Spindle's End - Robin McKinleySpindles End
Robin McKinley



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G.P. PUTNAMS SONS NEW YORK
Copyright 2000 by Robin McKinley All rights reserved
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without 
permission in writing from the publisher, G P Putnams Sons, a division of 
Penguin Putnam Books for Young Readers, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014
G P Putnams Sons, Reg US Pat & Tm Off.
Published simultaneously in Canada
Printed in the United States of America
Designed by Gunta Alexander
Text set in Calisto
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McKinley, Robin Spindles end / Robin McKinley p cm
Summary: The infant princess Briar Rose is cursed on her name day by Pernicia, 
an evil fairy, and then whisked away by a young fairy to be raised in a remote 
part of a magical country, unaware of her real identity and hidden from 
Pernicias vengeful powers
[1 Fairy tales ] I Title PZ8 M1793 Sp2000 [Fic]-dc21 99-041818
ISBN 0-399-23466-7
First Impression



To the Lodge, my Woodwold, and to the other Dickinsons who love it too 



Part One



Chapter 1
^  
The magic in that country was so thick and tenacious that it settled over the 
land like chalk-dust and over floors and shelves like slightly sticky 
plaster-dust. (Housecleaners in that country earned unusually good wages.) If 
you lived in that country, you had to de-scale your kettle of its encrustation 
of magic at least once a week, because if you didnt, you might find yourself 
pouring hissing snakes or pond slime into your teapot instead of water. (It 
didnt have to be anything scary or unpleasant, like snakes or slime, especially 
in a cheerful householdmagic tended to reflect the atmosphere of the place in 
which it found itselfbut if you want a cup of tea, a cup of lavender and-gold 
pansies or ivory thimbles is unsatisfactory. And while the pansiesput dry in a 
vasewould probably last a day, looking like ordinary pansies, before they went 
greyish-dun and collapsed into magic dust, something like an ivory thimble would 
begin to smudge and crumble as soon as you picked it up.)
The best way to do it was to have a fairy as a member of your household, because 
she (it was usually a she) could lay a finger on the kettle just as it came to a 
boil (absentminded fairies could often be recognised by a pad of scar-tissue on 
the finger they favoured for kettle-cleaning) and murmur a few counter-magical 
words. There would be a tiny inaudible thock, like a seed-pod bursting, and the 
water would stay water for another week or (maybe) ten days.
De-magicking a kettle was much too little and fussy and frequent a job for any 
professional fairy to be willing to be hired to do it, so if you werent related 
to one you had to dig up a root of the dja vine, and dry it, and grate it, 
producing a white powder rather like plaster dust or magic, and add a pinch of 
that to your kettle once a week.
More often than that would give everyone in the household cramp.
You could tell the households that didnt have a fairy by the dja vines growing 
over them. Possibly because they were always having their roots disturbed, djas 
developed a reputation for being tricky to grow, and prone to sudden collapse; 
fortunately they rerooted easily from cuttings. Shed give me her last dja 
root was a common saying about a good friend.
People either loved that country and couldnt imagine living anywhere else, or 
hated it, left it as soon as they could, and never came back. If you loved it, 
you loved coming over the last hill before your village one day in early autumn 
and hearing the corn-field singing madrigals, and that day became a story you 
told your grandchildren, the way in other countries other grandparents told the 
story of the day they won the betting pool at the pub, or their applecake won 
first place at the local fete. If you lived there, you learned what you had to 
do, like putting a pinch of dried dja vine in your kettle once a week, like 
asking your loaf of bread to remain a loaf of bread before you struck it with a 
knife. (The people of this country had developed a reputation among outsiders 
for being unusually pious, because of the number of things they appeared to 
mutter a blessing over before they did them; but in most cases this was merely 
the asking of things it was safer to ask to remain nonmagical first, while work 
or play or food preparation or whatever was being got on with. Nobody had ever 
heard of a loaf of bread turning into a flock of starlings for anyone they knew, 
but the nursery tale was well known, and in that country it didnt pay to take 
chances. The muttered words were usually only some phrase such as Bread, stay 
bread or, in upperclass households, Bread, please oblige me, which was a less 
wise form, since an especially impish gust of magic could choose to translate 
oblige just as it chose.)
Births were very closely attended, because the request that things stay what 
they were had to be got in quickly, birth being a very great magic, and, in that 
country, likely to be teased into mischief. It was so common an occurrence as to 
occasion no remark when a new-sown field began coming up quite obviously as 
something other than what was planted, and by a week later to have reverted to 
what the farmer had put in. But while, like the pansies and the thimbles, this 
kind of magic was only a temporary aberration, it could be very embarrassing and 
onerous while it lasted. Farmers in that country worried more about falling 
asleep during the birthing times of their stock than they worried about the 
weather; the destruction a litter of baby taralians caused remained, even after 
it had reverted to piglets.
No one knew how the wild birds and beasts negotiated this, but human 
parents-to-be would go to extreme lengths to ensure a fairy was on hand to say 
the birth-words over their new little one.
Generally speaking the more mobile and water-dependent something was, the more 
likely magic was to get at it. This meant animalsand, of course, humanswere 
the most vulnerable. Rocks were pretty reliably rocks, except of course when 
they were something else that had been turned into rocks. But rocks themselves 
sort of slept through magic attacks, and even if some especially wild and 
erratic bit of magic decided to deck out a dry-stone wall as a marble fountain, 
you could still feel the dry-stone wall if you closed your eyes and touched the 
fountain, and the water would not make you wet. The lichen that grew on the 
rock, however, could be turned into daisies quite convincing enough to make you 
sneeze if real daisies did so; and the insects and small creatures that crept 
over the lichen were more susceptible yet. (There was an idea much beloved and 
written about by this countrys philosophers that magic had to do with 
negotiating the balance between earth and air and water; which is to say that 
things with legs or wings were out of balance with their earth element by 
walking around on feet or, worse, flying above the earth in the thin substance 
of air, obviously entirely unsuitable for the support of solid flesh. The 
momentum all this inappropriate motion set up in their liquid element unbalanced 
them further. Spirit, in this system, was equated with the fourth element, fire. 
All this was generally felt to be a load of rubbish among the people who had to 
work in the ordinary world for a living, unlike philosophers living in 
academies. But it was true that a favourite magical trick at fetes was for 
theatrically-minded fairies to throw bits of chaff or seed-pods or conkers in 
the air and turn them into things before they struck the ground, and that the 
trick worked better if the bits of chaff or seed-pods or conkers were wet.)
Slower creatures were less susceptible to the whims of wild magic than faster 
creatures, and creatures that flew were the most susceptible of all. Every 
sparrow had a delicious memory of having once been a hawk, and while magic 
didnt take much interest in caterpillars, butterflies spent so much time being 
magicked that it was a rare event to see ordinary butterflies without at least 
an extra set of wings or a few extra frills and iridescences, or bodies like 
tiny human beings dressed in flower petals. (Fish, which flew through that most 
dangerous element, water, were believed not to exist. Fishy-looking beings in 
pools and streams were either hallucinations or other things under some kind of 
spell, and interfering with, catching, ormost especiallyeating fish was 
strictly forbidden. All swimming was considered magical. Animals seen doing it 
were assumed to be favourites of a local water-sprite or dangerously insane; 
humans never tried.)
There did seem to be one positive effect to living involuntarily steeped in 
magic; everyone lived longer. More humans made their century than didnt; birds 
and animals often lived to thirty, and fifty was not unheard of. The breeders of 
domestic animals in that country were unusually sober and responsible 
individuals, since any mistakes they made might be around to haunt them for a 
long time.
Although magic was ubiquitous and magic-workers crucially necessary, the 
attitude of the ordinary people toward magic and its manipulators was that it 
and they were more than a bit chancy and not to be relied on, however fond you 
were of your aunt or your next-door neighbour. No one had ever seen a fairy turn 
into an eagle and fly up above the trees, but there were nursery tales about 
that, too, and it was difficult not to believe that it or something even more 
unnerving was somehow likely. Didnt farmers grow more stolid and earthy over a 
lifetime of farming? Wasnt it likely that a lifetime of handling magic made you 
wilder and more capricious?
It was a fact much noticed but rarely discussed (and never in any fairys 
hearing) that while fairies rarely married or (married or not) had children, 
there never seemed to be any fewer fairies around, generation after generation. 
So presumably magic ran in the blood of the people the way it ran in all other 
watery liquids, and sometimes there was enough of it to make someone a fairy, 
and sometimes there was not. (One of the things ordinary people did not like to 
contemplate was how many people there might be who were, or could have been, 
fairies, and were masquerading as ordinary people by the simple process of never 
doing any magic when anyone was around to notice.)
But there was a very strong tradition that the rulers of this country must be 
utterly without magic, for rulers must be reliable, they must be the earth and 
the rock underfoot for their people. And if any children of that countrys 
rulers had ever been born fairies, there was not only no official history of it; 
there were not even any stories about it.
This did mean that when the eldest child of each generation of the ruling family 
came to the age to be married (and, just to be safe, his or her next-younger and 
perhaps next-younger-after-that siblings) there was a great search and 
examination of possible candidates in terms of their magiclessness first, and 
their honesty, integrity, intelligence, and so on, second. (The likelihood of 
their getting along comfortably with their potential future spouses barely rated 
a mention on the councillors list.) So farso far as the countrys histories 
extended, which was a little over a thousand years at the time of this storythe 
system had worked; and while there were stories of the thick net of anti-magic 
that the court magicians set up for even the cleanest, most magic-antipathetic 
betrothed to go through, well, it worked, didnt it, and that was all that 
mattered.
The present king was not only an only child, but had had a very difficult time 
indeedor his councillors hadfinding a suitable wife.
She was not even a princess, finally, but a mere countess, of some obscure 
little backwater country which, so far as it was known for anything, was known 
for the fleethounds its king and queen bred, but she was quiet, dutiful, and, so 
far as any of the cleverest magicians in the land could tell, entirely without 
magic. Everyone breathed a deep sigh of relief when the wedding was over, it had 
been a wait of nearly a decade since the king came of marriageable age. But the 
years passed and she bore no children. Certain of the kings cousins began to 
hang around court more than they used tohis generation was particularly rich in 
cousins and one or two of these quietly divorced spouses who were insufficiently 
nonmagical. There had not been a break in the line from parent to child in the 
ruling of this country for over five hundred years, and the rules about how the 
crown was passed sideways or diagonally were not clear. Neither the king nor the 
queen noticed any of this, for they so badly wanted a child, they could not bear 
to think about the results if they did not, but the councillors noticed, and the 
kings cousins who divorced their spouses did themselves no good thereby. Nearly 
fifteen years after the kings marriage the queen was seen to become suddenly 
rather pale and sickly. Her husbands people, who had become very fond of her, 
because she was always willing to appear at fairs and festivals and smile during 
boring speeches and to kiss the babies, even grubby and unattractive ones, which 
were thrust at her, were torn between hoping that whatever she had would kill 
her off while the king was young enough to remarry (and there was a whole new 
crop of princesses grown up to marriageable age outside the borders as well as a 
few within), and hoping that she would get well and come to more fairs and 
festivals and kiss more babies. The givers of boring speeches especially wished 
this, she was the best audience they had ever had. The truth never occurred to 
anyonenot even when she began to wear loose gowns and to walk more heavily than 
she used tobecause there had been no announcement.
The king knew, and her chief waiting-woman knew, and the fairy who disguised the 
queens belly knew. But the fairy had warned the king and queen that the 
disguise would go so far and no further: the baby must be allowed to grow 
unmolested by tight laces and the queens balance not be deranged by high-heeled 
shoes. A magician might make you a proper disguise, said the fairy, whose name 
was Sigil, and let you dance all night in a sheath of silk no bigger around 
than your waist used to be; but I wouldnt advise it. Magicians know everything 
about magic and nothing about babies. I dont know nearly as much about magic as 
they dobut I know a lot about babies.
Sigil had been with the kings family since the kings mother had been queen, 
and the king loved her dearly, and his queen had found in her her first friend 
when she came to her husbands court, when she badly needed a friend. And so it 
was to Sigil the queen went, as soon as she knew for sure that she was pregnant, 
and begged for the disguise, saying that she had longed for a child for so many 
years she thought she could not bear the weight of the watchfulness of her 
husbands people, who had longed for this child all these years, too, if her 
pregnancy were announced. The king, who had wanted to declare a public holiday, 
was disappointed; but Sigil sided with the queen.
The poor queen could not quite bring herself, after all the long childless 
years, to believe it when her friend told her that the baby was fine and healthy 
and would be born without troubleWell, my dear, without any more trouble than 
the birth of babies does cause, and which you, poor thing, will find quite 
troublesome enough.
And so the birth of an heir was not announced until the queen went into labour. 
The queen would have waited even then till the baby was born, but Sigil said no, 
that the baby must be born freely into the world, and freely, in an heir to a 
realm, meant with its people waiting to welcome it.
The country, that day, went into convulsions not unlike those the poor queen was 
suffering. An heir! An heir at last! And no one knew! The courtiers and 
councillors were offended, and the highest ranking magicians furious, but their 
voices were drowned out in the tumult of jubilation from the people. The news 
travelled more quickly than any mere human messenger could take it, for the 
horses neighed it and the trees sang it and the kettles boiled it and the dust 
whispered itan heir! The kings child is born! We have an heir at last!
It was a girl, and the names chosen to be given her on her name-day were: Casta 
Albinia Allegra Dove Minerva Fidelia Aletta Blythe Domina Delicia Aurelia Grace 
Isabel Griselda Gwyneth Pearl Ruby Coral Lily Iris Briar-Rose. She was 
healthyjust as Sigil had said she would beand she was born without any more 
trouble than the birth of babies does cause, which is to say the queen was 
aching and exhausted, but not too exhausted to weep for joy when the baby was 
laid in her arms.
The eldest child of the reigning monarch was always next in line for the throne, 
be it boy or girl; but it was usually a boy. There was a deeply entrenched folk 
myth that a queen held this country together better than a king because there is 
a clear-eyed pragmatic common sense about an unmagical woman that even the most 
powerful or rather, especially the most powerfulmagic found difficult to 
disturb; it was thought that a man was more easily dazzled by pyrotechnics. 
Whether this was true or not, everyone believed it, including the bad fairies, 
who therefore spent a lot of their time making up charms to ensure the birth of 
male first children to the royal family. The royal magicians dismantled these 
charms as quickly as they could, but never quite as quickly as the bad fairies 
made them up. (As it was difficult to get any kind of charm through the heavy 
guard laid round the royal family, these charms had to be highly specific, with 
the knock-on effect that third children to a reigning monarch were almost always 
girls.) But the folk myth (plus the tangential effect that first-born princesses 
were rare enough to be interesting for no reason other than their rarity) 
guaranteed that the birth of a future queen was greeted with even greater 
enthusiasm than the birth of a mere future king; and so it was in this case. No 
one seemed to remember, perhaps because their last queen had been nearly four 
hundred years ago, that that queen had left some unfinished business with a 
wicked fairy named Pernicia, who had sworn revenge.
The princess name-day was going to be the grandest occasion that the country 
had ever seen, or at least that the oldest citizen could remembergrander than 
the king and queens wedding sixteen years agogrander than the kings parents 
wedding, almost fifty years ago, and certainly grander than the kings own 
name-day because hed been born eighteen months after his parents wedding and 
no one had realised he was going to be the only one.
The king and queen wanted to invite everyone to the name-day.
Every one of their people, they felt, should have the opportunity to join them 
on their day of joy and celebration. They were talked out of this ridiculous 
idea by their councillorsuncharacteristically in agreement on this particular 
topicwith some difficulty.
It had been the queens idea to begin with. Her native country was just about 
small enough that everyone could be invited to a major royal occasion (although 
the royal list-makers and caterers and spare-chair-providers would hope that not 
everyone came), and the king and queen recognised by sight a substantial 
minority of their subjects. While she found her husbands country rather 
intimidatingly larger (and it seemed all wrong to her that many of his subjects 
would never meet their king), in times of great importance she reverted to her 
upbringing. The king was lucky enough to love his wife, and had been rather 
struck by her tales of a king and queen who had open court days, when anyone who 
wished to speak to them could turn up and do so. He thought an open name-day a 
splendid notion.
It will not do, said the councillors and courtiers. (The magicians were still 
nursing their snit about not having been told of the queens pregnancy, and 
refused to attend the discussions about the name-day.
What they were really outraged about, of course, was that a mere fairy had 
successfully thrown fairy dust in all their eyes.) You must, said the 
councillors, have the sort of name-day that other countries will send emissaries 
towe will need their good wishes, their favourable memories, in nineteen or 
twenty years time. And you cannot make the sort of fuss that an emissary is 
going to remember pleasantly if a hundred thousand or so of your people are 
milling around the city walls, trampling the fields into mud, and demanding to 
be fed and housed.
This made the king and queen thoughtful, for the king remembered the long 
difficult search for his wife, and the queen remembered what a shock it had been 
when the envoy had presented himself at her fathers rather small and shabby 
castle, and she had had to be rushed out of the kitchens where she was boiling 
sweetmeats and up the back stairs to wash her face and comb her hair and put on 
her best dress to meet him. (He had been eating her sweetmeats with a look of 
great concentration and contentment, when she had made a stately entrance into 
the front room, slightly out of breath from having hopped down the corridor on 
one foot and then the other, pulling on her shoes. She hadnt realised that her 
sweetmeats, excellent though she knew them to be, would render even a kings 
envoy happy to wait.)
A compromise was reached. It was the sort of compromise that made the 
councillors gnash their teeth, but it was the best they had been able to wrest 
from their suddenly obstinate rulers, who would keep insisting that their 
daughter belonged to her people. Heralds would be sent out to every villageeach 
and every villageto proclaim at the town centre, which might be anything from 
the steps of the mayors house in the larger to the town well or watering-trough 
in the smaller, that one person, to be chosen by lot (if the magicians had 
recovered from their snit, they would provide cheat-proof lots; otherwise Sigil 
would find fairies to do it), was invited to the princess name-day. And that 
one person, whoever he or she was, need only present the lot, as good earnest of 
the invitation, to be allowed entry into the royal grounds on the name-day.
The councillors and courtiers could only see the fabulous amount of 
organisational work, and, magicians or no magicians, the infinite amount of 
cheating that would go onor at least would try to go onas a result of this 
plan. And while the court folk were applying court mores to many ordinary people 
who wouldnt know a political intrigue if it grew butterfly wings and bit them, 
it was true that the heralds, who were themselves ordinary people under their 
livery, tended to let it be known, especially at the smaller villages, at the 
local pub after the official announcement was made, that the king and queen had 
wanted to invite everyone, really everyone. And that if the person with the 
royal lot showed up with a friend or two, chances were theyd all get in.
That took care of the common citizens, and, barring the number and manner of 
them, that was the easy part. Much harder were the high tables: who would sit 
near the king or the queen, who would have to make do at a slightly less high 
table headed by a mere prince or duke or baron, which countries were to be 
invited to send emissaries, and whether the fuss made over the emissaries should 
have more to do with the size and status of the country, or the number of 
unmarried sons in the royal family.
But hardest of all was what to do about the fairies.
Court magicians were members of the court, and there would be special high 
tables just for them, where they could compare notes on astrological marvels, 
cast aspersions on the work of other magicians not present to defend themselves, 
and be slightly world-weary about the necessity of coming to so superstitious 
and ridiculous an event as a royal name-day.
But fairies were a different kettle of imaginary watery beings.
Some fairies were nearly as powerful as the magicians, and what they thought and 
did was much more varied and unpredictable. Magicians had to attend the Academy 
for a number of years, and anyone calling himself a magiciansince it was 
usually a hehad a degree in hippogriff leather to show for it, although no one 
but another magician would be able to read the invisible writing on it. 
Magicians could make earthquakes happen if they wanted to, or a castle go up (or 
down) in a night, and a properly drawn-up magicians spell could last a 
lifetime. Mostly they were hired by powerful people to spy on their powerful 
neighbours, and to demonstrate their existence, so that the powerful neighbours 
didnt try anything with their own magicians.
(Fetes where the magicians of rival families would be present were always well 
attended, because the spectacles were sure to be exceptionally fine.) Magicians 
without a taste for this sort of flash stayed at the Academy, or at other 
academies, pursuing the ultimate secrets of the universe (and philosophies 
concerning the balance of magic), which were, presumably, dangerous, which was 
why Academicians tended to have long sombre faces, and to move as if they were 
waiting for something to leap out at them. But the point was that magicians had 
rules. Fairies were the wild cards in a country where the magic itself was wild.
Even the queen was a little hesitant about issuing a blanket invitation to 
fairies. Several hundred fairies togetherlet alone several thousandin one 
place were certain to kick up a tremendous dust of magic, and fate only knew 
what might be the outcome.
But most fairies live in towns and villages, do they not? said the queen. So 
they are, in a way, included in the invitation our heralds are carrying. The 
fact was that no one really knew how many fairieseven how many practising 
fairiesthere were in the country; the ones people knew about were the ones who 
lived in the towns and villages with other people and visibly did magic. There 
were known to be fairies who lived in the woods and the desert places (and 
possibly even in the waters), but they were rarely seen, and it was only assumed 
that they were fewer than the known ones.
There were also, of course, wicked fairies, but there werent many of them, and 
they tended to keep a low profile, because they knew they were 
outnumberedunless someone angered them, and people tried very, very hard not to 
anger them. It was the malice of the wicked fairies that gave the good ones a 
lot of their most remunerative work putting things back to rights, but generally 
speaking, things could be put back to rights. People were diligently cautious 
about bad fairies, but they didnt worry about them too much; less than they 
worried about the weather, for example, a drought that would make crops fail, or 
a hard winter that would bring wolves into the towns. (It was actually easier if 
droughts or hard winters were caused by a bad fairy, because then what you did 
was very straightforward: you hired a good fairy to fix it. The capriciousness 
of real weather was beyond everybody, even the united efforts of the Academy, 
who periodically tried.)
I think, said the king slowly, I think thats not quite enough.
The queen sighed. I was afraid youd say that. There had been relatively 
little magic in her fathers country and she had never quite adjusted to the 
omnipresence of magic, and of magical practitioners.
Magic had its uses, but it made her nervous. Sigil she loved dearly, and she was 
at least half-friends with several of the other fairies strategically employed 
in the royal household; the magicians she mostly found tiresome, and was rather 
relieved than otherwise that none of them were at present speaking to her 
because they blamed her for the secrecy of her pregnancy.
There was a pause. What if, said the queen at last, what if we invited a few 
fairies to be godmothers to our daughter? We could ask twenty-one of themone 
each for her twenty-one names, and one each for the twenty-one years of her 
minority. Twenty-one isnt very many. There will be eighty-two magicians. And it 
will make the fairies seem, you know, wanted and welcome. We can ask Sigil whom 
to invite.
Fairy godmothers? said the king dubiously. Well have a time getting that 
past the court counciland the bishop.
Sigil had been worrying about the fairies, too, and thought that inviting 
one-and-twenty fairies to be godmothers would be an excellent idea, if they 
could hedge it round first with enough precautions.
No gifts, said the king. Too controversial.
Oh, godmothers must give gifts! said the queen. It would be terribly rude to 
tell them they mustnt give their godchild anything!
The queens right, said Sigil, but we can tell them they must be token gifts 
only, little things to amuse a baby or flatter a babys parents, 
nothingnothingdifficult. What she meant, the king and queen both knew, was 
nothing that would make the princess unduly visible on the ethereal planes. That 
sort of thing was the province of heroes, who were old enough to choose it and 
strongor stupid enough to bear it. And I think we should invite at least one 
man. Male fairies are underappreciated, because almost no one remembers they 
exist.
You must be the first of the godmothers, dear, said the queen, but Sigil shook 
her head.
No no, she said, although the regret was clear in her voice.
I thank you most sincerely. But Im already too bound up in the fortunes of 
this family to be the best godmother for the new little one. Give her 
one-and-twenty fresh fairies, who will love the tie to the royal family. And it 
can be quite a useful thing to have a few fairies on your side. The king 
remembered a time when he was still the prince, when one of the assistant chefs 
in the royal kitchens, who was also a fairy, was addressed by a mushroom, fried 
in butter and on its way to being part of a solitary late supper for the king, 
saying, Dont let the king eat me or Ill poison him. There was always a fairy 
or two in the royal kitchens (the rulers of this country did not use tasters) 
and while it took the magicians to find out who was responsible for the presence 
of the mushroom, it was the fairy who saved the kings life.
Sigil took the queens hands in her own. Let me look after the catering. What 
do you think the cradle should be hung with? Silk? And what colours? Pink? Blue? 
Lavender? Gold?
Gold, I think, the queen said, glad to have the question of the fairy 
godmothers agreed upon, but disappointed and a little hurt that Sigil refused to 
be one of them. Gold and white. Maybe a little lavender. And the ribbons should 
have pink and white rosettes.



