly sweet cornbread. He cut a slice of the rye because it was rare at home and wielded the spoon with gratitude. The soup had a deep savory smoky richness that was just what you needed after a day?s hard work in brisk fall weather.

The bratwurst were sizzling on the grills, and a team split crusty rolls, buttered them and set out mustard and sauerkraut and sauteed onions to go with them. Rudi took several when they were borne around. His brows went up a little as others pulled back the cloths on tubs of honey-glazed chicken breasts and steaks kissed with garlic, pork chops, racks of ribs and skewers of venison and lamb and onions ready to go on the coals, and it became apparent that the brats were merely the introduction.

My Southsiders will be happy, he thought; they had a carnivore?s idea of food.

Then the vegetable dishes came in, on wheeled trolleys. ?Yah hey, scalloped potatoes with bacon,? Ingolf said, rubbing his hands as a heavy ceramic pot was lifted to the table and plopped on an oakwood coaster; it bubbled under its brown-gold topping of grated cheddar.?My favorite!? ?Topped with cheese,? Mary Havel said.?It?s good cheese, all of it… but… don?t you ever get tired of cheese here??

Ingolf grinned at her.?Tired of food?? he said.

Edward Vogeler called this his study. They seated themselves in big comfortable chairs around a table of polished dark wood; a desk stood in the shadows of a corner, and books lined the walls. Rudi had a chance for a quick glance at them. You could tell a good deal about a man by what he chose to read. These seemed mainly practical-tomes on agriculture and stockbreeding, war and building and metalworking, along with rows of account books.

A few were recent titles, their printing and binding less machine-perfect-one read Salvaging Gears For Millwork, and another Modern Body Armor.

And up in a corner were a few tales he recognized, well read but looking dusty and neglected now: Joris of the Rock, one of Mathilda?s favorites and her mother?s before her, and Sir Guillame, by Donan Coyle, one of his own beloved since boyhood that he?d been given by Sir Nigel. He suspected those had been Ingolf?s, along with the Tarzan and the Wizard of Oz series.

Wanda bustled in behind them and set out a tray with a pot of hot comfrey-chicory so-called coffee and oatmeal cookies rich with walnuts and raisins. Then, a little to Rudi?s surprise, she seated herself near her husband, taking up a half-finished sweater from a basket and setting to work. A white-bibbed black cat took up station beneath her chair, occasionally darting a paw at the skein of wool as it jerked upward to the click of the knitting needles. ?Drink?? the Sheriff asked.?We do a good applejack, if I say so myself. Und I do.?

Rudi accepted his with a murmur of thanks. It was a comfortable room, smelling of polish, old tobacco smoke and leather and lit by good alcohol lanterns, with a couple of comely if worn rugs on the floor. A brick fireplace held a pleasant crackle of burning oak. On the mantelpiece above it were two black-bordered photographs: one of a thin hard-faced woman in late middle age, and another of a man who looked enough like the Vogeler brothers to be their father and probably was. Unlike the woman?s it was a pre-Change piece, with sharp edges and bright colors; he wore dark glasses, a khaki shirt and an odd peaked cap, with a metal star on his breast that Rudi recognized.

The master of Readstown stuffed a briar pipe as his guests settled in, and Ingolf did likewise. They grew tobacco here and were proud of the product.

A habit I do not admire, Rudi thought, coughing a little.

Smoking was rare in the far west, and he wasn?t sorry for it; he?d never used the weed himself, save as an aid to ceremony among folk to whom it was sacred. But it would be tactless to protest a man?s diversions under his own roof, and impious as well. After all, every home was a little world in itself, with its own customs and guardian spirits, whether it was a crofter?s cot or a manor like this.

Instead he sipped at the excellent apple brandy and tried not to feel too bloated. Those had been the best sausages he?d ever eaten, but even an hour of vigorous square dancing and polkas afterwards hadn?t worked most of the feast off.

The others here to talk business were Father Ignatius and Mathilda. Rudi thought the Sheriff had been a little surprised when they?d automatically included her.

And I am somewhat surprised that the Sheriff brought Pierre Walks Quiet in on things right away, he mused, nodding to the old Indian. Even if he does manage the Sheriffry?s forests and game, the which is a position of importance and honor. ?They aren?t kidding when they say Princess, Ed,? Ingolf said, with an inclination of his head towards Mathilda.?Her family runs half the country out there beyond the Rockies-most of what used to be Washington and part of Oregon too. She stands to inherit it. Only child.?

Mathilda nodded with regal courtesy.?And parts of British Columbia, my l-Sheriff. None of it?s nearly as densely populated as your country here in the Midwest, of course.? ?And Rudi?s relatives run most of the rest, one way or another.?