Chapter 2
 ^  
The shape of the country was rectangular, but there was a long wiggling finger 
of land that struck down southeast and a sort of tapering lump that struck up 
northwest. The southeast bit was called the Finger; the northwest lump was 
called the Gig, because it might be guessed to have some resemblance to the 
shape of a two-wheeled vehicle with its shafts tipped forward to touch the 
ground. The royal city lay a little north of the Finger, in the southeast 
corner, nearly a months journey, even with frequent changes of horses and a 
good sprinkling of fairy dust for speed, to the base of the Gig.
The highways that bound most of the rest of the country together gave out at the 
beginning of the Gig. The local peer, Lord Prendergast, said, reasonably, that 
he (or his forebears) would have built a highway if there had ever been any 
need, but there never had been. Nothing exciting ever happened in the Gig, or at 
least hadnt since the invasion of the fire-wyrms about eleven hundred years 
ago, before the days of highway-building. So if you wanted to go there you went 
on cart tracks. (The lords own travelling carriages were very well sprung, and 
he would upon occasion send them to fetch his less well equipped, or more easily 
bruised, friends and associates outside the Gig.)
And what you needed, muttered the royal herald, bearer of a little pouch of 
cheat-proof lots (almost empty now) and important tidings about the princess 
name-day, was not swift horses but six legged flat-footed ponies that could see 
in thick mist and the green darkness of trees. He had given up riding, after his 
fancy thoroughbred had put its foot in a gap of root and stumbled, for the 
umptymillionth time, and he was now leading it, half an eye anxiously upon it, 
for he thought it was going a bit lame. He sneezed. Also needed were human 
beings impervious to cold and damp. The Gig was a damp sort of place, and most 
of its village names reflected this:
Foggy Bottom, Smoke River, Dewglass, Rainhill, Mistweir. Moonshadow didnt sound 
very promising either, although at least it didnt utterly guarantee wet; and 
the last village of the Gig, right out next to the wild lands where no one went, 
was called Treelight. He had thought this was a very funny name when he was 
setting out from the royal city. It was less funny now, with the leaves overhead 
dripping down his neck, and he not yet arrived at the first village of this 
soggy province. He sneezed again.
To think that Lord Prendergast preferred to live out here and leave his seat at 
court empty from years end to years end! There must be some truth in the 
stories about that family, and the house they lived in, Woodwold, a vast 
mysterious place, a thousand years old or more, full of tales and echoes of 
tales, and with some uncanny connection with the people that lived in it. But it 
was still a grand and beautiful housegrand enough for a highway to have been 
built to get to it. Except it hadnt been.
The herald blinked, distracted. The sun had suddenly cut through the leaf cover 
and a gold-green shaft of light fell across his path. He looked at the sunbeam, 
scowling; there was no reason, this far off the highway and with soggy 
leaf-mould the chief road surface, for there to be so much dust to dance in a 
sunbeam. The thick dust and moist air would conspire to leave ineradicable 
chalky smudges on his livery. He sighed again. Maybe Foggy Bottomwhich should 
be the first village he came towould have a blacksmith who could look at his 
horses foot.
Foggy Bottom had heard of the princess birth as quickly as the rest of the 
country; one of the village fairies had a particular friend who was a robin 
whose wifes cousins sister-in-law was closely related to a family of robins 
that lived in a bush below the queens bedroom window, and had heard the 
princess first startled cry. Foggy Bottom was expecting something like the 
herald (and was accustomed to travellers who had never been to the Gig before, 
by the time they reached Foggy Bottom, looking cross and rather the worse for 
wear), but were not at all expecting his announcement.
They had turned out eagerly to hear himthis was one of those villages where the 
herald stood at the public watering-trough to make his proclamationbut they 
were only expecting some cushiony, royal adjectives to ornament the known fact 
of the young princess birth. They were so startled by the invitation to the 
name-day they forgot to relish her name.
From every village? said Cairngorm, who ran the pub. There was a square, 
although it was not square, at the centre of the village, and the 
watering-trough stood across from the blacksmiths, with the pub at ninety 
degrees, and the wrights yard opposite. The herald stood next to the 
watering-trough, as he said the familiar words, his natural inclination toward 
the pub in this case counterbalanced by his anxiety to learn if his horse was 
sound enough to go on.
The herald stopped thinking about his horse and nodded. He still enjoyed this 
part, enjoyed creating astonishment, enjoyed watching the faces in front of him 
shift from pleased anticipation to surprise, even shock, enjoyed handing out the 
special cheat-proof long straw that would instantly look like all the other, 
ordinary straws as soon as it was laid among them. In the bigger villages the 
straw had to go to the mayor; the little villages were his call. He favoured pub 
proprietors; he thought Cairngorm would do nicely. Every village. Heralds have 
been sent to every villageat least, he amended, every village we know about 
from the last census.
If that dont beat all, said Grey, who had a farm outside the village and was 
only in town today because he had a broken plough-handle that had to be mended 
before he could get on with business. Well, I cant go.
Make yourself popular by selling your lot! shouted a friend across the heads 
of the crowd; several people laughed, and then the conversation became animated 
and general. Katriona, who had been standing with Cairngorms elder daughter, 
Flora, the two girls holding each others hands in excitement, said to her 
friend, I must go! ducked under a few arms and round a few bodies and fled 
back to her aunts house. I told her she should come for the heralds 
announcement! she muttered between breaths. I told her!
But when she burst in through the door and babbled out her news, her aunt was 
unflustered, and her hand holding the spindle, and her foot on the pedal, never 
faltered, and the woolen thread went on spinning itself fine and true. Im not 
at all surprised, she said, although she let her wheel come to a stop so she 
could hug her frantic niece into some calm. Ive always liked the queen; robins 
dont nest outside just anyones window. Katrionas aunt was the fairy whose 
robin friend had told her of the princess birth. She was generally considered 
the best fairy in Foggy Bottom; some said in the entire Gig.
The herald was gone the next day after a merry evening telling stories about the 
royal family (some of them true) in Cairngorms pub, and a beautiful sleep in 
her best feather mattress. He had been able to give himself over to jollity 
because the blacksmith had told him his horse would, after all, be able to go on 
the next dayalthough he had had a funny way of putting it, almost as if some 
magic would be worked overnight, which in a smiths forge was, of course, 
nonsense. Smiths were often rather enigmaticit was one of the perquisites of 
the jobas was the face-obscuring thatch of beard which this smith did not have. 
Perhaps that was the reason the herald had found him odd; he had never seen a 
clean-shaven smith before.
The herald was a little sorry about the early start in the morningwistfully 
recalling the beer of the night before, thinking that perhaps there was 
something to be said for some bits of the back of beyondbut his horse was 
waiting for him, snorting red-nostrilled at dust motes and dancing round on all 
four feet uniformly. The herald looked at him a bit waspishly; he wanted a 
riding-animal, not an adventure.
The smith said neutrally: Hell have got used to our roads by now. You just 
climb on and point him. And hang on, thought the herald, and was catapulted 
down the village street in the direction of Smoke River.
The lot-drawing was held that same evening in Foggy Bottom. There was some 
joshing with Katrionas aunt and Nurgle, the laundress, and especially Snick, 
who wasnt a real fairy but couldnt help winning at cards, and one or two other 
of the local fairies, about not using magic to mind how the lots wentand with 
Katriona herself, although she kept shaking her head and saying, I dont do 
that, you know I dont do that, while her aunt, who could but wouldnt (and was 
privately rather disparaging about the magicians supposedly tamper-proof lot), 
only smiled and said something bland, and Snick, who didnt think he could but 
wasnt sure and couldnt do anything about it if he did, looked worried. Foggy 
Bottom liked its fairiesNurgle was even marriedand didnt make them hold 
sprigs of hawthorn and rowan as charms against magical meddling, as some towns 
had donealthough Snick had a bit of both in his pocket, just in case.
There was a hush as everyone drewGrey held the straws, because he had declined 
either to have a lot or to bestow it on anyone elseand as more and more were 
drawn, and fewer and fewer were left in Greys fist, the tension was pulled 
tighter and tighter. But Gash, who had drawn last, held up his straw, the same 
length as all the other losing straws, and said, Then who has it?
There was a silence, and Katriona burst into tears. Cairngorm made her way to 
the girls sideher aunt already had an arm around herand prised her fingers 
open. There lay the single long straw.
You knew, Katriona said to her aunt later, when they were back home again. 
Katriona was sitting so close to the fire that her face was starting to scorch 
and in a minute her heavy petticoats would start to burn her legs. The heat and 
brightness were reassuring, as if she were about to be drawn away to some cold 
dark unguessable fate. The tap and whir of her aunts spinning wheel went on 
behind her. You knew. I thought it was funny you came to the drawing. I knew 
youd never go to the name-day even if you drew the long straw. You knew I was 
going to.
Well, yes, admitted her aunt. It was a surprise to meknowing, I mean; I 
havent had a pre-vision since you were a tiny child and I saw you would come to 
me. I hadnt known about the invitation till you told me, but it stood out so 
very clearly that you would draw the long lot I knew it must be true. I thought 
it might come as rather a shock to you, and I wanted to be there when it 
happened.
Maybe I wont go.
Tap. Whirr. Why not?
You admitted you wouldnt go.
Her aunt laughed. Im an old lady, and I like to sleep in the same bed every 
night, and I hear more from my robin than I tell you, not because I dont want 
to, but because I cant. Katriona knew about this. Beast-speech often didnt 
translate even when youd think it should. I know as much about the royal 
family as I need to. I think youll like the little princess. I think you should 
go.
I wont get near enough to like or dislike her, said Katriona.
Shell just be a lot of gold and white and lavender silk with pink and white 
rosettes. One of the translatable things the robin had told her aunt was how 
the cradle would be decorated.
Ill give you a safety charm, said her aunt. So you wont be eaten by bears 
or attacked by robbers. I can even give you a charm so that there are never 
stones under your blanket when you lie down to sleep at night. Katriona 
laughed, but the laugh quickly faded and her face was moody as she stared into 
the fire. My dear, said her aunt. Its a rather overwhelming enterprise, I 
know.
Katriona moved abruptly away from the fire and began to flap the front of her 
skirt to cool it off. I havent been farther than Treelight since since
Since your parents died and you came to live with me, her aunt said gently. 
Yes, I know.
And Ive never been off the Gig since then.
What better reason to go farther than the invitation to the princess name-day? 
You go, dear. Go and have a wonderful time. Ill be very interested to hear what 
you have to say about everything. Robins tend to see the big and the little and 
leave out all the human-sized bits in the middle.
And so Katriona went.
   
Barder, who was the wheelwrights First Apprentice, offered to go with herNot 
the whole way, he said, peering at her anxiously.
Im not trying to take what isnt offered,although the herald had made the 
usual unofficial announcement that a friend or two of the person with the long 
lot would not be turned away. Butits a long road, all on your own. Hed let 
me off, if I asked, he added, meaning his master, Sarkon.
Thanks, she said. But Ill be all right. Aunts giving me charms for 
everything, from robbers to midges.
Barder smiled. The entire village called Katrionas aunt Aunt; hardly anyone 
remembered her real name, which was Sophronia.
Luck, then, he said, and held out his hand, the fingers curled round 
something. Katriona held out her own, and felt the something dropped gently in 
her palm, and then his fingers closed hers over whatever it was he had given 
her. She resisted the urge to look at it immediately, but felt herself blush, 
for they were not declared sweethearts. Barder said lightly, Did Aunt give you 
a memory charm so youll remember everything to tell us when you come back?
Ill ask her for one.
Barders gift was a little flat medallion of ash, carved, like the plaque over 
the door of Cairngorms pub, in the shape of an egret; but while the pubs egret 
stood, gazing over the green marsh at its feet, Barders egret curled into the 
small oval space, its long neck folded gracefully back against its body, its 
long legs tucked out of sight. Even in so tiny an area Barder had cut the 
feathers to perfection;
Katriona half-expected them to yield under her touch as she stroked them. A 
memory charm, eh? said Aunt, admiring the egret. Hes given you his own charm, 
I think, a charm for remembering where to come back to.
Barder isnt
Not that kind of magic, said Aunt. But real for all that.
There was quite a little party gathered outside the pub to see Katriona off; she 
would rather not have been seen off by anyone but Aunt, but too many people 
asked when she was leaving, and Aunt said, Youre going for all of us, you 
know. You can bear a few extra hopes and wishes.
She was going on foot; she carried a blanket and a few extra clothes, and she 
would be swifter on her own feet than on any pony she and her aunt could afford 
to hire. Local beasts (barring Lord Prendergasts) tended to be the stolid sort. 
What money they could spare was done up in a small secret parcel hidden in her 
petticoat.
Her major encumbrance, though they were no burden, were her aunts charms; there 
were so many of them she had tied them to her belt with bits of string, and they 
fanned and dangled and shimmered out round her as if she wore an extra skirt 
curiously made of what looked like the contents of a magpies nest. But these 
would feed and comfort and protect her on her journey; and of course she had her 
own odd talent, although she had rarely found it what anyone could call useful, 
herself especially. She waved self-consciously as she turned to go, and everyone 
waved back. Even the smith, whose name was Narl, came to the front of his yard 
and lifted the sledge he was carrying in acknowledgement of her adventure.
The long green tree-tunnel the herald hadnt liked was pleasant to her; when she 
came upon the first highway at the end of the Gig and the beginning of the great 
sprawl of her native land, she was amazed. The plains before her seemed to 
stretch out forever, or almost forever, for there were mountains at one end of 
them, and she had never seen mountains before. Nor had she ever seen anything 
like the meandering muddle of buildings and yards that made up the towns she 
passed through. She had been too young to remember the journey to her aunt in 
the Gig after her parents died, but she would have sworn she had never seen 
anything like what she saw now in her life.
She met other people on their way to the name-day, although she was the only one 
she saw who went alone, a fact that gave her a certain dubious satisfaction; 
some people seemed to have brought their entire villages with them, or at least 
their entire families. Many people were well hung round with charms from their 
own fairies; she began to suspect that first-time travellers were recognisable 
by the number and elaborateness of their charms.
Katriona made good time. She was a quick walker, and deft, and easily wove her 
way through slower, larger, and clumsier processions.
When the high roads were too crowded she took to the fields and forests; animals 
never troubled her, and she was too well-bred a country girl to tread on 
anyones crop. At first she foraged for her food, but the closer she came to the 
royal city the fewer wild lands there were; she was not sorry for the excuse to 
buy herself the occasional hot cooked meal at a pub or inn, but mostly she fed 
herself from market stalls. One of her aunts charms let her know which 
stall-keepers were honest.
Another of her aunts charms let her sleep in trees without rolling out, so when 
she could find no haystack nor barn nor hedgerow she liked the look of, she 
found a tree instead. Sleeping in trees always gave her a stiff neck, but she 
preferred this to sleeping unhidden on the ground, marauder-charms 
notwithstanding.
It took her fifty-one days to reach the royal city, where, possibly on account 
of the excellence of another of her aunts charms, she found herself a tiny 
cubby of a private room at a pub on the outskirts of the royal city, and 
prepared to wait the nine remaining days till the name-day.
The cubby gave her claustrophobia, but the swarming streets were worse; she was 
by turns glad she was alone, and longed for a familiar face. She thought 
oftenest of Barder and Flora as companions, but she missed her aunt the worst. 
The noise of the crowd went on even at night. Every street performer in the 
entire country seemed to be here: tumblers, actors and singers; and the constant 
rising excitement of holiday with the known culmination of the royal name-day 
meant that more and more people got drunk and lively every night as well. 
Katriona took to sleeping with a pillow over her head, but it wasnt enough. The 
pub gave her a special rate on her cubby in exchange for dish-washing and 
assisting the cook, and this helped to preserve her tiny stock of cash and to 
pass the time.
But it was still a long, edgy nine days.



Chapter 3
 ^  
Katriona was up at dawn on the name-day, feeling as anxious as if she were a 
crucial part of the days events instead of a small undistinguished member of an 
audience of thousands. She was determined to be through the gates as soon as the 
gates opened, and to get as near toto whateveras she could. She kept 
remembering her aunt saying, I think youll like the little princess, and 
while she was sure that what she had replied to her aunt at the time was the 
truth, it also felt as if a geas had been laid upon her, and that she must try 
as she could.
The gates were still closed when she arrived, but there were many people waiting 
there already, the crush somewhat impeded by the late travellers who had decided 
they would save valuable time in the morning by sleeping there, and, such had 
been the gaiety of the night previous, could be neither awakened nor moved. But 
Katriona was among the first few hundred through and out upon a great dazzle of 
lawn. She had never seen grass so smooth and beautiful; it distracted her from 
the tall poles garlanded with ribbons and flowers, the vast white tents with the 
royal banner flying from their peaks, the beautiful liveries of those who were 
moving slowly over the platform where the rows of lavishly decorated tables for 
the court were placed. (This stage was high enough so that even sitting down no 
courtier or peer would be shorter than the tallest member of a crowd which might 
be standing on its feet and straining for a glimpse of its betters.) At the 
centre stood a taller platform where the princess cradle stood, almost 
invisible among the gold and the lavender and the rosettes.
But she came to herself as she was jostled by the rush of people behind her, and 
made a dart toward the barrier that stood a few feet out from the court tables. 
The barrier was made of mere rope and ribbons, draped from narrow white posts, 
but its purpose was made clear by the guards that stood behind it. Although the 
guards themselves looked perhaps more ornamental than practical, still, guards 
were guards, and there were swords hanging from the gorgeous belts that crossed 
the splendid livery. The crowd looked at them, and steadied a little.
People began to find where they would sit down, the first-comers pleased with 
themselves and resistant to inroads by late-comers. More royal guards appeared 
to sort out disagreements before they became heated.
Katriona found herself a corner of an aisle close enough to the barrier to count 
the gems in the hilt of the sword of the guardsman nearest her and the ruches in 
the tablecloth of the nearest court table.
She heard commotion ebb and flow in the empty aisle beside her and then a large 
bare leg and foot planted itself next to her. She was eye level with the 
backward sweep of an unsheathed sword that swung by the leg. Lord Prendergast 
had a dress sword he sometimes wore sheathedat fetes and things, but it was 
straight, like those of the guards behind the barrier; this one was curved, and, 
more important, only about half a hands-breadth distant. She was rather 
preoccupied with its nearness, for the first time thinking that as a small young 
woman alone she was vulnerable to displacement by larger rowdier elements. She 
observed that the bare leg was bare only to just below the knee, and then, 
rather more reassuringly, that the curiously wrapped and looped trousers 
disappeared toward the waist under a livery coat similar to those the guards 
were wearing.
The man she looked up at was probably not so tall as he seemed, standing next to 
her as she sat on the ground. His arms were crossed, and he was scowling, and 
she glanced over her shoulder at a group of young men, their colour somewhat 
heightened, looking at the sabre-bearer and visibly changing their minds about 
coming any farther. The sabre-bearer was directly beside her, as if it were she 
he was specially guarding.
The sabre seemed to whistle past her ear as the man turned and bent over her. 
She flinched. He was bald as well as barefoot, and his skin was a deep, shining 
grey-brown, rather like wet shale. He gazed down at her, and while he was still 
scowling, he no longer looked angry but puzzled. Katriona wanted to say, I am no 
one, I am no one from that no-place, the Gig, because his gaze seemed to be 
trying to make her into someone; but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her 
mouth. He straightened up, his eyes moving away from her and toward the dais, 
and she watched as his line of sight rose, and she could guess he was now 
looking at the cradle. She expected him to leave her now, and she drew in the 
first half of a deep sigh of relief.
But her breath caught in her throat when with a sudden, impulsive movement, he 
pulled something off over his head and bent over her again. He was holding the 
something down toward her, and as she looked up, he dropped it round her neck. 
She felt the weight of it at once, although it had drifted through the air as if 
it were made of gossamer. She touched it gently, feeling the half-exciting, half 
irritating buzz of magic against her skin, thinking, Oh dear. This is not just a 
little charm, for sleeping in trees, or keeping your place in a queue.
There was a buzz in her ears, too; the amulet hadnt been made for her, she was 
too small for it, and it was having trouble finding her within the larger space 
it was accustomed to. She fingered it, waiting, dazzled, helpless, glad she was 
sitting down. She hadnt noticed before the shimmer of magic behind the barrier; 
well, of course, it would be there, in a crowd like this you could never know 
but this was a lot of magic, a very large lot of magic, what were they 
expecting?
The buzz began to subside, and she heard the man say to her, You wear that, 
child, and you stay just where you are, itll hold you safe.
Still a little dazed, she said, But
The man was already turning awaythe sabre twinkled past her eyeshe reached out 
and grabbed his ankle, banging her head on the flat of the blade. It was cold 
against her skin, and for a moment she saw lace, tiny delicate holes and large 
drooping arches, squares and triangles and shapes she had no names for, webwork 
from thread fine as spider silk to stout rope like a carters, layers and layers 
of it, hung like an infinity of veils; soon she would be lost among them
She felt the mans hand on her head, tipping her upright again, brushing the 
tangle away. Little maid, I am sorry. Eskwa is dangerous unsheathed, but I want 
him dangerous today; and I would rather he bound than he cut. Putting things to 
rights tomorrow if I have guessed wrong will be easier. But Eskwa does not like 
binding; he says it is not his work, and it makes him short-tempered.
She shook her head to clear it, pulling the string of the amulet against her 
neck till it bit into her skin as if saying to it, Here. This is where I am. 
This is all of me there is. She said unsteadily, I knowhow magic works. My 
aunt is a fairy. For some reason he laughed when she said this. There must be 
anexchange.
She could not refuse so great a gift, but what did one do in a case like this? 
There were rules for the basic things, salt for saving a life and wine for 
bringing one safe into the world; if you had no salt you licked the back of your 
hand; if you had no wine you offered an empty cup; if you had no cup, you 
offered your cupped hands. She didnt know the ritual response for having a 
queens ransom dropped round your neck by a stranger when you hadnt a kings 
ransom to give. She was groping in the secret pocket inside her skirt for 
something to offer him; she did not want to give him one of her paltry charms, 
she thought it might be rude; and Eskwa made her nervous.
Her hand closed on Barders wooden egret. She hated to lose it, but somehow that 
made it less meagre a token. She held it up, and the man took it solemnly, and 
looked at it, and as he looked at it he smiled, and with his smile Eskwa made 
her less nervous. I think you are right, child, he said, that there must be 
some exchange between us; Nagilbran always told me I was too light-minded. He 
would call me very light-minded indeed for this whim of mine, and he touched 
his collar-bone with the hand that did not hold Barders egret, where his amulet 
had hung. This is a very beautiful thing, and the man who made it for you loves 
you with a love that even magic cannot improve upon. I will not take it away 
from you. Listen, child. The necklace is a loan. Ill come back for it when you 
dont need it any more. Tomorrow, perhaps, when I have my wrong guesses to mend. 
And I thank you now for the loan of your medallion.
He laid it gently into her hand again, and left her, walking quickly away down 
the aisle. She turned her head just in time to see one last fierce glitter from 
Eskwa as she gratefully tucked the egret away; but then the crowd set up a shout 
and she turned back.
The king, queen and princess had finally arrived, last of all. The princess was 
being carried by a small, surprisingly drab person. The queen hovered over her, 
not so much, Katriona thought, that she had any fear for her, but because she 
found it difficult to tear herself away from the contemplation of her daughter, 
even at the expense of her own grand entrance. Katriona had her fingers curled 
round the centre stone of the sabre-bearers amulet, and it throbbed gently, 
like a small beating heart. She could see the kings face, and the queens, and 
the small drab persons, although they were some distance from her, but not the 
princess; the princess was just a froth of ribbons and drapery.
The crowd leaped to its feet and shouted and waved their hands, Katriona borne 
with them, although no one touched her. The little party mounted the half-dozen 
low steps to the cradle-dais, and then the small drab person handed the princess 
to the queen, who herself laid her tenderly in the cradle. And so Katriona saw 
nothing of the princess at all, just as she had predicted to her aunt two months 
ago: nothing but a bundle of gold and white and lavender. She thought she had a 
glimpse of one small waving fist just before the princess disappeared below the 
sides of the cradle.
Then there were the speeches, and Katriona felt she probably wasnt missing much 
by not being able to hear them on account of the noise of her neighbours, the 
wind, and the tendency of the speech-makers to mumble. The bishop, who was the 
first, and most resplendently dressed, and had the most sonorous mumble, had 
gone on the longest; maybe there was more to say over a princess than over an 
ordinary baby. Name-days in Foggy Bottom lasted as long as the lighting of two 
candles and one stick of incense, and the laying on of one pair of hands. Of 
course the Foggy Bottom priestling was muttering away like anything as he did 
these things, and the bishop was in no hurry. His satellite priests pulled out a 
series of little wallets and satchels of dried herbs and other unguessable 
crumbs and particles, adding a pinch here and a pinch there as if the princess 
were an outlandish sort of broth. They would have smothered her in the smoke 
from their censers as well, except the wind kept snatching it away.
It was funny about the wind; there had only been enough to make the banners show 
their colours a little while ago. But there had been an odd, almost brutal gust 
as the queen had laid the princess in her cradle; not only had the princess own 
long trailing robes and wrappings suddenly wafted out, the queens headdress had 
as well.
Katriona glanced over at the fairy godmothers table, where the wind was having 
a very good time among the headgear. And now the pennoncels flying high above 
the dais were struggling against their ropes as if they wished to fly away from 
here, from the name-day, from the royal city; and dark clouds were beginning to 
roll up. It had been a beautiful day, a day suitable for a princess name-day; 
but now there were thunderclouds gathering in the northwest. The heartbeat 
against her palm quickened.
Katriona looked with some puzzlement toward the First Magicians table. She 
found it hard to believe that the king and queen hadnt asked particularly that 
the weather today be fine; even her aunt had been known to make a tiny break in 
the clouds for a wedding-party to make a dash from the church to the pub where 
the food was without ruining the brides finery (village bridal dresses could 
afford to be as grand as they often were because fairies saw that the weather 
didnt ruin them from one generation to the next), and her aunt in general 
didnt believe in messing with the weather. While it seemed to Katriona that 
conversation at the First Magicians table had lapsed, she could not be sure 
that the number of magicians looking thoughtfully at the sky was not merely on 
account of the slow plod of the speeches.
Well, at last. The final orator shuffled away, and the kingtrying not to give 
the impression of a person waking from a nap standing upturned to the fairy 
godmothers table and smiled. The first fairy was halfway up the dais before 
hed finished turning his head.
Katriona leaned forward now, straining her ears, because she wanted to hear the 
sort of thing fairy godmothers gave to royal goddaughters; but the fairy, 
perhaps having taken instructions from the failure of the speech-givers to be 
heard, was careful, after she had bent over the cradle, to turn back toward the 
audience and shout: To our very own princess, Casta Albinia Allegra Dove 
Minerva Fidelia Aletta Blythe Domnia Delicia Aurelia Grace Isabel Griselda 
Gwyneth Pearl Ruby Coral Lily Iris Briar-Rose, I give the gift of golden hair, 
as gold as corn-tassels in August.
Katriona nearly fell over. Golden hair! Golden hair! What an utterly idiotic 
gift! Aunt had always taught her that you were respectful of your magic! And 
here, the very firstGolden hair! from a fairy godmother, who could give you 
anythingwell, almost anything. They would only have invited the best to be the 
princess godmothers. But here was the second godmother. Surely she would do 
better.
Wrong. To our princess, I give the gift of eyes as blue as love-in-a-mist, or 
summer sky after rain. Katriona put her head in her hand. Skin as white as 
milk. Shell have to live under a royal parasol all her life, then; skin like 
that burns indoors, with the shutters closed. And as flawless as the silk 
woven by the royal silkworms. Shell look like a doll. No person has flawless 
skin. Lips as red as cherries. Teeth like pearls. Katriona missed a few, by 
dropping the amulet and pressing her hands over her ears in despair. Feet that 
never stumble at dancing. Fingers that never falter upon the flute. A 
singing voice sweeter than the first birds of spring and A laugh like a silver 
bell. Her golden hair will fall in long ringlets wide and round as goblets.
Katriona wished her aunt were there. She found herself thinking over all the 
charms her aunt had given her, wondering if there were anything she could give 
to the princess. Would she like, when she was a little older, to be able to 
sleep in a tree? While theyre at it, she thought sourly, hearing the bestowal 
of eyelashes as long and fine and silky as the hairs at the tip of a 
fleethounds tail, they could at least give her fingernails that never break off 
below the quick, eyes that never get dust in them, a digestion that is never 
upset. They hadnt guaranteed her not to have flat feet yet either; werent they 
worried theyd end up with a princess with feet like a ducks? Her embroidery 
shall be peerless; her sweetmeats sublime.
Poor princess. Was Katriona imagining it, or did the queen look the tiniest bit 
dismayed? Did she shiver? Or was that only the wind? Katriona remembered the 
popular story that the queen had been in her fathers kitchens overseeing dinner 
when the emissary had come to offer her the kings hand in marriage; perhaps she 
had been looking forward to teaching her daughter her own recipe for sweetmeats.
As the twentieth gift was utteredsomething to do with spinning woolen thread as 
fine and strong as the slender reedy leaves of the maundry, much loved by 
basket-weaversthere was a burst of thunder so near overhead that everyone, 
except possibly the king, ducked; a number of people stretched themselves flat 
on the ground, with the concomitant effect of a lot of boots going into a lot of 
faces; cries of pain and protest combined with the next blast of thunder. 
Katriona was suddenly the only one near the barrier still sitting up; and she 
clutched the sabre-bearers amulet with both hands.
In the aisle in front of Katriona, just before the boundary, a black cloud was 
creating itself. Its centre twisted and writhed and began to take on a shape 
somewhat human, and as it did so, the outside of the cloud began to organise 
itself into a long grey cloak, and the cloak began to send up streaks of purple 
and magenta and cerise from its hem, as if the air were a vat of dye it trailed 
in. And then the human form within it gave a final jerk and shudder, and a woman 
stood there, a woman as tall as the king, and with a face more dangerous than an 
army waiting for the command to attack, and she wore black and grey streaked 
with purple and magenta and cerise, and a necklace of black stones.
She turned slowly in a circle, holding the edges of her cloak against her bent 
arms so that the material hung down like wings; and as she finished her circuit 
and again faced the dais, she dropped her hands and arms, and laughed.
So: a fine day for a princess name-day, and a fine crowd to see. Well! I 
wanted to see, toobut I was not invited. I live alone near a woodperhaps not 
quite alonebut no herald came to me; and when one-and-twenty fairy godmothers 
were chosen I was not among them. But I wished to see the princess name-day-and 
so I came.
She paused, but no one said anything. Even the First Magicians sat as if 
stricken; perhaps they were. The queen had bent over the cradle as the black 
cloud formed itself out of nothing, but she seemed frozen, reaching for her 
child but not able to touch her. One of the courtiers, at the end of the table 
by the aisle Katriona sat beside, held a bit of bread to his mouth, but he 
neither ate it, nor laid it down, nor closed his mouth. Katriona was rigid in 
what she thought was nothing but sheer terror; if she moved, the tall woman 
might notice her.
As the black cloud had become a woman, Katriona had watched the magic barrier 
behind the ordinary barrier flame up till the faces of the people she saw 
through it were patched and mottled with its colours: reds and red-purples and 
mauves and greys. As the tall woman spoke, each word seemed to glance off that 
undulating barrier, but it left a little black streak behind it, so that the 
barrier began to look spotted, like fine sheer cloth with soot.
When she finished speaking, the tall woman reached out a hand toward the 
barrier, and the sooty black streaks extended into smudges and dapples, till the 
barrier became piebald, and the clear colours were all shadowed. But she dropped 
her hand at last, and the shadows began to fade; but Katriona fancied, as they 
faded, that they shimmered grey-brown, like wet shale, and that instead of spots 
and mottles, they were woven, like cord or rope. The woman laughed again, but it 
was a laugh like the sudden knowledge of your own death, and many of the people 
who lay on the ground whimpered or cried out.
I, too, have a gift for the princess, said the tall woman, and while it 
pleases you not to seek it, I will give it to her nonetheless; but perhaps and 
here the womans voice grew silky with malevolence, perhaps I will alter it 
just a little. I was not in a good mood when I arrived, you know, for I had 
expected an invitation to the name-day; I was still hoping right up until this 
morning that this would be put right. I might still have forgiven you, this 
morning.
But I am quite a quite an important fairy, and you cannot have overlooked me, 
except by deliberation. I do not like to be overlooked.
And now, when I have humbled myself to you by coming anyway, not only do you not 
ask me to sit at the high table, you hold me here with your rabble of subjects 
No, I am not in a good mood.
I wish the country to remember me, too, as one of the fairies who gave the 
princess a gift on her name-day. She had been facing the barrier, but now she 
turned round, toward the crowdthe rabble of subjectsand threw her arms out 
wide. My original gift was this: that the princess will grow in all those 
beauties and virtues she has been so adorned with this day. But on the day she 
reaches her majorityon the day that her father should crown her his heiron her 
one-and-twentieth birthday, she shall fall down in a poisoned sleep, and die, 
and nothing anyone can do will save her.
Katriona stopped breathing.
But that now seems to me sosimple. And so I think I will alter ita little. 
What was it I heard some magic-trifling buffoon giving her as I arrived? Some 
sublime ability to spin the dense stinking hair of a sheep into something 
resembling the thin drab tumescences of an unlovely marsh plant? How charming. I 
think I shall sayon her one-and-twentieth birthday she shall prick her finger 
on the spindle of a spinning wheel; and this prick shall cause her to fall into 
that poisoned sleep from which no one shall rouse her.
Not breathing wasnt enough; Katriona wanted to be a grass blade, a lump of 
gravel, an earthworm, anything but a person listening to this curse, shaping 
itself implacably over the baby princess tiny, oblivious head.
Perhaps you will say that is mere ornamentation. And it does still give you 
one-and-twenty years to enjoy her. I think I think it shall be that my 
disposition of her future may happen at any time. Again the woman laughed, and 
the people lying on the ground outside the barrier writhed and flinched as if 
the laugh were a lash across their flesh. Perhaps I shall even come to her, in 
secret, tonight, and pick her up out of her cradle, and press her tiny soft hand 
against the sharp spindle end
Thunder groaned in the distance in a terrible harmony to the moans of the crowd; 
the queen gave one shriek, and fell fainting across the cradle. The king, moving 
as if he were tearing himself free from iron chains, stooped beside her, and 
took her in his arms. The tall woman smiled. Burn all the spinning wheels in 
the kingdom, should you choose; it will not save her. Lock her up in your 
deepest dungeon for the rest of her short life, and that will not save her 
either. Delight in your princess while you can, for you shall not have her 
long!
The tall woman threw up her hands, and she was a black cloud again, tumultuous 
as a tornado, spinning, spinning, spinning like a kind of maniacal wheel, where 
she had been standing, and the banners above the dais were torn free, and the 
poles that had held the silken hangings crashed down upon the king and the queen 
and the cradle with the princess still in itand Katriona, with no recollection 
of how she got there, found herself kneeling by the cradle and snatching up the 
now-crying princess in her own arms and patting the little back and stroking the 
little head and saying, over and over, No, no, it shall not happen, it cant 
happen, they wont let it happen, you can have all my aunts charms, Im not 
much of a fairy yet although my aunt says I will be, but you can have my gift, 
its only baby-magic so it wont last, and it isnt very useful anyway, I can 
talk to animals, sometimes it is a little useful, and it is the only useful gift 
anyone has given you all day, sometimes if someone has put a spell on you or on 
something round you, if you have an animal you can ask, animals arent so mixed 
up by magic as we are, its only babymagic, its onlybut youre only a baby 
yourself, oh, oh, it cannot happen, and she realised the tears were streaming 
down her face and down the back of the princess neck, which might be part of 
why the princess was crying so hard. The sabre-bearers amulet thrummed against 
her breast like the beating of many small heavy hammers, and as she rocked the 
princess she saw that there were shreds of red and red-purple and mauve and grey 
draped over her arms and strung through her fingers like torn fabric she had 
clawed her way through, and streamers of it hung as well from her hair and 
tickled her face, but she had no hand free to brush them away.
There was an uproar round her, and to the extent that she was thinking clearly 
about anything, she was expecting the princess to be taken away from her at 
once; but what happened instead was someones arm round her waist, helping her 
to her feet, hustling her, with the princess still in her arms, down the back of 
the dais, and under the wreck of the poles and the name-day hangings. Here there 
was a little corner of quiet, and the hustling stopped, and Katriona found 
herself looking down into the face of the small drab person who had carried the 
princess and stood behind the queen, and her face, too, was streaked with tears.
My dear, do you have any idea what you have done? I would thank you for it, 
only I doubt that you do know.
Katriona balanced the princess awkwardly so that she could sweep the worst of 
the flapping, confusing streamers out of her face with one hand; she might have 
thought to offer the princess to the small person, but she did not, and the 
small person did not offer to take her. The small person did, as the amulet was 
revealed from behind the now only whimpering baby, reach out and touch it 
delicately with one finger. Well. That explains one thing.
Katriona found herself smiling, the desperate smile of someone who has no idea 
what is going on, is frightened, and wishes to please or at least to placate. 
The small persons eyes rose from the amulet to Katrionas face, and she smiled 
back, but it was a gentle and understanding smile. You are still only a child 
yourself. My poor dear Oh, I do not know what to do! The small persons face 
lost its smile as if it would never find it again, and she pressed a hand 
briefly over her eyes, and a few tears crept out from under her palm. Speaking 
as if to herself, she said, What I told the queen is only the truthIm too 
bound up in this familyover many years and three generations of kings and 
queens I have sunk my power deep here, too deep to be got back There were to 
have been one-and-twenty gifts, and only twenty were given when Pernicia 
appearedOh yes, she said, speaking directly to Katriona again, yes, I know 
who she is; but I did not know she was so powerful. I hoped, as one always does 
hope until catastrophe strikes, that it would not come. I hoped that the years 
had worn her out, the years since our last queen
Listen. There is no time. I will try to see to it that no one remembers you. 
Take the princess and gotake her and go. That is her only chancebecause by the 
time it is quiet enough that one might be able to think, it will be too late. I 
will give you a charm so that you can escape the royal city unseen; then you are 
on your own. I dare not let you carry any smell of me or my magic beyond the 
walls of the cityah! I dare not so much as kiss her good-bye; I dare not touch 
her again, now that you have taken herDo not tell me where you are going, do 
not say it aloud in this place, in this air, that Pernicia so recently disturbed 
for her own ends. The fewer traces you leave the more easily I can erase them.
Ibut began Katriona, appalled, but unconsciously easing the princess against 
her till she fit comfortably against her own breast and shoulder. The princess 
had one small fist wrapped in the neckline of Katrionas dress, and was 
beginning to experiment with pulling her hair with the other one.
Yes, I know, said the small drab fairy. Im sorry. But you will do it, will 
you not? I cannot force you any more than I can keep her safe myself. But it is 
truly the princess only hope. Take her home with you. Raise her as if she were 
your own.
Raise her? But what
You will hear from me later. I will find you when I canwhen I dare. It may not 
be for some time. Pernicia is we must find out everything about her, and this 
will not be easy. Listen to thismemorise itanyone coming from me will tell it 
to you, and that is how you will know who they are. Words are the only token we 
can risk. Andanda poem is the most I can give her, my dear, my only darling! 
The fairys voice faltered, but then went on firmly:  Small spider weave on a 
silver sleeve/Oh weave your grey web nearer./From a golden crown let your silk 
hang down/For lost, lost, lost is the wearer. 
  is the wearer,  repeated Katriona obediently. But what will you tell the 
poor queen?
But she never knew the answer, for as she raised her head from the effort of 
memorisationher mind felt like a field of rabbits bolting in panic from the 
sight of the hunterto look again at the small person who had just destroyed her 
life and given her some other, far more dangerous life for which she was totally 
unprepared, she found herself on the outskirts of the royal city, in a small 
stand of oak trees.
It was near sunset, and the princess was asleep on her shoulder.



Chapter 4
 ^  
Small spider weave Katriona murmured; by the sun, the small fairy had recited 
the poem for her to learn several hours ago. She gave a hitch upward with the 
arm that bore the weight of the sleeping princess; babies always weighed more 
than you thought they would.
And she would be carrying this one for a long time.
She sat down. She had to sit down. If Pernicia herself had appeared in that 
little grove and ordered her to hand the princess over, Katriona would still 
have sat down. She tried to arrange the princess on her knee, but sleeping 
babies are intransigently floppy, and Katriona, while she had had a good bit of 
experience with babies, was not at her best, and her hands were shaking. The 
princess lay like a little crushed parcel, snoring faintly.
Katriona tried to take stock. Most of her few possessions were back in the 
little cubby at the pub with no chance of reclaiming them. She would have to 
hope that no conclusions were drawn about their abandonment. She was wearing her 
charm-skirt (now tucked tactfully under her ordinary skirt, so that she didnt 
look such a bumpkin), and her few remaining hapennies, her small folding knife, 
and her flint and tinder were in her pocket with Barders egret. She was wearing 
her best clothes, which she had been a little ashamed of as not at all best 
enough for a princess name-day, but their lackluster appearance now would be 
useful, when she had no others, and they were, furthermore, both comfortable and 
durable. Better yet was the fact that she was wearing her cloak, not because she 
had thought she would need it, but because it was the newest thing she owned; 
she would miss her blanket at night, but at least with the cloak they wouldnt 
freeze. Nearer home even in midsummer there was no guarantee of warm nights. She 
unwound the scarf that went round her neck, crossed her breast, and tied at her 
waist; it was not ideal for the purpose, but she could use it for a baby-sling.
Then she lifted her outer skirt and detached one of the charms, the one that 
made the wearer look too poor and ordinary to be worth a passing glance. She 
hoped that all her charms would include a baby that she carriednot a 
contingency she had thought to verify with her aunt beforehandbut this one she 
tucked down inside the princess clothing. It had been made up with robbers and 
thugs in mind; she hoped it would include royal messengers desperately searching 
for some sign of the missing princess and her kidnapper. It was the best she 
could do.
She unwrapped, and snipped off, the long ribbons of gold and lavender, and the 
pink rosettes, that the princess was wearing; even her small clothes were so 
white as to be dazzling, and far too finely made to be anything other than what 
they were, clothing for a princess on her name-day. Well, there was nothing to 
be done about that; she didnt have a charm for producing baby clothes out of 
oak leaves; and after a few days they would be as grimy as she could wishrather 
more grimy than she could wishand she wasnt planning on letting anyone near 
enough to examine the quality of the stitching. After a moments hesitation she 
stuffed the bright ribbons into another pocket in her petticoat. She didnt want 
to leave them to be found, and she had no good way of disposing of them; 
furthermore she had some unhappy sense that they might be the only symbols of 
her heritage the poor little princess had remaining to her.
Lastly she tucked the sabre-bearers amulet under her dress, wondering what the 
small personshe didnt even know her namehad meant by That explains one 
thing. Did the small person know the sabre-bearer, and his tendency to befriend 
undistinguished strangers with gifts of great magic? Or was she only referring 
to the fact that the amulet had let Katriona cross the barrier Pernicia had not 
been able to break? At least the weight and throb of it were gone; it rested 
lightly against her, almost too lightly, as if the string that held it together 
were all it was made of, and the queerly translucent stones were mist or 
imagining.
Then she stood up and started walking. She did not know what else to do. The sun 
told her which way to walk; she was going home.
There were, that evening, surprisingly few people on the roads, and those there 
were seemed absorbed in their own concerns. There was an air of tension 
everywhere, but Katriona was not sure if this might merely be the tension she 
carried with her. Her legs were used to heavy loads, but she was accustomed to 
panniers or backpacks to carry them; after a few hours of carrying the princess 
her shoulders and arms were tired, and her back sore. She would get used to it; 
she had to.
When a flying wedge of horsemen wearing the royal livery shot past herthe 
bugler giving warning for everyone to fall out of the wayit was all Katriona 
could do not to shriek out loud; and she wasnt at all sure that what she wanted 
to shriek wasnt, Here, Ive got her! Its all a terrible mistake! Please, take 
her back to her poor parents! But she didnt; and no one looked twice at the 
young woman with the anguished face carrying the sleeping baby in a sling.
As twilight deepened into night and Katriona trudged on, she thought, I must 
have milk for her. I dare not ask to buy milk while we are still so close to the 
city because I do not want anyone to wonder why I am carrying an unweaned baby 
not my own; but
Perhaps it was some lingering effect of the small fairys charm; perhaps it was 
merely Katrionas own dogged determination. But she did not stop that night, and 
the princess never woke. Katriona knew she should wonder if the princess were 
sick; but she was too grateful for the respite. Once they were out into wilder 
country it would be easier.
   
It was easier, but it was not easy. At the end of that first centuries long 
night, Katriona struggled into a bit of hedgerow with a shaggy bank that hid 
them from the road, and fell into an exhausted sleep. She was awoken too few 
hours later by a thin, miserable, hungry wail from the princess, who was sopping 
and dirty besides. Katriona dealt with the more immediately disagreeable problem 
with a few strips hacked from her petticoat, and then, since she couldnt spare 
anything potentially reusable, rolled up the smelly, disgusting mess of the 
princess underclothes, wrapped it in another strip torn from her petticoat, and 
tucked it grimly into the sling under the baby. The princess, still fretful, 
found motion distracting, and only whinged and grizzled as Katriona staggered 
down to the road again and set off, looking sharply round her for any sign of 
water.
There was a stream, fortunately, not far away, and she fought her way upstream 
through low-hanging shrubs till they were a little out of sight of the high 
road, drank deeply herself, splashed her face savagely in an attempt to wake 
herself up, laid the princess discarded nappy in the stream and put a stone on 
it to soak, and set about trying to persuade the princess to drink a little 
water. It wasnt food any more than it was for Katriona, but neither of them had 
had even water since midday the day before, and breakfast was still somewhere in 
the future.
She contrived a twist out of another bit of her petticoatit was disappearing 
fast, and she needed its pocketswhich the princess seized on with no hesitation 
and sucked eagerly till she discovered it wasnt what she wanted, whereupon she 
spat it out and began to scream with real rage, turning red with effort and 
throwing herself round.
Oh, magic and glory, what do I do now? said Katriona aloud, beginning to 
panic; but her ear registered certain little rustlings in the bushes and forced 
her mind to take note. Good morning, sir, she said, because the old dog-fox was 
watching her and the princess with interest.
Hungry baby, he said, surprising her; foxes generally wanted to talk about 
butterflies and grass and weather for a long time while they sized you upif 
they would talk to you at all. Even in that country foxes didnt much like 
having human beings who could talk to themand even in that country those who 
could were rare enoughand were not inclined to be helpful to any fairy. 
Katriona was already a little surprised that this one had brought himself to her 
attention in the first place; but she was always polite to animals, and a fox 
might know where the nearest field with calved cows in it was.
Yes, she said sadly, and I have no milk.
Not your baby, said the fox.
No, she began, and then said firmly, I am not her mother, but she is mine to 
care for.
Foxes have a sense of humour, and she felt this one expressing his, since she 
manifestly was not taking good care of the princess at present. She looked at 
him, scowling, reminding herself that she still had a favour to ask him.
Wife had pups, fifteen days ago, said the dog-fox.
Katriona managed not to say, Well how nice for you both, but she thought the fox 
could guess what she hadnt said, and if foxes laughed, he would have laughed 
louder. She had picked the princess up, and was trying to cradle her, but the 
princess wasnt having any of it: she wanted breakfastshe wanted yesterdays 
tea and supper and she wanted them now. Tiny fists can hurt quite a lot when 
they hit you in the face. Katriona lowered her to her lap, and hung on. Maybe 
she would wear out soon.
Wife has milk, said the fox.
Katrionas head shot up and she stared at him. He was crouched on the bank above 
her, his red coat perfectly camouflaged by the last winters leaves still caught 
in the hedgerow, below this years green. She was so startled she forgot to be 
polite. Why do you want to help us? she said.
Not foxy, to help human? said the fox, smiling a fox smile. No. Like babies. 
Even human babies. Yours makes too much noise.
Katriona knew what he was saying; noise in the wild was dangerousand he didnt 
know the half of it. I dont know how to make her quiet. Shes angry because 
shes hungry.
The fox jumped down from the bank and put his nose to the princess screwed-up, 
beetroot-coloured, shrieking face, and stoically withstood two bashes from those 
heavy little fists before she registered the arrival of another presence. 
Katriona held her breath. The princess opened her eyes, and her shrieks fell off 
into more hesitant wails. She grasped one of the foxs ears and pulled. He 
flinched, but put his tongue out and licked her, and she laughed. It was rather 
a hoarse laugh, but it was a laugh.
Quickly now, he said, withdrew his head (giving it a shake, as if to resettle 
his ears, and his nose, where the princess had struck him), and trotted off, 
upstream. The princess gave another cry at her new toy being so abruptly 
withdrawn, but her tantrum had worn her out, and on a too-long empty stomach she 
didnt have the strength to start in again. Almost as suddenly as blowing out a 
candle she fell asleep again, although she grizzled in her sleep, and her little 
face was frowning, her mouth set and the corners turned emphatically down, in 
the unequivocal way of unhappy babies.
Katriona snatched up the nappies from the water, and held them at arms length 
while they streamedat least the running water had cleaned them fairly 
wellsupporting the baby sling with the other arm. She ached all over, and was 
herself dizzy with hunger, and her held-out arm kept dropping involuntarily to 
her side, wetting her skirt and that ankle and foot. The foot began to squelch 
in its shoe.
Katriona expected an argument from the foxs wife, but she followed him out of 
their den almost as soon as the fox had gone in, with motherliness radiating off 
her like heat from a fire. She licked the princess face, and the princess woke, 
and obligingly pulled her ears, but she was weeping before she was properly 
awake, a thin, despairing wail, and it hurt Katrionas heart to hear her.
Put her down beside me, said the vixen. Lay her as if she werea puppy. Shes 
too big for me to move. Ill do the rest.
And she did. Katriona wondered if the fox cubs whimpered for their breakfast 
that day, for the princess emptied the contents of several nipples before she 
fell asleep again, this time smiling and rosy. Thank you, said Katriona. Thank 
you, thank you. Can I she hesitated. Is there anything at all I can do for you? 
IIm not a real fairy. I cant do much. Im sorry.
Whats your name? said the dog-fox.
Katriona, Katriona said in surprise.
Well, Katriona, said the dog-fox, if a fox ever calls you Katriona, you must 
come to its rescue. Will you do that?
Yes, said Katriona, and felt the foxs sense of humour again, although it had a 
bitter edge. Yes, said the dog-fox. I believe you. I had been watching you some 
time before I spoke, this morning, and I might not have let you know I was 
there.
Sleep here now, said the vixen, as Katriona wearily began shrugging herself back 
into the sling. Well keep watch. I can give her one more meal before you set 
out again. But only one. Or my babies will howl. Fox cubs didnt howl, but 
Katriona acknowledged the joke. She fell asleep so quickly she cracked her head 
against the ground lying down.
   
She opened her eyes to the sound of delighted infant laughter: the princess was 
playing catch with the dog-foxs tail. The rest of him was lying just out of her 
reachshe couldnt quite roll over yet, although she was tryingand he tickled 
her face with his brush, and then flicked it away as she grabbed for it. She 
thought this was a delicious game, and waved and kicked, and sneezed. Katriona 
couldnt see any obvious tufts of fur gone, and she rather thought the old fox 
was having a good time. Fleas, she thought. Never mind. I will find some wild 
garlic for the fleas.
The thought of wild garlic made her stomach give a sudden shriek of its own, 
almost as loud as the princess as she once again missed her grab, and equally 
suddenly Katriona realised she was smelling food. Fox dens do tend to be a bit 
redolent of past fox dinners, but this was she sat up and turned round and saw 
a meat pie lying on a bit of bare earth near her. It looked as if it had had a 
rather hard journey, but it was indubitably a meat pie.
The dog-fox said, Its for you. Sorry about the teeth marks. I was in a bit of a 
hurry.
Katriona had eaten it all almost before the fox finished speaking.
She sighed. I can only thank you again, she said. And again and again.
I could grow accustomed to being thanked, said the fox, half joking and half 
serious; thanks as humans understood them were not usual in animal cultures. 
(Nor were apologies. The foxs pride had evidently been offended by an 
insufficiently clever snatch at the stolen meat pie. Pride was very important. 
It was one of the things that kept you alive.) I feel you are hiding from your 
own kind for a good reason, said the fox after a pause. It was the princess 
name-day yesterday, and at midday the sky darkened, and the wind smelled wrong, 
and later on the kings horsemen galloped down the roads with angry, frightened 
faces. And then you came.
Yes, said Katriona, and the fox asked no more; secrets were another of the 
things that kept you alive. Katriona could hear muffled squeaks and rustles from 
inside the den; presumably the vixen was feeding her own children.
I thank you for your thanks, the dog-fox said at last, almost primly, and she 
had impulsively half reached out to touch him, a caress or a hug, before she 
remembered what brutal bad manners that would be, and flinched back. The fox was 
looking at her thoughtfully. Like this, he said, rolled to his feet, walked over 
to her, and laid his long narrow furry cheek briefly against her wide smooth 
round one.



Chapter 5
 ^  
There were fleas, but the wild garlic helped, and the reek of it kept certain 
other inevitable odours a little at bay. And she began to think that one or two 
of the fairy godmothers gifts that she had missed while her hands were over her 
ears must have been about good nature, because the princess was astonishingly 
good-natured during their long difficult journey; the tantrum she had their 
first morning was the only tantrum she ever had. Maybe its something in the 
milk, Katriona thought a little wildly, for the princess drank not only foxs 
milk, and goats, and cows and ewes and mares and a variety of domestic cats 
and dogs (mostly sheepdogs and collies), but also does, badgers, otters, 
polecats, pine martens, wolfs, lynxs, wildcats, and bears (some of these 
more tactically difficult to achieve than others).
She knew, although she had not been told, that some kind of word had gone out 
among the animals that there was a baby walking west and north in the arms of a 
fairy woman not her mother, who couldnt do much fairy work but could talk to 
animalsshe hoped they said she was politeand she often found when she huddled 
down by a farmyard at evening or very early morning (one of the extraordinary 
adaptations the princess had made without fuss was to the necessary regime of 
only two meals a day) and asked, Goat, goat, can you spare me any milk? the 
goator whatever milking mother was on offerwas half expecting her, and could 
often tell her where to look for the princess next meal as well.
Katriona preferred the bigger farms, when she was lucky enough to find a farm 
she thought she could risk approaching (hedgerow or haystack near the field with 
the animals she wanted in it; farmhouse far from the farmyard) because the 
princess, especially since she only had the chance to slake it twice a day, had 
a mighty appetite, and a small householder would miss what she took. A few times 
Katriona left one of her last hapennies on a doorstep, or tied up in the 
farmers kerchief hung over his pitchfork, or by the sink in the dairy for the 
farm wife to find. This was the sort of thing that happened in this country, but 
then the hapennies left were usually silver, or sometimes, if someone was very 
lucky, something called fairy metal, though no one (including fairies) knew 
where it came from, iridescent in sunlight, and strangely warm in the hand even 
in winter.
Katrionas hapennies were just the ordinary copper ones struck by the kings 
mint; but then you never got to spend the iridescent ones. They became family 
heirlooms. Which was all very well after the day you had to go hungry because 
someone had pinched your milk. (The story that went with the fairy-metal coins 
was that the animals milked better and the crops grew better and the human 
farmer and farm family were healthier for the whole season after. She couldnt 
do anything about that, either. All she could do was leave a plain dull 
hapenny.)
But often enough there was no farm, or there was a too-populous village too near 
even a good large spread-out farm, or something else was wrong, often nothing 
Katriona could even describe, only a prickle between her shoulder blades that 
made her clutch the princess more closely and keep on.
And then she had to listen for the sound of wild animals talking among 
themselves, which was as difficult as picking out a foxs red coat among last 
years beech leaves, and for similar reasons. And then, having managed to orient 
herself to a sound not made by wind or water or will-o-the-wisp 
(wills-o-the-wisp in that country could be quite noisy, if dancing lights and 
minor visions werent alluring enough and the wisps were beginning to feel 
frustrated), she had to try to move in that direction, till she could say, 
Pardon me, gentle persons, I have a favour to ask, before they disappeared 
because a human was approaching them. Not always, even then, would they wait for 
her, but usually they did: the word had gone out.
She wished she could ask why there had been that word: there werent any stories 
that werent obviously nursery tales about animals organising to feed an 
orphaned baby. Did the animals know that this baby was the princess? Was that 
part of the word that was passed among them? No one had ever asked who the baby 
was, but then animals wouldnt. The baby was the baby and the mother was the 
mother, even when she wasnt. (The dog-fox had been rude in suggesting the 
princess was not Katrionas baby, but foxes are brash creatures, and 
gratuitously inquisitive. Katriona couldnt imagine any animal but a foxexcept, 
possibly, a few of the cheekier birds remarking as he had remarked on the 
princess name-day.) Animals always wanted to knowtheir lives too often 
depended on itbut they rarely asked questions. You werent supposed to have to 
ask questions; language was a weak and unreliable means of taking in 
information, and many wild animals dispensed with it; your ears and nose and 
eyes were much preferable.
And because the animals did not question her, she could not ask them: Why are 
you doing this for us?
There were stories that didnt sound like nursery tales, about companies of 
leopards and lynxes and dragons and wolves that had fought at the sides of 
various kings and queens many years ago; but maybe those were merely nursery 
tales for grown-ups. History was as unreliable as almost everything else that 
was influenced by magic in this countrywhich was nearly everythingand those 
stories could have been true or they could have not been true. Did the animals 
know about Pernicia?
But Katriona did have to go in search of animals to help her; they might expect 
her, they might wait for her, but they rarely came to meet her. She had had no 
warning, one evening, and was beginning to feel some anxiety that she had gone 
so far into a plausible-looking wood without hearing any animal speech, when a 
hummock of darkness had risen in front of her in the twilight and shadows, and 
become a bear. She had gripped the princess so tightly she gave a little squeak 
and then began to cry, and even after the bear had addressed them in a voice as 
kind and loving as Katrionas aunts, saying, I have milk for your baby, 
Katriona had not been able to make any reply for at least a minute. The steady 
yellow eyes of wolves appearing out of the darkness between blink and blink was 
nothing compared to the revelation of the bear.
The bear sat down, quietly, and crossed her immense, dagger-clawed paws over her 
broad breast, and waited for Katriona to recover herself. Not wishing to appear 
rude, but still struck dumb, Katriona took a wavering step forward; and then the 
princess, who had stopped crying, gave one of her delicious, crowing chirrups, 
and held out her armsto the bear.
There was this also to say about the bear: She was big enough, presumably, to 
spare milk for a human baby without much shortage to her own. It had taken most 
of a riverbank of otters to feed the princess, another evening, though the 
otters had seemed to think it all a great joke. The nursing mothers had hung 
round talking among themselves about the adventure of feeding a human baby while 
one after another had her turn with the princess, and before each had slid 
silently back into the river to return to her own territory and her own 
children. That had been a long night, because many of the otters were coming 
from a considerable distance, and the princess dinner had a number of hiatuses, 
or perhaps merely courseswith which she put up with her usual good humour.
The princess was undoubtedly thriving. She wasnt very clean, but she was 
bright-eyedand alarmingly cheerfuland apparently robustly healthy. And 
energetically putting on weight. Katrionas mind and eye noted this with 
satisfaction; her back and shoulders were less pleased.
It took them three and a half months to return to Foggy Bottom. Katriona had 
decided that she had best travel mostly at night, and off the main road; and 
with the (increasing) burden of the princess as well, she did not move very 
quickly. She began to feel as if the journey were her entire life, and that she 
would never come to the end of it; she felt that way particularly at the end of 
every nights walk, because she was always tired and hungry, and worried whether 
this would be the night that their luck ran out, and she would find no milk for 
the princess. There was always a slightly dreamlike quality to talking to 
animals, both because it happened in your head, like you might make up imaginary 
conversations with people, and because the way animals minds worked was so 
different from the way human minds worked. The disorienting quality of 
beast-talking was that much more bewildering when you were tired.
Katriona was also always short on sleep because she woke often every day, 
thinking she heard the sound of Pernicias creatures creeping near them (and 
what would they be? Dark and scaly, with poisoned spines? Slithery and slimy, 
with too many legs? Or more beautiful than anything kind and good, with eyes 
that killed you quicker than basilisks? Would it be worse if Katriona could talk 
to them, too? Or maybe she didnt use creatures at all; maybe Katriona would 
wake up drowning in a swamp or having been turned into a giant hogweed or a 
troll. Orworst thought of allpossibly Pernicia would come herself, in person; 
Katriona often saw her, tall, deadly, stooping down to seize them both). Or at 
least the kings hunters.
Why hadnt the royal magicians found them? A really good magician could find 
anything that was lost by looking into the palm of the hand he usually carried 
his wand in; even a not very good magician ought to be able to find something 
large and important and specific, like a baby princess, with a few drops of 
farseeing and a bowl of water. If the small person, the fairy who had given 
Katriona both the princess and a poem, was powerful enough to keep them 
invisible to the best searchers in the realm, why wasnt she powerful enough to 
protect the princess at home where she belonged?
Or could the sabre-bearers amulet be hiding them?
Katriona couldnt bear to think about any of it too closely.
She often thought of trying to find a robin who could get a message to her 
auntrobins always seemed to have family in areas you wanted to get a message to 
or frombut she couldnt think of anything to say that wasnt more dangerous 
than remaining silent and continuing to trust to luck. It was bad enough she was 
leaving a trail of stolen milk between the royal city and the Gig. Perhaps their 
luck was merely that magicians scorned talking to animals; animal thoughts 
werent nearly orderly enough to suit magicians, and were always full of large 
untidy preoccupations, like sex and death and the next meal.
She had seen no one in the royal livery in weeks. She often had to follow the 
main road for a little while, because it was the only way through; and sometimes 
they had to sleep near it because she was too tired to look for better shelter, 
and then she would be awakened by the sounds that travellers made, and peer 
through leaves or shrubbery to see them, half hoping she would overhear some 
conversation about the missing princess, about the ten-foot giant who had 
snatched her out of her cradle at the name-day and been seen striding south with 
her, which was where the kings trackers were concentrating their efforts. She 
hoped it was a good thing, to see no one in the kings livery.
She was always hungry. She was often too tired to forage for herself properly 
after shed found milk for the princess, and she was desperately weary of the 
sort of things you could scrounge in wild land in summer, and eat raw; only a 
few times, when it had been raining and they were both wet and cold, did she 
risk a fire (one of her aunts charms persuaded wet wood to burn, although the 
wetter the wood, the sooner the charm wore out. Her aunt sold many of these 
charms in the fenny Gig) and then only if she could find a place far enough from 
the road and with the wind in the right direction. Once or twice the hapennies 
she left in dairies were for cheeses shed stolen; but the only milk she was 
willing to drink was goats and cows and ewes, although it was sometimes 
offered elsewhere (including by the bear). She was tired of sitting on the 
ground; and even with a no-rocks charm, there was an infinity of difference 
between sleeping on the ground and on the oldest, roughest, lumpiest, and most 
in-need-of-restuffing mattress, made by human hands, and sheltered by four walls 
and a roofand furnished with blankets and pillows. (They never slept in trees. 
Katriona didnt want to find out the hard way that that particular charm would 
not include a baby she carried.)
She was also, of course, very, very tired of the princess, but the first time 
she had leant over her to pick her up for their evenings walk, seen her eyes 
focus gravely on the face above her, and then, after a thoughtful moment, 
watched her face break out into a smile as bright as daylighta smile just for 
her, Katriona, as clear as if the princess had called her by nameshe had to 
admit she was also rather terrifyingly fond of her. Even if she did weigh too 
much. And always needed changing. I didnt have to rush up to the cradle and 
start babbling to her like a loony, Katriona thought testily; nobody forced me. 
I just did. But if I hadnt, who would have her now? The small fairy would have 
found someone else wouldnt she? She would have found someone better wouldnt 
she?
What had she told the poor king and queen?
The last thing before Katriona fell asleep every morning, she recited to herself 
the verse the small fairy had taught her. She often fell asleep murmuring, weave 
your grey web nearer And woke up murmuring, lost, lost, lost is the wearer 
Your golden crown is certainly lost, she said under her breath one evening, 
dunking the grubby baby in a shallow pond, fairly warm after the sun had been on 
it all afternoon. The grubby baby laughed, and pulled up a handful of 
bottom-of-shallow-pond mud and decomposing slime, and rubbed it into her hair. 
This was excellent fun, so she pulled up another. Oh, youre a lot of help, you 
are, said Katriona, making a dive at her with a reasonably clean piece of 
flannel, and rubbing her face. The princess put up with this indignity 
stoically. Sometimes I think I miss soap even more than bread. But, you know, 
well be home soon. She paused, and the baby, catching her mood, also paused, 
and looked at her anxiously. Home for you, too, Katriona said, catching one of 
the muddy hands and applying her flannel to it. Home for you, too.
It rained steadily the last day and a half to Foggy Bottom. Katriona used the 
weather as an excuse not to stop either. She had run out of hapennies a 
sennight agodespite how frugally she had hoarded themand was hungrier than 
ever; and she was too tired to do anything but stay on the main cart track into 
the Gig when the dawn came. It had been empty all night, and she managed to get 
off the road before any of the other occasional travellers saw her during the 
day.
Her aunt would know how to tell everyone that Katriona had come back from the 
princess name-day with a baby of a suspicious age (she assumed that the news of 
the princess disappearance would have flown round the country as quickly as the 
news of her birth had); although could anyone entertain so ludicrous a notion as 
that someone like Katriona had successfully kidnapped the princess? If the 
princess had disappeared on account of the threat from Pernicia, it was because 
she had been hurried off to some royal stronghold where the most powerful 
magicians, the wisest fairies, cleverest scouts, and sharpest troops could keep 
her safe.
When Katriona felt she couldnt walk any farther, she stopped and sat down under 
a tree for a few minutes, and leant against it, and fell into a kind of 
semi-conscious drowse; and as soon as she could struggle to her feet again she 
did so. The princess, for the first time, was not feeling well, and wasnt 
hungry, but was restless and whimpery, and Katriona was therefore even more 
anxious to get her home to her aunt. Oh, Aunt, she thought. You wont believe 
how much I have to tell you
The rain and wind among the leaves made enough of a din on the second evening 
that she couldnt hear her own footsteps, although she could feel the mud 
sucking at her feet, trying to pull her shoes off, trying to unbalance her till 
she fell down. She often stumbled. She kept the edge of her cloak pulled over 
the feverish baby, for it was wool, and warm even as wet as it was; but, being 
wool, it also became heavier and heavier as it grew wetter and wetter. Katriona 
sneezed.
Its summer, she thought drearily; I shouldnt have a head-cold in high summer.
She knew all the back ways in and out of Foggy Bottom, but she was too tired to 
choose; she took the first turning off the main road that would lead her to her 
aunts houseto her house. If she met anyone she knew, she didnt know what she 
would say, with the baby in her arms. She didnt know, and she was too tired to 
care. She was home at last. She was nearly home at last.
Her aunt had the door open, and was looking out. Oh, Katriona, she breathed, 
and embraced her before she was over the threshold, and in spite of the rainand 
the baby. She made room for the baby in her hug as she might have made room for 
any other impediment. Katriona sneezed again.
Ill give you something for that, said her aunt, and pulled her filthy wet 
cloak off her, and drew her to the fire; and Katriona felt the fingers at the 
back of her neck, untying the ragged scarf that had valiantly withstood its 
unsuitable occupation as baby-sling for so long, and still her aunt asked no 
question and made no exclamation.
As the sling came loose, and Katriona settled the princess in her lap in the way 
she had settled her in her lap any number of times over the last three and a 
half months (but in a chair! said a small internal voice refusing to be daunted 
by head-colds and exhaustion. In a chair In a chair you will be able to sit in 
again tomorrow, and the day after that!), she reached up and grasped her aunts 
hand-her aunt was occupied drawing the little table and another chair to the 
fire.
Aunt, said Katriona, and her voice shook a little. Auntthis is the princess. 
Theythey gave her to me. And then all the last three and a half months rose up 
together and fell on her, and she put her free arm on the table and leant her 
head against it and cried and cried and cried and cried, and she only stopped at 
last because the princess started crying, too. When Katriona had reassured her 
and the princess had fallen into a heavy doze (drooling fondly down Katrionas 
neck), Katriona told her aunt everything she could remember about the name-day, 
about Pernicia, about the small drably-dressed fairy and the verse she had 
taught her, about the king and queen, about the sabre-bearer and his amulet, 
about the gold and white and lavender streamers with the pink and white 
rosettes, which were still, ruinously wrinkled, in the bottom of one of her 
pockets, and how she hadnt been able to bear to throw them away. About how she 
had been afraid to send any message to her aunt. And about how it was that while 
Katriona had often gone hungry, the princess had always had her milk.
Her aunt listened to everything, occasionally patting Katrionas hand, and 
apparently not noticing the increasing reek of wet unwashed person and wet 
unwashed baby that rose from Katriona and the princess as the fire warmed them 
and the rain came off them as steam. Katriona was still talking, hoarsely, when 
she fell asleep.
   
When she woke up, she was both clean and in bed. In her own bed. In any bed. For 
a moment she thought she had dreamed; and she struggled not to wake up no. She 
felt her way down to the foot of her bed and looked over the rim of the loft and 
saw the cradle by the fire. There had never been a cradle by the fire since 
Katriona could remember; and she could see her aunts foot rocking it gently.
Most of her aunt was hidden behind the back of her chair; but she must have 
heard her niece stir, because she put her head round the chair and saw her 
sitting up and looking down.
How are you feeling? said her aunt.
Good, said Katriona, after a moment, in surprise. Better than Ive felt 
sincesince the name-day. Aunt, Ive had a bath.
Her aunt smiled. Only as much as I could arrange. You can have a proper bath 
later; theres only so much you can do with an unconscious, snoring body, even 
with cooperative water. And I had to save some of my energy for persuading the 
ladder to carry you up to the loft. But I thought youd be more comfortable, 
clean and in your own bed. Hows the cold?
Gone, I think. She stood up, waveringly. Im so hungry I cant think.
Dont think, eat, said her aunt. Well think together later.
There was bread and chutney and a salad of greens and new potatoes on the table, 
and Katriona ate it all. Only then did she approach the cradle.
She knelt beside it. The princess, also looking very clean, was asleep. For the 
first time Katriona really noticed that her hair was blond and curly, her skin 
pale but rosy; and she looked lovingly at the long silken eyelashes lying 
sweetly against the little satin cheek.
Aunt, she said softly, I dont even know what to call her. Her name is Casta 
Albinia Allegra Dove Minerva Fidelia Aletta Blythe Domnia Delicia Aurelia Grace 
Isabel Griselda Gwyneth Pearl Ruby Coral Lily Iris Briar-Rose. Ive been calling 
her baby, orwhen we were far enough away from everyoneprincess, because I 
didnt wantI didnt want her to forget, I know thats silly when shes only a 
baby, butand besides, you cant call a princess by name, can you?
Briar-Rose, said her aunt. Rose. Rosie. Rosie is a good name for a little 
village maiden. Well call her Rosie.



Part Two



Chapter 6
 ^  
The next time a royal herald appeared in Foggy Bottom, shortly after the arrival 
of Aunts second niece, Rosie, it was a far more subdued and apprehensive 
occasion. The villages of the Gig had heard of the events of the princess 
name-day from the returning attendeesfortunately no one asked Katriona why it 
had taken her better than twice as long to make the journey home as it had the 
journey awayand had looked at their spinning wheels and hand spindles in alarm 
and dismay. Every home in the Gig had at least one tool for spinning; the 
weavers in Smoke River paid real coin for good thread, and Lord Prendergast, as 
well as most of the local smallholders, raised sheep.
The herald brought instructions that no spindle, iron or wood, should have a 
point on it thinner than the forefinger of a three-month-old babywhich had been 
the age of the princess on her name-dayand the herald here brandished a wooden 
peg that looked unsettlingly like a babys forefinger. Katriona shivered, and 
needlessly rearranged the contentedly sleeping princess in her new baby-sling. 
The princess gave a little moan of objection and lapsed back into 
unconsciousness.
Aunt had said firmly that the entire village was ordered to attend the heralds 
announcement, and that the entire village had to be there-including Katriona and 
Rosie.
Ill carry her, if you wish, but be there you both must be. She looked into 
Katrionas drawn, unhappy face and said, My dear, think about it. No sane 
grown-up would leave a baby home alone, and the one thing we absolutely cannot 
do is call attention to ourselves by staying away. There is nothing about Rosie 
to suggest she is anything but our Rosie.
Katriona took comfort in the presence of several other women clutching babies of 
various ages and looking frightened-and in the reassuringly large and solid 
proximity of Barder, who had worked his way through the crowd to stand next to 
her for the heralds proclamation. This herald, too, was gone the next day, but 
there was no celebration in the pub the previous evening.
The herald had brought other news: that the king and queen were offering a 
fantastic reward for any news of Pernicia, of her whereabouts, her situation, 
her plans, her powersanythingany news at all. Squadrons of the kings armies 
and parties of the kings magicians were still scouring the countryside for any 
trace of her; but so far as the herald, and Aunts robins, knew, they had found 
nothing.
Nor had anyone else. No one had come forward to claim a portion of the kings 
reward. No one was able to say anything about where she had been before the 
name-day, nor where she was and what she was doing now. No one. Not one of all 
the court fairies and magicians, who were among the most powerful in that 
country; not one of the magisterial seniors at the Academy, not one of the 
dangerously wayward fairies of the wild lands who could see through stone and 
talk to fire-wyrms and hear the stars singing.
Pernicia, people murmured. Wasnt that the name of? There were tales that 
peoples grandparents and great-grandparents had told them, that they had had 
from their grandparents and great-grandparent.
The story was of a wicked fairy with a name like Pernicia, who had sworn revenge 
on the queen of their country, many generations ago, a queen who had been 
unusually clear-sighted and unshakable by any magical means, even for a queen. 
Perniciaif that had been her namehad said to her, It is true, you have 
defeated me for now; but one day I will throw your heirs heir down, and shatter 
your country with the shock, till no stone stands on any other stone that human 
hand set together, and the animals flee underground to the deepest roots of the 
mountains, and the birds will not sit in the trees, and the trees themselves 
bear no leaves and no fruit.
And the wicked fairywhose name might have been something like Perniciawent 
away into some wilderness where no one could find her, for she set magical 
guardians around it, so that the wilderness appeared even wilder than it was, 
and people stayed away without knowing why they stayed away. Andthe stories 
saidshe set herself to learning how to live past the usual span of human years, 
so she might have her revenge in the time that suited her best, and that she 
should be there in the full strength of her pride and malice to enjoy it. 
Perhaps she was powerful enough, and wicked enough, to have learnt it; for it 
was said that if you were powerful enough, and wicked enough, there was a way.
But that country was full of magical wildernesses where no one went; and even if 
you did go thereeven if you were a very clever fairy or a very wise 
magicianyou were very unlikely to see or to find everything that was there.
And that country was full of tales of fairies and magicians and magic. Many of 
them were just tales.
But Katriona remembered the small fairy saying to her: Oh yes, I know who she 
is; but I did not know she was so powerful. I hoped, as one always does hope 
until catastrophe strikes, that it would not come. I hoped that the years had 
worn her out, the years since our last queen.
If the tale about a wicked fairy with a name like Pernicia was more than just a 
tale, and if that Pernicia had returned from her long exile, then the country 
was in the gravest danger it had been in since the plague of fire-wyrms had set 
upon it from the north. Pernicia had nearly defeated the queen she had faced 
long ago, and if the queen had been merely an ordinary queen, she would have 
defeated her.
And if Pernicia had learnt the secret of long life, she would have spent the 
years while she waited for her opportunity learning new wickedness, and nursing 
her hatred. King Harald had thrown the firewyrms back, but the Gigs terrain 
still showed the scars of the conflict in high tors and sudden valleys where the 
battles had been fought, and the fire-wyrms had melted the landscape in fury 
when the magician wrought armour of Haralds regiments withstood them. What 
might Pernicia do that would batter and buckle the entire country?
The princess must be kept safe, not only for her own sake, but for the sake of 
the country. Even the kings conniving cousins, who had gone home in disgust 
upon the birth of the princess, showed no signs of wishing to return to the 
court now that she had disappeared. The princess yet lived; Pernicias own 
disappearance proved that. But the princess must be kept safewherever the king 
and queen had her hidden. The heralds had no news about that; but then the 
people did not expect it. It was not a thing to speak aloud, with Pernicia 
listening.
Everyone all over the country went home after hearing the heralds announcement, 
and at once knocked the pointed ends off their spindles and threw them on the 
fire, or bashed them with mallets and gave them to their local smiths who threw 
them on the hotter smithy fires; and then they looked sadly at the mutilated 
spindles. Weavers temporarily found their thread supplies short, while spinners 
adapted to shorter and thicker spindles. Later on spinners and toolmakers began 
to develop new spindles and new ways to cast their thread on and off them; over 
time, in a mixture of anger and fear and resentment, and a fuzzy but sincere 
desire to show support for their royal family, a new art form was born: spindle 
ends.
At first these were only rough shapings of the beheaded ends, merely to make 
them look less wrong. Spindles became readily detachable from wheels and 
handles, so that one shape or another could be tried and fiddled with and remade 
and tried again. Iron spindles were discarded altogether. Spindles and spindle 
ends became objects interesting in their own right; people argued as 
passionately over which woods made the best spindle ends as they did over which 
made the best bows and hafts.
Over more timeand obstinacythe new spindle ends became not merely necessary 
adaptations of an old system, but the way things were: and the offhand whittling 
of them became both elaborate and beautiful. A spindle was now a rounded, 
palm-sized end tapering to a slim graceful rod no thinner than a three-month-old 
babys forefinger. Little loops began to appear on spindle posts, where 
out-of-use spindles were dropped, point down; doorways and chimneypieces 
sprouted similar loops for hand spindles. Spinners grew much more organised 
about finishing off, so that their spindle ends were free for display when not 
in active use; the broad blunt ends of wheel spindles, in particular, were 
intricately carved.
Eventually, in later generations, a hand-carved spindle end was a favourite 
wedding gift, believed to confer good luck and healthy children on the bride and 
groom; and especially fine examples of the spindle-carving art were highly 
prized heirlooms. In neighbouring countries, people who saw the spindle ends 
that people of this country began carrying with them for luck adapted their own 
spinning wheels so that they too could use their neighbours beautiful spindle 
ends, and spindle ends became one of this countrys most sought-after exports. 
No one outside seemed able to learn the knack, although many tried; but in areas 
that had never seen a carved spindle end they still picked up the phrase, used 
of someone or something the speaker treasured: sound as a good spindles end.
   
But that was much later. While Aunt threw her spindle point into the fire, and 
prodded it into the heart of the flames, Katriona took off the amulet she was 
still wearing hidden under her clothing, and held it between her two hands. The 
disturbed fire flared up and the hot red light fell across the amulet, and it 
flared, too, and Katriona almost dropped it, as if it were a chain of embers and 
would burn her. She remembered the sense of it pulsing between her fingers on 
the princess name-day; it had lain quietly since then, till this moment.
The fire-coloured light flickered in the same rhythm as the vibration against 
her fingers, and the amulet sparkled along its whole length, even where the 
shadow of her fingers fell across it. I think, she said slowly, I think I 
will not wear you any more.
She raised her head and saw Aunt looking at her, the poker still in her hand. 
Ill give you something to wrap it in, said Aunt, and Katriona knew she meant 
something that would disguise it from magic-seeing eyes. There was a little iron 
cup that stood on its own three tiny legs, like a miniature cauldron, in a niche 
high in the stone chimney. It had held other small magics safe from prying eyes, 
but it was empty now. Katriona pulled a stool in front of the hearth and stood 
on it so she could reach the niche and the cup. The cloth Aunt handed her was 
white, and when Katriona laid the amulet on it, she half expected the whiteness 
to blacken and char; but it did not. She folded the cloth round it carefully, 
and curled her thin package twice around the inside of the cup, till it lay 
flat.
Should I lid it with iron, too? said Katriona.
Aunt thought. No, she said after a moment. I dont think therell be enough 
leak to notice, not in this house. Let the poor thing breathe. Something like 
thatlikely itll be happier if it can keep its eye on us, too.
On Rosie, said Katriona.
   
The local chief priest came calling to inquire self-importantly about Rosies 
name-day and dedication. Aunt was ready for him, and polite to him, neither of 
which was true of Katriona, till Aunt sent her on an imaginary errand to rid 
herself of the distracting series of muffled objections, which were Katrionas 
only contribution to the conversation, stiff as it was already. Part of the 
vehemence of her feeling was based on the fact that the Gigs chief priest was a 
pompous ass (the Gig was too obscure to have its own bishop), although the 
sleekest and most worldly-wise priest, of which the chief Priest of the Gig was 
neither, was never perfectly at ease with the meekest and least active 
professional fairyof which Aunt was neither.
It was not an easy vocation, being a priest in that country, where magic was 
vibrantly everywhere, maddening and unquenchable, and the gods were assumed to 
be a kind of super-fairy except that you never saw them nor were offered any 
concrete proof of what the priests claimed they had done for you. Possibly 
because of the rampaging dailiness of the magic of that country, its natives 
could rarely be persuaded to spend any serious time or thought on questions of 
how the world began or what it was for, or why people were people instead of 
stick insects or pondweed, or any of the other standard varieties of religious 
inquiry. For the ethics restraining you from bashing your neighbour and stealing 
his land or his money or his daughter there were centuries of instilled belief 
that these were bad things to do, and a strong government that, for as many 
centuries, had agreed. And for ecstatic visions there was the illegal eating of 
fish.
Aunts theory about priests was that religion had emigrated from some other, 
less magical country, and its missionaries, while of good stout 
disbeliever-thumping stock, had never really adapted to the peculiar conditions 
of this country, and therefore, while they had managed to rig a sort of clumsy 
administrative scaffolding, it had never, so to speak, had its walls and roof 
put on, and developed a vernacular architecture. The priests had gained some 
ground, over the generations, with certain cabals of magicians; but priests and 
fairies remained like oil and water.
Katriona returned from her errand to find Aunt alone, amusing Rosie by swinging 
on its thin coloured string the tiny god-charm the priest had blessed her with. 
Rosie sat on the floor and made snatches at it (falling over at intervals). 
Fairy godparents might have been quite a good notion toward a truce between 
us, Aunt said thoughtfully.
Its a pity the possible precedent was such a disaster.
He just wants the money! Katriona said, outraged that Aunt had agreed to a 
second (abbreviated) name-day for Rosieas if her first one had not been more 
than enough for anyone.
Aunt sighed. The priest was not a pleasant companion, and talking to him had 
given her a headache. Yes, of course he does, but hell use it to buy food and 
firewood for those who need it. Dont worry; Ive already explained that my 
sister had Rosie dedicated before she died; she wont have the words spoken over 
her again. (You wanted to be careful about the super-fairies, just in case 
their magic was anything like the usual stuff, where doing the same spell twice 
could create serious havoc.) But I couldnt afford to insist against itwhat if 
he tried to trace my supposed sisters supposed priest to make sure the ceremony 
was done? Priests have more contacts than robins. Katriona subsided, but with 
an ill grace.
Foggy Bottoms priestling earned his titleand a certain grudging respect, even 
from Katrionaby nursing the sick and the indigent, but he was afraid of Aunt, 
as if religion and magic might ricochet off each other to the harm of innocent 
bystanders. While he was ready to do his duty by all his parishioners, even to 
the extent of rubbing the dedication herbs and oils into the potentially 
combustible foreheads of babies related to Aunt by blood, he was certainly not 
going to go out of his way to pursue her about it. After his chiefs visit, he 
was only too visibly relieved to be let off the actual rite, and accepted the 
promised fee for adding Rosie to Foggy Bottoms church registry with a hand that 
shook only a little.
Rosie, who had to be present for this transaction, smiled at him benevolently, 
and would have pulled his priests plait, except that he flicked it out of her 
way in time, and proffered the string of his hood as substitute. She pulled with 
glee and made happy little chirps at each tug. She sounds like one of your 
robins, said the priest, thinking that she was a difficult baby not to like, 
whomever she might be related to.
Not when she wants something and thinks its not coming fast enough, said Aunt 
drily.
   
Rosie grew up square and strong and stubborn and inquisitive, with a 
limitlessness of both energy and persistence that meant she was a great trial to 
Aunt and Katriona while she was still young enough to require constant watching. 
Mind you, said Aunt, little children are like thisAunt was the eldest of 
eleven and spoke from long experiencebut Ive never seen one that was Rosies 
equal for sheer pigheadedness. With all due respect to pigs.
Katriona sighed. She wanted children of her own (even if it turned out that Aunt 
was right and she was wrong, and she was a real fairy herself), but the 
experience of raising Rosie was making her feel that perhaps she wanted fewer 
than she had previously imagined.
Even when Aunt had one or two small boarders to stay, as she often did, till 
their baby-magic ran its course and they were safe to return to their families, 
Rosie was deflected from her purposes not a whit by prognosticating furniture, 
clothing that giggled and ran away when you tried to put it on, nor a ravening 
panther just outside the door apparently waiting to swallow the first person it 
saw. (It was something like a panther; manifestations of baby-magic are only as 
good as the imagination of the child, and this ones understanding of natural 
history was not so great as his desire for mayhem.)
This was convenient in one way, as a more nervous and dependent child would have 
been made miserable by baby-magic jokes and ruses; but Katriona sometimes 
thought it might have been worth it. Katriona had been officially sworn and 
contracted as Aunts apprentice shortly after Rosie had come to live with them, 
which in theory meant that Katriona could be sent instead of Aunt to attend to 
any fairy task Aunt thought her capable of; but in fact Katriona found learning 
basic fairy craft something of a struggle, despite her zealous dedication. At 
first the only clear manifestation of her aptitude for any magic at all was her 
ability to throw (so to speak) cold water on the various conflagrations of 
baby-magic, and there was no plan or subtlety to that; it was just a reflex, 
like grabbing the milk jug before Rosie knocked it over or a boarder turned it 
into a wasps nest. The early years of her apprenticeship felt like a kind of 
frantic juggling act, and the only real difference between handling magic and 
handling Rosie, she thought despairingly, was that there was no malice in Rosie.
Rosie hated her curly golden hair. When she was old enough to hold minimal 
conversations, the itsy-bitsy-cutesy-coo sort of grownups would pull the soft 
ringlets gently and tell her what a pretty little girl she was. She would stare 
at this sort of grown-up and say, I am not pretty. I am intelligent. And 
brave. The grown-ups usually thought this was darling, which only made her 
angry, perhaps partly because she was speaking the truth, although it was tricky 
to differentiate between brave and foolhardy at three or four years old. 
(Fortunately her faith in grown-ups other than Aunt and Katriona was founded on 
people like Barder. Barder had a ritual of picking her up, saying Oof, 
followed by, So, youre a strapping lass. Are you going to grow up to be a 
blacksmith like Narl or a wheelwright like me? and tossing her in the air. She 
adored Barder from the beginning, and was magnanimous about the fact that as the 
years passed he threw her less and less high.) But aside from her hair, she was 
not prettyall those fairy godmothers giving her lips like cherries and teeth 
like pearls and skin like silk and they forgot to make her pretty, thought 
Katrionaand she was intelligent.
She was intelligent enough, for example, to grasp that Aunts prized scissors 
(the only pair in the village) were a much more precise cutting tool than a 
knifeneither of which, in theory, she was allowed access to. She nonetheless 
came indoors for tea one day with her hair lopped off to about half a hands 
breadth all over her head.
It stood out like the corolla of a ragged sunflower. Aunt and Katriona were 
initially so stunned that Rosie had time to put the scissors carefully back 
where they belonged, with an easy familiarity that proved shed done it often 
before.
But the uproar this caused was nothing compared with the uproar when Katriona 
noticed she had also cut her eyelashes. Various negotiations (including, 
finally, such desperate measures as supposing you ever want to eat again) 
eventually produced the grudging promise that, in return for Katriona keeping 
her hair cut short, she would leave her eyelashes alone.
Short hair rather suited Rosie. The bones of her square little face stood out 
with a clarity that seemed to reflect (or warn of) her personality.
And without the distracting curls, Katriona found herself noticing more often 
the expressions flashing over that small candid face When she was watching 
Rosie with only half her attention she was often startled into full heed by a 
turn of Rosies head, a look in her eye, a tip of her chin, underscored, 
perhaps, by a gesture of her hand, a drop of one shoulder, a playful leap: and 
Katriona was reminded briefly but intensely of a fox, a badger, a wildcat, a 
doe.
Not any fox or badger or wildcat or doe. Rosie had a humorous, wily shrewd look 
Katriona remembered from a particularly kind and clever nanny goat they had met 
on their journey, and an earnest, ardent look that came from a sheepdog. Even 
Rosies curious ability to mimic Aunts robinsto the extent that the robins 
themselves went off into gales of good-natured robin-laughter about the nearness 
of her near missesbegan to seem a little ominous. What, thought Katriona, did 
our princess drink in with the milk?
She refused to think about what she had said over the cradle during the wreck of 
the name-day: you can have my gift, it isnt very useful, I can talk to 
animals She had only been speaking to say something, to drive away the sound of 
the words Pernicia had spoken; what she said hadnt meant anything, any more 
than any words she or anyone else might have said could have driven off 
Pernicias curse.
She mentioned the question of the milk quietly to Aunt one evening, and Aunt 
looked at Rosie for a while, her fingers, and foot on the treadle, continuing 
unfalteringly their business of spinning.
Rosie was trying to feed her unwanted supper porridge to the lefthand fire-dog, 
which was her favourite. Katriona couldnt herself see the difference, but, 
knowing Narl, who had made the pair, there was one. Both bore hound faces, with 
flying-back ears lying along their necks as from a rush of wind, and 
open-mouthed, eager expressions.
Rosie was murmuring to her friend; the only clear phrase, often repeated, was 
Its good for you. Katriona, watching, saw the dog aspect of Rosie more 
clearly than usual in the moving fire-shadows.
There was that sheepdog, but there had been other sheepdogs; there had also been 
that gaunt, intense, solemn hound not unlike what must have been in Narls mind 
when he made the fire-dogs; and a large, slow, thoughtful, heavy-coated dog 
rather like a small bear.
I cant see it, said Aunt, later, when Rosie was in bed, which is not to say 
it isnt there. I dont know, my dear. Shes happy, shes healthy, shes 
growing she is certainly growing and we love her. Katriona could hear the 
tiny waver in Aunts voice as she said we love her, because they didand she 
was the princess.
Small spider weave, thought Katriona. And a poem is the most I can give her, my 
dear, my only darling! When will she send word?
It will have to be enough, said Aunt.
Mostly it was enough, except for the dreams when an assortment of terrifyingly 
grand or villainous-looking persons turned up on their threshold, quoting the 
rhyme, and demanding the princess return.
Katriona was grateful that Rosie got into life so enthusiastically; this made 
her seem, to Katriona, like a real member of the village. But then what did 
Katriona know of princesses? Maybe they were all like real members of villages, 
except that they were princesses.
That was the year Rosie was four. It was a few weeks after Rosie cut her hair 
that something more disturbing happened.



Chapter 7
 ^  
After the princess calamitous name-day four years ago, there had been a great 
upheaval at the palace, and the wifes cousins sister-in-law of Aunts robin 
friend found that she no longer lived outside the queens quarters. And then, 
because the queen no longer had her chambers there, the robin found that the 
garden that was her territory and her delight was changed, in a robins opinion, 
very much to its detriment; and so she and her young family moved house.
Indeed, they left the palace grounds altogether. There was a thick new sadness 
that hung round the royal residence, and this being the country it was, it was a 
chalky sort of sadness, and the air was dusty grey with it, and birds preferred 
to nest elsewhere. Aunt and Katriona found themselves, for the first time in 
Katrionas memory, depending on Cairngorms pub for news of the royal family.
There they heard, a month or two after the visit from the second herald, that 
the queen and princess, immediately after the terrible name-day, had been 
smuggled away from the court in the royal city to a stronghold called 
Fordingbridge in the western mountains, and that three-quarters of the royal 
magicians and the two finest regiments of the army had gone with them. It was a 
good sign, everyone said, that the king and queen felt secure enough in their 
provisions for their daughters protection to let it be known where she was 
held.
The king had stayed in the royal city, where he could best rule his country; but 
he visited his family often. Sometimes the queen returned with him to the city 
for a little while, for her new sorrow and dignity made her husbands people 
love her more than they had when she had merely been a good listener to boring 
speeches; and they begged to see her. She was known not to be in the best of 
health, but everyone but Katriona and Aunt believed that she had her little 
daughter under her care.
Although there was a hiatus in Aunts private sources of information, the animal 
kingdom was, in fact, keenly interested in what was happening to the royal 
family. There had been robins, and sparrows, and starlings, and rabbits, and 
mice, and beetles, and many other easily overlooked creatures, who had seen 
Pernicias appearance at the princess name-day, and they didnt have to 
understand human language to recognise very bad news for everybody when they saw 
it. The dog-fox Katriona first met had reached his own conclusions independently 
but most of the other animals that helped her and the princess on their long 
journey knew perfectly well whom they were helping and, even if they didnt know 
the human tale of the old enmity between Pernicia and a queen of long ago, why. 
Secrets were something animals were naturally good at (something humans had had 
to give up when they became humans, like a decent sense of smell). The fox was 
ashamed of himself later (as much as foxes are ever ashamed), when he heard the 
full story. He had known he was talking out of turn.
The princess flight across the country was well concealed in the minds and 
memories of the animals before Katriona, wet and sneezing, arrived at Aunts 
door with a baby in a sling. Even the robins had refrained, with heroic, 
unrobinlike discretion, from telling Aunt why Katriona was so long on the way, 
although they had kept her informed of her nieces curiously slow progressand 
it had been obvious enough to Aunt from the explosive air of repressed 
excitement that some considerable mystery was involved.
Robins endless discussion of infractions of their territorial boundaries are 
chiefly an excuse to exchange news and gossip. The communication line broken by 
the robins moving out of the palace garden was rearranged and reconnected. Via 
an uncles third cousin twice removed, one of Aunts robins, too young to have 
been involved in the baby princess hairs-breadth escape, innocently brought 
the news, shortly after Rosie first learned to walk, that there was something 
very odd about the way the stronghold where the princess was now living felt, 
and that when the king and queen returned there after some time away, even the 
thought of seeing their daughter again seemed unable to lift their spirits, and 
they rode through the fortress gate as bow-shouldered as they had ridden out.
The thought of the queen, in particular, hurt Katriona so badly she began to 
talk to her in her head. The king at least had his ruling to get on with; the 
queen was only his consort, when it came down to it, a foreigner in her 
husbands country, there to be his wifeand to bear and raise his children.
At first the things she thought of to say to the queen were no more than a kind 
of mental pushing-away of discomfort; she said them in the same crisp, 
no-nonsense way that one might say a charm to a water nymph of uncertain temper 
known to reside there before crossing her stream; you do it, and you go on. But 
that didnt work for long, and as Rosie grew older, and there were more things 
to tell, Katriona began to organise little stories about her, about how clever 
and charming and infuriating and darling she was, stories to give a mothers 
love somewhere to go, somewhere to live, something to do besides endlessly 
grieve
Katriona fell into the habit of doing this at night, in bed, as she felt sleep 
creeping near her, because it comforted her to pretend to comfort the queen; and 
she had, over the years, built up a fantasy of the queen, whom she remembered a 
little from the fateful name-day, although she had not been anything like close 
enough to see that she had eyes just like Rosies (although her eyelashes were 
not so long), and her nose had a tiny bump in it, and there was a small mole low 
on her left cheek, which was how she saw her now.
She imagined a bedroom for her, too, because she imagined the queen falling 
asleep as she was, and Katrionas drowsy words slipping into her mind in that 
cloudy gap between waking and sleep. The bedroom was not large, but it was tall 
and light, with big windows that would make it very bright by day, when the 
curtains were drawn back; even late at night, the few dim lamps that stood in 
niches between the windows lit up the whitewashed walls and the white hangings 
round the queens bed. It was never fully dark in the queens bedroom; whether 
that was the queens choice or that of those who guarded her, Katriona had never 
decided. It was a surprisingly small and bare room for a queen, but Katriona 
thought that must be her own inability to imagine what a queen might have in her 
bedroom. It was just as small and bare when it was sometimes some other room, 
whitewashed still, and lit by small lamps in niches, but with small, high, 
barred windows, as if the queen were in some fastness, pretending to keep her 
daughter company.
Katriona snuggled down in her own bed, looking, behind her shut eyes, at the 
queen lying on her pillow, her long hair in a single plait and the neck of her 
nightgown as white and plain as her bed hangings. Rosie was very busy watching 
the dragonflies today, Katriona told the queen. She loved the colours of them, 
and the darting way they moved, and the way they can stop in the air, as if they 
were looking back at you. I was glad of the excuse to do no more, for a moment, 
than stand there with her and watch dragonflies, too, as if I were another 
child.
The queen had been smiling about Rosie and the dragonflies, but as Katriona said 
I was glad of the excuse to do no more than stand there with her, her face 
crumpled, and tears crept out from under her closed eyelids. Oh, Queen, said 
Katriona in distress, and, in her mind, reached out to brush the tears away  
and the queen opened her eyes, sat up in bed, and grasped Katrionas hand.
Katriona felt the queens hand on hers, felt the strength of it, the reality of 
it her own fingers a little pinched together, the queens fingers across the 
back of her hand, and the bar of her thumb across Katrionas palm.
Katriona gave a little throttled squeak; she would have liked to say something, 
something like, Oh, help, what have I done? but her voice wouldnt come. The 
queen seized her other hand and leaned forward to look into her face, and 
whispered, I know you. I have seen you many nights since I lost my daughter, 
and you have told me of her. Sigil told me how she sent my daughter away to save 
her, and I remember Pernicias face and I know Sigil was right; but ohI miss my 
child so much! I feel as if the very strength of my longing for her must make me 
guilty of risking her life. I have thoughtfearedbelieved I only dreamed you, 
for how could it be otherwise: My longing would have created you, if you had not 
come.
Tell me you are real. I dare not ask nor hear your name, nor where you live, 
nor how you come here. But tell me, while my waking eyes are on you, and I can 
feel your blood beating under my fingers, that you are real, that it is you who 
have my daughter, that the stories you tell of her are true storiesfor by them 
I know that you love herthat it is for love of her that you have the pity to 
come to me. Speakyou must speakbut keep your voice low, for my waiting-women 
are always near, because I do not sleep well, not any night since I lost my 
daughter. Speak words that I can remember then it will be worth it to me to have 
lost you, toofor after this you cannot come again.
Katriona made a great effort, for however it was that she sat on the queens 
bed, she was also lying in her own bed many leagues distant. Her heart was 
beating too fast, and she was having trouble breathing, as if her body were 
suddenly too big for her heart and lungs, and the pressure of the coverlet on 
the queens bed against the backs of her legs made her feel queasy. She spoke as 
if each word were a new thing that had to be created out of chaos: II took her 
away with me, your daughter, on her name-day. It was, I am real. I took her 
home. I have her still, I and my aunt. We love her. The stories you have heard 
me tell over the last four years are true stories. She is as safe with us as as 
ordinariness can make her. We will not give her up
And then the queen, and the queens bedchamber, were gone, and she was gasping 
like a wood-spirit whose tree has just been cut down; and Aunts arms were round 
her. When her breath steadied, Aunt said, I want you thoroughly awake before 
you try again to sleep. Come downstairs; I will make up the fire and brew you a 
tisane.
Katriona came, shivering with shock, her head still pounding and her breast 
aching, as if she had had to hold her breath for a long time. She sat in her 
usual chair, with her head flung back, and her eyes were drawn to the niche 
where the little iron cauldron stood; and it seemed to glow red in the 
near-darkness, though it might only have been the firelight, which Aunt had 
stirred again to brightness.
Katriona lowered her head, to watch Aunt move around, choosing a few leaves from 
a little basket and a drop from a little bottle, adding water from the big 
kettle that always sat over the fire; and she saw that Aunt looked grim and 
haggard.
When she handed Katriona the cup, Katriona drank it immediately, although it 
burned her mouth; but her head felt clearer. I am sorry, she said. I didnt 
know But then she thought of the queens grief, and she said, I didnt know. 
But I am not sure I am sorry.
Aunt was staring into the reviving flames. I had no idea your magic was so 
strong yet, she said. I knewI knew since they brought you to mesuch a little 
thing you were, small for your age, and being shaken to bits by what was in you. 
That is, if you want to know, why I wrestled you away from your other aunts and 
uncles, who wished to reclaim you afterafter the fits stopped. I knew what was 
in you would come out for good or ill; and I wished it to be for good. She 
smiled a little. I might have tried anyway, because I loved you, but I would 
have feared I was only being selfish.
Katrionas eyes filled with tears. Aunt my magic isnt really coming in. I 
have wanted you to be right, that I am a fairy like you how I have wanted it- 
The tears overflowed and fell down Katrionas face. But you are wasting your 
time, teaching me things, and you should have a real apprentice, not a not 
because I am your niece. The magic I do feel it, sometimes. But it just drains 
through meit doesnt stay. I cant even talk to animals as I used toyou know 
thatmaybe I did give it away, somehow, on that awful name-dayIm glad it 
lasted long enough to get us home. Its almost gone now, except for cats, and a 
fox, once or twice. Ive thought that if a familiar found me or like your 
robins but no one has, and doesnt that mean for the rest, its just a great 
dark emptiness with a few broken scraps I can use when I can find them. The 
things you teach me are still all easy, Aunt; you dont know yet that I cant go 
on; and I havent had the courage to tell you.
My darling, I am the one to apologise. I have wondered what your magic has been 
doing with itself, because I have felt its presence; but I have also known it 
was not available to you somehow. I thought only to leave you alone a little 
longer, not to press you, as one does not ask much work out of a child who has 
outgrown its strength. I had no idea My fault. I should have been more 
suspicious. Kat, the things I teach you are not all easy.
What you describe is how it happens to everyone: magic does slide through you, 
and disappear, and come back later looking like something else. And Im sorry to 
tell you this, but where your magic lives will always be a great dark space with 
scraps you fumble for. You must learn to sniff them out in the dark.
As for your beast-speech, I always suspected it was a form of baby-magic; not 
all baby-magic is chaotic, nor lasts only a few months or a year or two. That 
yours was both coherent and long-lastinghave I ever told you about my 
baby-magic?told me again that I was right about you. But you became an adult, 
willy-nilly, when you broke through the boundary to rescue the princess, and so 
your baby-magic left you. It means nothing that you do not yet have your 
familiar; Cresitanova, one of the greatest fairies this country has ever had, 
did not find hers till she was forty-five.
Tonight-this is a tremendous magic youve done. It is no wonder there has been 
so little for us to work with here. For this was not the first time you have 
talked with the queen, is it?
Katriona shook her head miserably. Almost from the beginningmore often later. 
But I thought I was just making it up. I thought I was just making it up
Aunt said, It was generously meant, and where magic is concerned, 
well-intentioned mistakes are slightly less likely to catch you out later on. 
Did you tell her your name?
No. She told me not to, nor where I came from; and she said I must not come 
again.
Aunt, for the first time, relaxed a little. That was wise of herwiser than you 
could expect of a mother speaking to a stranger who has her child. Did you tell 
her Rosie lived with two fairies?
No. But shell have to know there was magic involved, wont she?
It is not the queen we must worry about, but Pernicia. But Pernicia may 
underestimate the queen, and, should she come to learn of the magic that sat on 
the queens bed tonight, she may guess it was some phantasm drawn up by some 
royal magician, to soothe the queens fears. After all, it had no name and no 
home. It is for this we will hope.
   
They did not know what Pernicia learnt or guessed of that night, but it was 
barely six weeks later when the news reached Foggy Bottom that someone or 
something had broken into the deep place in the western mountains, and that 
while the princess had been successfully defended and taken unharmed away, 
Fordingbridge was understood to be no longer secure or securable.
And, said Shon, the carter from Turanga, the nearest city outside the Gig, 
theyre not telling us where theyre keeping her, this time. Theyre equipping 
and fortifying several strongholds, and theyll defend em all, and maybe 
theyll keep her at one or maybe theyll move her round from one to another in 
secretor maybe theyll have other ones no one knows about and keep her there. 
Theyre a-hiring more soldiers, and several of the biggest Academicians have 
left the Academy to work for the king, and they all figure its all going to be 
worth it to em, dividing up their brains and muscle like thatbecause foremost 
in everyones minds was the fact that this first stronghold had been held by the 
the two best regiments of the army and the majority of the court magicians, and 
that this had not been enough.
There was an interested murmur among the listenersShons appearance in the 
village always drew a few people, hopeful of news, to the pubbut it was 
Cairngorms voice Katriona heard clearly: Shes safe now, Cairngorm repeated, 
loyal subject of their majesties and mother of two daughters. She is safe now.
Yes, said Shon positively. The magicians saw what was coming, and the 
soldiers got her away. Shes fine.
This was said over the head of Rosie, who was making her determined way through 
furniture- and people-legs toward Cairngorms big ginger cat, Corso, who, eyes 
half shut and watchful, permitted her approach. Katriona had come in for a jug 
of the pubs excellent cider. Flora had drawn it for her, and now, trying not to 
clutch it as if it were a baby in danger of kidnapping, Katriona gave Rosie a 
minute to say hello before she went after her. She felt at such a moment even 
saying Rosies name aloud would draw the wrong sort of attention to her. (Rosie 
squatted down with her knees under her chin, peering, but courteously sidelong, 
into Corsos face. Corso turned his head just enough to make it easy for her but 
not too easy. Katriona had noticed before that Rosie, unlike most small 
children, did not make the mistake of trying to fondle an animal when it had 
given no indication of any desire to be fondled by a small child. It seemed to 
Katriona ironic that Rosie apparently had a better grasp of animal etiquette 
than human.)
Flora, who had taken Katrionas silence as politeness, laughed, as her friend 
sidled out of the door with the jug in one hand and a smaller, stickier hand in 
the other. Youre acting as if they could be interrupted, she said. You could 
beat them all over the head with a stick, yelling fire! and they wouldnt turn 
a hair. This is news, Kat. Dont you understand about news?
Its just so awful for the king and queen, muttered Katriona. I keep 
thinking, if it were myI used to dream about the queen, sometimes.
Flora sobered. Yes, youre right. But the princess is alive and well and safe, 
Kat. Remember that. The queen is probably giving her an amazing high tea right 
nowhas done every day since they escapedjust in relief that everything came 
out all right. All the jam scones she can eat, and three kinds of cake.
Yes, probably, said Katriona.
Spear, returning from outdoor dog business, paused beside them and deigned to 
bow his head to be kissed on the nose: Rosie was only just tall enough. Still 
clinging to one of Spears ears with her free hand, she said alertly, Cake?
Were going home to tea now, Katriona told her.
Were going to have cake, said Rosie. Like the princess.
You tell em, said Flora.
Rosie, sensing Katrionas mood (and with a mind to the possibility of cake), 
permitted her hand to be held for quite three minutes after they had left the 
pub. Once they were off the short village main street Katriona allowed her to 
drag herself free and run off to speak to a small huddle of village sheep, which 
had wandered to this edge of the common. Katriona could see a small boy with a 
stick who, she suspected, was fast asleep, but the sheepdog with him was awake 
and aware. Several of the sheep left their grazing long enough to butt gently 
against Rosie; some faces she petted, also gently, and some backs she scratched 
(her small arm disappearing nearly to the shoulder in the soon-for-shearing 
wool), as if she knew which each sheep would like best; and none of them baaed 
or stamped or defiantly urinated in the way of sheep wishing to see off an 
intruder.
Come on then, Katriona said, when Rosie had greeted all the sheep in the 
little group surrounding her. Dont you want your tea?
Cake! said Rosie happily, and came. Dont frown, she said, looking up. We 
can have a picnic, and pretend were the king and the queen and the princess. 
You can be the princess. Im going to be the king.
She is as safe with us as ordinariness can make her. What a pathetic defence!



Chapter 8
 ^  
Katriona had always worried that some one of the fairy gifts she hadnt heard 
was a crucial one, and some day it would expose Rosie for what she was and that 
would be that: and that night, after Rosie was asleep (full of gingerbread, 
which she had accepted as a reasonable substitute for cake), she blurted this 
out to Aunt.
Aunt answered so quickly Katriona knew she had thought of this herself. It is 
unlikely that any of the wishes you did not hear were substantially unlike those 
you did. But I think you should also have a little more faith in our Rosie. Look 
at how many of the wishes she has vitiated merely by being herself. Since she 
seems unable to carry a tune, the undoubted sweetness of her singing voice is 
irrelevant; that roar that serves her for a laugh might be bell-like if one 
could find a bell suitable for comparison purposes. What would it be made of, 
one wonders? Most of the village children before theyre her age are already 
trying to learn the round dances on the feast days; you know Rosies views on 
dancing. (Stupid, were Rosies views, and, if not bound by potent promises, 
she would disappear into the shadows at the edge of the feast-day bonfire, 
looking for better sport.)
I feel certain shell feel the same about flute playing. We can omit teaching 
her to embroider or toto spin, which omission will please her; we will ask 
Barder to teach her to whittle instead, in a few more years. There are no golden 
ringlets, although I admit the eyelashes are a little conspicuous. That 
astonishing skin of hers only makes her moods transparentwhich you have to 
admit is useful, although she will dislike it very much when she is olderand 
with that complexion I think shed have the lips anyway. The teeth, I feel, are 
rather attractive.
Aunt was right, except perhaps about the teeth, which glowed in the dark very 
slightly; but by the time Rosie had a husband, who was likely to be the only 
other person in a position to notice, presumably she would be a princess again, 
and the teeth could be explained.
Aunts robins had, of course, had their own version of the events at 
Fordingbridge, and their own guesses about what had caused them. (Most of the 
Gig fairies, whether they had animal familiars or not, consulted Aunt about what 
her robins had told her. Aunt said that this was only because her robins were 
more comprehensible than most, but Katriona thought it was that Aunt was the 
best translator.)
Any animal with a fairy to talk to would bring her at once any apparent news of 
the princess who still lived with the king and queen, and any animals news of 
that princess would be passed on till it reached an animal with a fairy to tell 
it to. Part of the secret of the princess whereabouts (among those who knew and 
those who guessed something was up besides the strongholds and the magicians and 
the regiments) was that that tale of that other princess should continue to be 
believed. And furthermore, wherever the princess was, Pernicia was a problem 
belonging to the human world, and the humans were expected to sort it out.
But there never was any news of Pernicia. There was not even any news definitely 
of her in the tale of the breaking of Fordingbridge, just a horrid, murky, muzzy 
sense of bad magic. Many of the birds who had been close to Fordingbridge when 
it had happenedwhatever, precisely, it was that had happenedwere moulting out 
of season. (Nurgles fish said that the water round Fordingbridge now tasted 
very nasty, and everything that lived underwater had left the area. Nurgles 
fish was the worst-kept secret in Foggy Bottom, although, strictly speaking, the 
laws against contact with fish didnt specifically mention friendship.) What had 
Pernicia learnt during her self-imposed exile, that she could hide herself so 
completely when all the countryside was roused and looking for her?
Aunt and Katriona had celebrated Rosies birthday the day after the princess 
birthday from the first. This had been Katrionas idea, saying that it was one 
more detail making Rosie Rosie and not the princess; but both Katriona and her 
aunt knew that what it was they were celebrating was coming through one more of 
the princess birthdays safely. Although Aunt had made a point of telling her 
niece-apprentice that Pernicias additional last-minute spitethat the spell 
could kill the princess at any time that Pernicia chosewas almost certainly 
untrue.
Almost? said Katriona; but Aunt ignored her, carrying on in her dry, teachery 
voice, as if what she said was in the same category as the proportions of 
paregoric.
She would have set it up for a birthday, because someones birthday is always 
when they are most susceptible to magic, good or bada name-day is quite good 
too, but a birthday is best. If she said shed set it up for the 
one-and-twentieth, then she almost certainly did
Almost, muttered Katriona.
Especially because she had obviously set it up to connect somehow with the 
well-meant gifts already given, and that would be enough complexity to have to 
deal with on the day. Saying it aloud like that, however, especially with an 
audience, will have helped to settle it into place. Magic likes being announced. 
Of course that will also have given it added strength
   
During the latter half of the year that Katriona had once sat on the foot of the 
queens bed and told her about her daughter, the queen was seen even less than 
she had been since her daughter disappeared.
Everyone said that it was on account of the shock of discovering that 
Fordingbridge was penetrable, the shock of the possibility that even the kings 
best stronghold and best troops and best magicians and fairies, although 
guardianship was not, generally speaking, considered the less biddable fairy 
magics fortewere not enough to protect the princess against Pernicia. That it 
had, perhaps, only been luck that they had brought her away safely this time.
But ten months and eighteen days from the night Katriona had sat on the queens 
bed, a royal herald on a tired horse trotted into Foggy Bottom and announced 
that the queen had given birth to twin sons five weeks before.
Its getting to be a habit with her, not letting on whats coming, aint it? 
said Grey, but Cairngorm said swiftly, Can you blame her? Shed been fifteen 
years having the first, and look what happened.
Yes, but that was the first, and a girl, said Bol, the barman.
Lay your odds theyll have a private name-day, and no one will know about it 
till its over, said Gash eagerly, but there were no takers. Gash was right. 
Four months afterward, Shon came with the news that the two little princes were 
called Colin and Terberus; and that there had been so few people invited to the 
very private name-day that the bishop had been insulted.
There were no fairy godparents for the little princes.
   
The queen had a third son the year Rosie was eight, and her brothers were three. 
The baby was named Osmer, and this time just enough people were invited to the 
name-day to satisfy the bishop. Colin and Terberus were there, and everyone 
spoke of what beautiful manners they had, and what quiet, self-possessed 
children they were, even at three and a half.
Katriona looked at Rosie and shook her head. You arenterdoing anything, are 
you? she said to her aunt.
Aunt had, she knew, cast a glamour over Rosies arrival, so that everyone 
remembered Aunt going off to fetch Rosie about a week after Katrionas return 
from the princess name-day. (I have to, she had said. I wish I didnt. I 
will make it as small and confusing a glamour as possible. When Katrionas 
magic had strengthened she had looked into this, and was impressed by her aunts 
creative imagination.
The glamour that obscured Rosies arrival was so entangled in a fictitious 
bardic tale-spinning competition in Smoke River that what little of it you could 
make out, which wasnt much, seemed only to be one of the tales, about as likely 
as any of the rest, which included large silver carriages with long stiff wings 
that flew through the air like birds, long-distance speaking devices involving 
no magic, and a family of fire-wyrms asking the king for a permanent peace, and 
offering to live in the palace cellars and replace the central heating. The tale 
did not say what happened to all the human loggers and colliers and stokers this 
would put out of a job.)
Aunt shook her head. No. Rosieserstrength of character is nothing to do with 
me. Its interesting, though. I wouldnt have expected it from that family. I 
thought they were bred for amenableness as much as for lack of magic.
They were outdoors, in the garden, setting out seedlings, Aunts weather-guesser 
having promised faithfully that there would be no late frosts that spring. The 
cottage they lived in was a brisk quarter-hours walk from the village, on its 
own little track just before the fork in the road that led, to the right, to 
Lord Prendergasts great spooky house Woodwold, and to the left, to Smoke River. 
It had its own garden, conveniently, rather than rights to one of the bits of 
common land beyond the cluster of village houses and outbuildings and barns.
Aunt had done Lord Prendergast some particular favour, long ago, and permanent 
tenancy of this cottage, for so long as she wanted it, had been the reward.
That it had been this reward rather than some other may have been because Lord 
Prendergast, thoughtful liege lord that he was, knew that people generally 
preferred to have powerful fairies at a little distance. Neighbours of a 
professionally practising fairy have more than a usually severe dust problem, 
and their dja vines, supposing they have dja vines, grow about a league a year 
in all directions, and require severe and frequent pruning; and a well-grown dja 
vine has spines on it that make the thorns of a briar rose look like theyre not 
trying. Fairies residences also attract odd bits of weathersmall wind-spouts 
and dust storms, funny-coloured fogs, and minor plagues of enchanted or 
half-enchanted creatures, drawn by the magic pulsing under their own skins, and 
who can behave in ways very disconcerting to ordinary people, who furthermore 
cannot disenchant them or make them go away. Of course the fairy can and does, 
in the interests of good relations, but it may not be quite soon enough for the 
neighbours.
They canterwhat do you mean, bred for amenableness? Katriona said, her mind 
suddenly filled with a vision of councillors bent over parchment sheets of 
genealogies, like Lord Prendergast deciding which mares were worthy of his 
celebrated stallions efforts. You cantyou cant measure for amenableness, 
like you can for
Height and weight and magic? said Aunt. True. But show me a committee of 
councillors anywhere who would choose a self-reliant, strong-willed spouse for 
their reigning monarch over a mild, biddable one, should the choice exist. I 
wonder if perhaps we got more in our queen than we realised.
Thinking about the queen always made Katriona irritable and unhappy. She began 
banging seedlings into the row she was creating so that the soil stood up in 
ridges round each tiny, startled-looking plant, and miniature battles seemed to 
have been fought between these redoubts. Twenty-one of them! Katriona burst 
out suddenly.
One-and-twenty of the most powerful and important fairies in the country! They 
could have made her invulnerable to curses! They could have made her invisible 
to anyone who wished her harm! They could havethey couldand they gave her 
golden hair!
Aunt made no answer. They could hear Rosie singingtunelesslyto herself, or 
possibly to Poppy and Fiend, their cows, pastured on the far side of the 
cottage. Fiend used to belong to Grey, but Grey had grown tired of calling Aunt, 
or, later, Katriona, out to his farm to re-spell her to be a nice cow and let 
down her milk and not knock milkmaids and farmers and buckets and stools over 
like spillikins. On a day that Katriona had had Rosie with her, and Grey had 
been a little long in pouring out his woes, possibly because Katriona had heard 
them less often than Aunt, when the two of them had gone at last into the 
barnyard they found six-year-old Rosie pulling mightily with both hands on one 
teatshe having first arranged Fiend over a convenient bucket, which was too 
heavy for her to move farand producing a thin but respectable stream of milk.
Grey lost his temper and told Katriona to take the wretched cow home with her. 
Fortunately the cottage had a dairy and a larder; even magic would have had 
difficulty keeping up with Fiend when she was in a positive frame of mind. (Grey 
had softened enough to have her put to his bull, and to take in her daughters.) 
Meanwhile she was still called Fiend, because Rosie, under the impression that a 
fiend was a sort of flower, thought it was a pretty name.
Aunt and Katriona kept a few chickens, but the only other domestic animal they 
hadif either domestic or had was applicablewas Flinx, their 
not-a-house-cat. He was presently a fat tortoiseshell puddle sprawled in the 
sunlight a few rows over. Since he was only crushing a few nonessential greens, 
which would regrow anyway, they let him be.
Cats were often familiars to workers of magic because to anyone used to 
wrestling with self-willed, wayward, devious magicwhich was what all magic 
wasit was rather soothing to have all the same qualities wrapped up in a small, 
furry, generally attractive bundle that looked more or less the same from day to 
day and might, if it were in a good mood, sit on your knee and purr. Magic never 
sat on anybodys knee and purred. Cats were the easiest of the beasts for humans 
to talk to, if you could call it talking, and most fairies could carry on some 
kind of colloquy with a cat. But conversations with cats were always more or 
less riddle games, and if you were getting the answer too quickly, the cat 
merely changed the ground on you. Katrionas theory was that cats were one of 
the few members of the animal kingdom who had a strong artistic sense, and that 
aggravated chaos was the chief feline art form, but she had never coaxed a 
straight enough answer out of a cat to be sure. It was the sort of thing a cat 
would like a human to think, particularly if it werent true.
A few months before the birth of the princess, Katriona had woken before dawn on 
a sleety winter day to the sound of a kitten acknowledging to the world it was 
about to leave that it was dying, and had gone outdoors to rescue it. That was 
Flinx. Flinx had never decided if as a result he adored Katriona without 
qualification, or resented her for having heard him yielding up his final 
dignity that way and interrupted by saving him. He was never very far away from 
her when she was near the cottage or in the village (and he had been deeply 
offended by her five-month absence six years ago), but he wasnt a house cat, 
nor was he going to be mixed up with anything that might disrupt the regularity 
of his meals. The word fairies had just now caught his ear and he was ready to 
withdraw smoothly if the conversation was about to turn magical. He knew a few 
of the human words that applied to his least favourite subject, but what he knew 
better was the spiky, bristly, meditation-disturbing feeling that the results of 
those human words gave off. He had never understood why any cat would stoop to 
being a familiar.
The sun was warm and the smell of spring was sweet on the air (they were upwind 
of the muck heap which, even with magic to muffle it, was still discernably what 
it was) and Rosie was, for yet a few more minutes or weeks or years, safe. 
Katriona had decided that Aunt was going to let her outburst on the subject of 
fairy godparents pass as needing no response. Aunt often did on outbursts 
concerning Rosie. But now Aunt said: Magic gifts are tricky. You stay connected 
with any magic youve ever performed. Thats why no sensible person will have 
anything to do with bad magic, added Katriona silently, knowing that they were 
both thinking about Pernicia. Furthermore, magic needs something to grip onto. 
It would find precious little purchase on any of the royals. If you want to give 
someone a piece of strong magic when they have no magic themselves, usually you 
invest a thing, like giving a spell-wrought sword to the fellow you want to win 
the battle. Aunt paused and looked a little wry. Well, youd wind your spell 
into the jewel on its hilt, perhaps. Evil magic will bind to cold iron better 
than good, but even so Aunts voice trailed away, and Katriona knew they were 
both thinking of Pernicia again.
Choosing a spindle was just just showing off. Aunt spoke with a kind of 
forced resolve. The very antitheticalness of magic and cold iron meant that on 
the rare occasions when the two were successfully bound the weapon 
producedsince the only occasions anyone knew of had produced weaponswas almost 
inconceivably powerful.
There was another, longer pause, and then Aunt continued: Babies are malleable 
as clay, and even foresight is almost useless till a child is at least a few 
years old. Katriona brought her mind back with an effort from the implications 
of Pernicias choice of a spindle to contain her curse to the question of the 
fairy godmothers gifts. No one wants toto suggest anything that might bind a 
baby from growing into who she was meant to be.
Your one-and-twenty godparents also had to come up with their gifts knowing 
there were twenty others doing the same. Some of the silliest gifts, you may be 
sure, were last-minute changes when what the poor fairy had planned was given by 
someone else first. It would have been impolite to ask anyone what they were 
giving the princess before they gave it, and last-minute changes are never 
satisfactory. That may be why some of the wishes seem to be goingera little 
wrong. Although given wishes stay given.
Given wishes stay given, thought Katriona. She remembered the queens fairy, 
Sigil, saying, My dear, do you have any idea what you have done? But it was only 
baby-magic, Katriona pleaded in her mind. There was nothing there to give: 
clouds and confusion. She has no magic, and magic needs something to grip onto, 
just as Aunt said. Rosie just likes animals. Thats all.
Magic makes any keeper of it more perceptible to any other keeper. Magic 
perceptions are a little different from the usual five senses most humans use to 
perceive the world around them. Magic is more likely to tell the perceiver who 
your parents are than what colour your hair is.
Pernicia knows about the royal family. She would never look for anyone bearing 
magic.
The fairest lady I ever did see, sang Rosie. Her golden crown she gave to 
me Her voice both sweet and flat made a faintly eerie sound through the soft 
hush of wind in the trees that stood behind their house. The sharper sounds of 
birdsong might have been the harmony, if Rosie had been singing in tune. 
Katriona knew the ballad: the lady was giving her crown away in preparation for 
drowning herself, because her father was forcing her to marry a man she hated. 
The lady was a princess. Barder probably wouldnt have taught her the end of it, 
Katriona thought, but I dont think I can tell him not to teach her songs about 
princesses who come to a bad end. Ill teach her The Fox Went Out on a Chilly 
Night. Why cant she just sing nonsense like other children?
   
The usual thing with fairies was that when they first began speaking in whole 
sentences that followed one from another in a way that grown-ups could sometimes 
understand, they spent a few months doing baby-magic, and if a nonmagical family 
were so unfortunate as to find their little one turning the cooking pots into 
elephants and making the time in that house never bedtime, they had to find a 
fairy to take it till the worst was over. (One of the many curiosities about 
this situation was that while grown-up practising fairies were almost all women, 
baby-magic was about equally distributed between little boys and little girls. 
Magicians, who themselves almost never suffered baby-magic although magicianry 
ran in families just as fairyhood did, had done complicated studies of this 
phenomenon but had reached no useful conclusions.) Sometimes a general sort of 
containment charm would do, but most often a three- or four-year-old fairy 
needed a grown-up fairy to prevent it from doing itself (or the unmagical 
members of its family) any actual harm. Aunt and Katriona were the fairies of 
choice for this task all over the Gig (somewhat to their dismay; a lot of other 
things dont get done when one is minding small children).
But Aunt had never lost her ascendency over even the severest attack of 
baby-magic, which had sometimes happened elsewhere. The pub gossips still told 
the story of Haveral, who hadnt practised in thirty years by the time Rosie was 
born, who lost control over a young fairy named Gobar. Gobar had turned herself 
into a giant stremcopus, which is a sort of tree-shaped creature that eats 
people, and Haveral into a small spotted terrier with only one ear. The first 
anyone knew about this was the stremcopus (which, fortunately, showed no sign of 
eating anyone) marching through Smoke River on its long rooty feet, roaring in a 
highly unstremcopus-like way, and waving its long branchy arms (most 
stremcopuses have at least six). Panting behind it came a small spotted terrier 
with only one ear, far too out of breath from trying to keep a pace more suited 
to eight-foot legs than eight-inch ones, to speak any counter-charms. As the 
ill-assorted pair disappeared down the road toward Foggy Bottom and Woodwold, 
another fairy blinked a few times and said wonderingly, That was Haveral. The 
stremcopus? No, of course notthe terrier. Versions differed, but it took 
Haveral several days, or possibly a week, to turn Gobar back into a small girl 
again, by which time they had passed through all the Gigs towns several times.
When Rosie had begun speaking in paragraphs everyone but Aunt and Katriona 
waited for some spectacular outbreak of babymagic. None occurred. The villagers 
teased Katriona and her aunt about it, but teased them rather crossly, because 
they felt cheated of some good and deserved entertainment. Even with two 
experienced fairies watching her like hawks, Rosie, knowing Rosie, should have 
been able to get off at least one marvel before they bagged her. There were bets 
on it, and the odds were on Rosie. The two fairies smiled at anyone who brought 
the subject of Rosies likely fairyhood up, Aunt placidly, Katriona nervously, 
because Katriona suspected Rosie was up to almost anything, even magic, even 
though she didnt have any.
Aunt was never forthcoming about her family but she let it be understood that 
the sister who was Rosies mother had had no magic herself, and had married a 
man from an entirely magicless family, and that everyones interest was 
misplaced. (Aunt wasnt from the Gig. The story was that there had been a 
terrible row with her parents when the young Sophronia had decided to apprentice 
herself to a professional fairy; she had been expected to satisfy herself with 
descaling kettles, and to get on with ordinary life. No one knew if the story 
was true, although Katriona knew that the reason she herself had come to Aunt 
was that she had been thrown into so severe an irruption of baby-magic as a 
result of the shock of her parents death that all the local fairies working 
together had been unable to cope with her, and had informed the reluctant family 
that someone of her own blood had the best chance of doing so.)
Many of the village households contained a minor, nonprofessional fairy who 
could tend the family water vessels and mild outbreaks of baby-magic in little 
fairies no more powerful than they were themselves; but it seemed to Foggy 
Bottom a bit rich that a family which had produced Aunt and Katriona could also 
have produced a little thug like Rosie if she wasnt a fairy, too. But Rosie did 
no baby-magic.
The nearest she came to it was befriending Narl, the village smith. Narl was odd 
even as smiths went, and most smiths were odd.
In a country as magic-ridden as that one, you had to be a particular kind of 
very tough egg to choose to go into smithery. Fairies could and did, of course, 
live with and handle cold iron every day, but no fairy would choose to be a 
smith. (It was suggested that the reason so many fairies burnt themselves on 
kettles they were clearing was because those kettles were so often made of iron, 
and contact with iron made fairies absentminded.) It was not only that even a 
drop of fairy blood in a smith could cripple him with rheumatism while he was 
still young; magic hated cold iron, and tended to hang around smithies for a 
chance to make trouble, which, though only rarely successful, made the 
atmosphere round a forge rather thick. Fairies who visited forges almost always 
found themselves flapping their hands sharply in front of their faces as if 
troubled by midges, and even ordinary people sometimes batted away invisible 
specks that werent there. (Since Rosies conversation was vigorously 
illustrated with hand gestures, in and out of the smiths yard, it was 
impossible to say if she was waving at invisible specks or not.)
There was another more intriguing bit of folklore that said that truth was truth 
in a smiths yard, but this had not been very rigorously tested, at least not 
for many years. There was an ancient story of the king, sixteen or eighteen 
generations ago, dragging his rival to a smiths yard to demonstrate that he was 
the true heir and the other an impostor, but the story didnt say what the 
demonstration had consisted of. And there was a tradition of moving deadlocked 
legal struggles to a smiths yard for the truth to be discovered that way; but 
this was not at all popular with the smith whose yard it was, since legal truths 
have a way of emerging with excrutiating slowness.
There was a more dubious bit of folklore concerning fairy smiths, but this was 
so manifestly nonsense that even children soon grew out of asking for tales of 
them, although the tales were good exciting ones full of adventures.
Smiths were also the only men who were not expected to keep themselves clean 
shaven. This wasnt precisely a law, as no contact with fish was a law, but it 
was rather more than a fashion, as it was rather more than a fashion to shave 
outdoors on the street (this was less strictly observed during hard winters), 
where anyone watching (although no one did, because it was something that 
happened every day) could see that proper sharpened steel was being used. If a 
man habitually shaved indoors and in private, there might be a story that went 
round that he was a fairy, and using copper, in case of accidents; and there was 
just that unease about strange or unadmitted fairy powers that this would not be 
well thought of. Fairies were fine, more or less, and you wouldnt get through 
life in this country without their help; but you wanted to know when one was 
around. Wild magic and a bad heart, after all, had produced Pernicia.
A boys first shave was an important rite of adulthood because it said that he 
put his baby-magic, if any, behind him permanently; and a man with a beard was 
as good as saying he was a fairy. Men with beards could expect to be asked for 
fairy aid, and to rouse anger if it were withheld, as if the man had lied or 
cheated. If you had a beard, you were a fairyor a smith. And if you were a 
smith you wore an iron chain round your neck any time you were away from your 
own village, so that people recognised you.
But Narl was clean shaven. His nicknamenever repeated in his hearingwas 
Ironface, because his expression rarely varied, and he never spoke more than he 
had to.
He was also notoriously resistant to children. This was hard luck on the young 
of Foggy Bottom, who would have hung round the forge to talk to the horses, if 
they could have. Rosies befriending him was more like real magic than 
baby-magic, and the more inexplicable for that. Especially since Rosie was 
generally talking nineteen to the dozen when Aunt or Katriona, having mislaid 
her, knew to try the forge first, and came to rescue heror rather, him. 
Katriona, red faced, tried to apologise, the first time.
Dont, he said. Shes welcome here. There was a pause. Katriona could think 
of no suitable reply to this wholly uncharacteristic remark, and then Narl 
added, I like her talk.
Katriona closed her hanging jaw with a snap, swallowed hard, said, 
Ohwellthank you, and took Rosie (still talking) away with her. He didnt at 
all look like he was enjoying her company, she said to Aunt later. Of course 
he never does look like hes enjoying anything. Or not enjoying anything, for 
that matter. But when he turns to you, with that great black apron and all that 
black hair, for a moment its a shock, as if hes a bit of his own work come to 
life. You would think a small child would be afraid of him.
Not Rosie, said Aunt.
No, agreed Katriona, half proud and half perplexed. Not Rosie. The soft 
thump of Aunts treadle continued undisturbed for several minutes and then 
Katriona said, You knowabout truth in a smiths yard. You dont think
No, said Aunt. I think she is probably safer with Narl than anywhere else. If 
it had occurred to me that such a friendship were possible, I would probably 
have tried to help it happenwhich almost certainly would have been a mistake.
Katriona gave a muffled laugh; it was hard to imagine anyone influencing Narl to 
do anything, even Aunt. And Rosie herself was about as influenceable as the 
waxing and waning of the moon.
After that first time, while Rosie was not exactly encouraged to run off and 
pester the smith, Katriona didnt immediately go after her when she headed 
purposefully in that direction. But, after a good deal of wrestling with her 
conscience, she went to their priestling, the one who had written Rosie onto the 
Foggy Bottom register, and paid him to pray for her safety while in the smiths 
yard: that she would not cut or bruise herself on cold iron, nor burn herself on 
hot, nor stand in just the wrong place when the fire, unbearably goaded by 
mischief-seeking magic, suddenly flared; nor any of the other things that can 
happen to a child in the way of grown-ups work. Katriona would have preferred a 
nice straightforward charm, but nice straightforward charms rarely worked in a 
smiths yard. Any fairy who discovered how to build a charm that would reliably 
pump a smiths bellows, for example, would be set up for life; every smith in 
the country would want one. No one had. A priests prayers were better than 
nothing, and infinitely preferable to trying to dissuade Rosie from doing 
something she wanted to do. Prohibition was always a last resort in dealing with 
Rosie. Furthermore, Katriona had come to like the Foggy Bottom priest, because 
he was so obviously fond of Rosie; and the fact that she liked him, too, 
sweetened Katrionas attitude still more, although the truth was that Rosie 
liked almost everybody.
   
The betting on Rosies baby-magic was eventually wound up, to the great grief 
and frustration of everyone involved, and villagers found other things to gossip 
about. But what few people realised for some time was that Rosie really was 
talking to animals. And that they were really talking back.
She had begun chattering to them as soon as she began talking, but she was a 
friendly little thing, and there were more animals than people round Aunts 
cottage, with the forest on one side and some of Lord Prendergasts fields on 
the other. Although she spoke to animals no differently than she spoke to 
people, this was the sort of thing many children did, and if it was more marked 
in Rosie than in most children, there were many things about Rosie that were 
more marked than in most children.
Rosie, as she grew older, more and more evidently waited for the animals she 
addressed to answer herher face, with its transparent complexion, told any 
watcher that she believed they did answer her. The oddest thing, however, to the 
villagers minds, was that she slowly stopped speaking human language to 
animals. She would be found sitting or standing near Corso or Spear (the pubs 
tall majestic wolfhound and best peacekeeper) or any of her other many animal 
friends, often both silent and not doing anything. Everyone knew Rosie never 
spent any time silent and not doing anything.
Katriona came to fetch Rosie away from Narls one afternoon and discovered her 
looking into the eyes of a sweating, shivering colt, whose nose rested in her 
cupped hands. Katriona could see her fingers gently stroking the little knob 
under its chin. Narl squatted beside her, his empty hands dangling between his 
knees, his head level with hers, looking into the colts face as intently as she 
was.
Rosie let out her breath in a long sigh, sounding very much like a horse 
herself, with a whuffle on the end of it; and as she moved, she moved as a horse 
moves, and bowed her head as a horse bows its head, for all that she had only 
two legs and a short human neck. The colt turned its head, and tentatively 
reached its nose toward Narl, who turned his own face to lay his cheek against 
its cheek. Ive told him youre nice, said Rosie. Its because youre clean 
shaven, you see. Hes not going to stand around on three legs and let a clean 
shaven man do weird human things to his feet. Clean shaven men yell at you and 
yank your girth up too tight and flop onto your back as if they think they dont 
weigh anything, and jab you in the belly with their feet.
Hes not getting that handling from Prens folk, murmured Narl, while the colt 
investigated his face with its lips. Its ears were easing, and beginning to 
prick forward.
No, but he did at his first place, said Rosie, and their blacksmith had a 
beard. Oh, hello, Kat. Youll be all right now, she said, as if to both Narl 
and the colt, and turned to Katriona. I hope its teatime, she said. Im 
hungry.



Chapter 9
 ^  
And it was nothing to Narl. They were just having a conversation. Aunt, it was 
baby-magic! And her family has no magic! I dont understand!
Nor do I, said Aunt, but this has been going on under our noses for some 
timeprobably from the beginning. Have you really not let yourself see?
Katrionas eyes went involuntarily to the spinning wheel against the wall, with 
its blunt spindle. Barder had long ago made them a spindle end shaped like a 
little grinning gargoyle with wide-open and slightly popping eyes. It had a 
quite incredible number of teeth, but looking at it you had the impression it 
was a sort of watchdog, loyally protecting hearth and home. Katriona had laughed 
out loud with delight when Barder first handed it to her; since the little 
ashwood egret (which she wore round her neck on a bit of ribbon), Barder had 
been carving spoon and knife handles, but this was far more ambitious. Rosie had 
still been a baby, not quite crawling, in little danger yet of spindles and 
spindle ends. Its lovely! Katriona said.
Ive been practising, Barder said, obviously pleased. Barders usual chair at 
their hearthside had a bit of rag hung over the back, to be unfolded and put on 
the floor under him the moment his pocketknife appeared, to catch the shavings. 
And Narls been showing me some stuff about faces. I could see this little 
fellow staring out at me as soon as I picked up the wood burl.
She had stood, still smiling, turning it over and over in her hands; the 
spindle, the business end, was as sleek as the coat of a well-bred horse, and 
her fingers lingered over it appreciatively; the little face at the opposite end 
was so bright and alive it was hard not to expect it to blink and say something. 
Thank you. IIve been wondering if I could go on having a spinning wheel in 
the house.
Barder had glanced down at Rosie, who had, in the mysterious way of sitting up, 
not-quite-crawling babies, managed to move herself half across the long room to 
attach herself to his trouser leg. Aaaah! she said, which meant, Pick me up 
and throw me in the air, please.
I know, he had said, stooping to oblige. Thats why I made it. Half the 
farmers round here wouldnt know how to pay you if they couldnt give you fleece 
to spin.
Katriona now stood up restlessly and went over to run a finger down the 
gargoyles small lumpy nose. This was a kind of semiconscious good-luck charm 
for her, and the gargoyles nose was shiny with stroking. She was aware that as 
the years passed it was slowly accreting all those bodiless wishes into a real 
charm, the way enough deposited silt will eventually become a peninsula, but she 
doubted it would keep Pernicia away.
Rosies eleventh birthday was coming up soon. Katriona rubbed the gargoyles 
nose harder. Magic makes any keeper of it more perceptible to any other keeper. 
No one looking for a member of the royal family would look for someone who bore 
magic. It isnt magic because it cant be. Eleven: they were over halfway to 
one-and-twenty.
When the rest of Foggy Bottom caught on to the fact that Rosie really did have 
beast-speech (Narl had known from the beginning, but of course hadnt said 
anything about it), they enjoyed it very much. It was not as good as 
baby-magicfor one thing it was useful, which baby-magic rarely wasbut it was 
something at last, something to make jokes about, and making jokes about your 
fairies is one of the ways ordinary people live with the magic they have to live 
with, and both the ordinary people and the fairies know it.
It distressed Katriona, because Rosie wasnt a fairy, and she shouldnt be 
treated like one; it wasnt fair. It wasnt her fault she lived with two 
fairies. Ordinary people didnt need to defend themselves against her by making 
jokes that turned her into something other than themselves. Well, thought 
Katriona, flinching away from the reality of Rosies ordinariness, she isnt a 
fairy. Even the fact that her beast-speech proved to everyones satisfaction 
that she was exactly who Aunt and Katriona claimed she was, because beast-speech 
was uncommon even among fairies and two unrelated examples of it in the same 
village were impossible, wasnt enough to comfort her.
But the recognition of Rosies beast-speech also reawakened some old gossip from 
eleven years ago.
Ordinary people sometimes have a funny reaction to glamours, like the glamour 
Aunt had thrown over Rosies arrival in Foggy Bottom, a persistent, fidgety 
feeling that something wasnt quite right. In this case it had produced a rumour 
that Rosie was Katrionas daughter.
The question Katriona had really feared was not whether Rosie was her 
daughterwhich she would have denied very convincinglybut whether she was her 
cousin. Barder, who was the only person Katriona felt had the right to ask, had 
never asked, and the rumour had died a natural death years agoso Katriona 
assumed. Eleven years later she would have had to make an effort to remember 
that it had ever existed at all.
She and Rosie were crossing the square from the forge to the pub, toward their 
road home again, late one afternoon. It was drizzling rain, and Katriona was 
tired. Since she had stopped visiting the queen, the strength of her magic had 
come into her with a thunderous crash, like swallowing an anvil. The dark empty 
confusing place where she went for scraps of magic she could use was no longer 
empty, but finding what she needed was perhaps more difficult than everin the 
first place because she knew it was probably there if she looked long enough, 
and second because it was like trying to locate one particular pebble in a 
boulder field, with a great storm wind rolling everything about, including you. 
Aunt said it eventually got easier. Katriona hoped so. She had performed a 
tricky exorcism that dayif theyd known how tricky, Aunt would have come with 
herridding a field of an old battle which had suddenly woken up again, and the 
reperformance of which was scaring Matthews sheep.
It was Barders half day today, and he usually came out to the cottage for the 
evening, and she was almost too tired to enjoy his company. A cup of tea will 
help, she thought. It might have been any voice she heard, or perhaps it was a 
voice that had made itself out of the air of Foggy Bottom and what some people 
said out of her hearing.
As they passed the pub, Katriona waving briefly without looking up, the voice 
was saying,  should have married her eleven years ago, or no reason to marry 
her at all.
In the first shock she thought she might have imagined it, but she hadnt 
imagined it, because there was Barder suddenly beside her, and she could see in 
his face that he had heard the voice, too. She saw that he was angry, and for 
all that she had known and loved him for most of her life, she did not dare ask 
why. The three of them walked to the cottage together, Rosie chattering about 
birds and horses and earthworms, and the other two silent, although Barder 
usually talked easily to Rosie, and as if nothing she said surprised him (like 
that earthworms have no eyes but see the earth they creep through in beautiful 
visions, like the sort of visions people hope to have from eating fish). Aunt 
met them at the garden gate, looked into their faces, and told Rosie to go feed 
the cows and chickens. Rosie usually did this anyway, but she paused a moment, 
looking at the other three, knowing that she was about to miss something she 
would be interested in, and knowing also that it wouldnt happen if she hung 
around. She went off at a dragging, un-Rosie-like pace, her shoulders hunched 
and her head down.
I dont understand, said Barder, as soon as the cottage door closed behind 
them. It seems to me just meanness, and Foggy Bottom isnt usually mean without 
cause. I would have knocked that useless blockhead downby which Katriona 
guessed he had recognised the voice or the speakerbut I thought you would not 
like it. Dear heart, I know you are not Rosies mother. I remember the skinny 
little stick you were when you left for the princess name-day, and you were the 
same skinny little stick when you came back with that enormous bundle of 
half-grown baby. He did not at first notice how still Aunt and Katriona became 
at his words. I cant say I wouldnt have cared if youd had a baby whowho 
wasnt mine; I would have cared a great deal. ButI would have askedif I hadnt 
known she couldnt be.
Aunt went to fetch her after I came back, Katriona said faintly.
Barder stared. Butno she didntI saw you. You looked like youd been dragged 
backwards through every hedge and spinney between here and the royal city. I 
heard you sneeze. I was coming back from Treelight, the short way, across Lord 
Prens fields. Its not exactly the short way. IIm afraid I had a habit of 
finding an excuse to walk past your cottage while you were away, just to look, 
even though I knew Id hear as soon as you got back. I saw the light when Aunt 
opened the door.
Aunt said sharply, Did you tell anyone what youd seen?
Barder shook his head, slowly, bewilderedly. No. My auntmy mothers sisterwas 
ill; thats why Id been in Treelight. It was my half day. They only wanted to 
hear about her, at home, and by the next day I thought, what is there to tell? 
Kats had a rough journey; let her recover in peace. Well all hear about it 
soon enough. I waited till Id seen Kat in town again, and then I came to see 
you, and there was Rosie. And then there was this story about how Aunt had gone 
to fetch her. I just thought people were remembering wrongwe were all mostly 
thinking about the princess then, and about Perniciait wasnt worth arguing 
about. Perhaps it was fairy business; you dont argue about fairy business. But 
you would remember He looked at the two of them, and his gaze settled on Aunt, 
and Katriona could see him working it out. Stop! she wanted to shout. Dont 
think about it!
You laid it on us, he said to Aunt. But why? He smiled. Anyone would think 
youd stolen the princess.
The gargoyle spindle end blazed with sudden light, and three of Aunts little 
bottles fell overping, pingand the third one dropped off its shelf and 
shattered on the hearth. A sharp green smell invaded the room, and then all 
three of them were in a wild landscape, surrounded by irregular ranks of tall, 
wry, standing stones, bent and distorted in strange postures. Among the stones 
was a low, scrubby, creeping growth whose tiny pointed leaves gave off the harsh 
smell of Aunts little bottle.
It was twilight, almost dark. To one side of them at a little distance trees 
began to mingle with the standing stones tillin the dimness they could not be 
sureit seemed that the boles moved together into the darkness of a forest. 
There was a horrible feeling of unfriendly eyes watching. Opposite this wood, if 
it was a wood, on their other side, the standing stones and the low creeper grew 
sparser till the rough land was bare; but far away there was a tall bulk on the 
horizon, tall but narrow for its heightsome immense standing stone? Or some 
bleak fortress built by human hands?
The sun had gone behind it, whatever it was, and the sky was still purple in the 
memory of the sunset, the sky and the castle. It was a castle. The castle, 
indeed, as Katriona stared at it, seemed to send up streaks of purple from its 
base, as she had once seen a cloak do
No, she said, and, somehow, she did not know how, flung herself and her two 
companions back into the cottage, where the fire still burnt on the hearth, and 
the gargoyle still gleamed honey-golden, as if it were a faceted gemstone 
instead of wood, and a light shone through it, and a dark sticky puddle, purple 
in the firelight, lay on the floor, glittering with shards of broken glass. Aunt 
was already picking up the ash bucket and throwing spadefuls on the puddle; by 
the time Katriona remembered to breathe, the green smell was almost gone, 
smothered in a fug of cold ash. Katriona coughed.
P began Katriona.
Dont say her name, said Aunt, and Katriona saw that Aunts hands were 
shaking. Aunt turned her head as if looking for something and unable to remember 
where it was; she laid down the bucket and shovel and put her hands to her 
forehead as if her head ached. Katriona heard Barder sit heavily down; his chair 
legs bucked briefly against the floor. But she was already pulling the stool 
near the chimney and groping for the little iron cauldron that sat in a niche 
high up on its face. She felt its presence before her fingers found it, turning 
the cauldron on its side so it spilled into her hand. She climbed down, holding 
it still wrapped in its cloth, and then unrolled it and flung it quickly round 
the gargoyles thick little neck, above the loop on the spinning wheel the 
spindle went through.
The translucent beads of the sabre-bearers amulet gleamed like the gargoyles 
face, only a creamy, swirly white, like fresh milk with the cream still on it, 
instead of the yellowy-coppery glow of wood; they swung gently against the frame 
of the spinning wheel. The cottage and the three people in it jolted back into 
normality, like the end of an earthquake, or the sudden departure of fever.
Aunt dropped her hands and Barder sat up. Katriona went behind Barders chair 
and bent over him, wrapping her arms round his chest and putting her cheek to 
his; he crossed his own arms the better to seize hers, and pressed her to him. 
After a moment she kissed his cheek, and he released her; and then the three of 
them sat down near enough to each other that they could hold one anothers 
hands.
Thank the fates Rosie was outdoors, said Aunt.
Then itstrue, said Barder.
Im afraid so, said Katriona. But I didnt steal her; she wasergiven to 
me.
Barder nodded as if this were a perfectly reasonable explanation.
There was a little silence, and then Katriona said, Is it because Barder saw me 
that the glamour didnt work, Aunt? Do we have to worry about anyone else who 
might have seen me? I had thought no one had seen me-but I was so tired by 
then
Dont blame yourself, said Aunt. You did extraordinarily well. And I dont 
think thats why it didnt work. Im afraid glamours work best where there are 
fewest connectionsand Barder cared far too much. I imagine Flora might have a 
little difficulty deciding when Rosie arrived, too, if she had any reason to 
think about it, but she doesnt. Barder, Im sorry. This really isnt the sort 
of thing that happens just because youreera little fond of someone whos a 
fairy.
Im not just a little fond of her, said Barder in a voice that was very nearly 
normal. Do you knowwhat happened just now, or dont you want me to ask?
Aunt and Katriona exchanged a look. Aunt said, No, I dont know. But I wont 
uncork bdeth juice in this cottage again.
Bdeth juice? said Katriona slowly. But bdeth grows quite near herewhere the 
Gig runs into the wasteland where no one lives.
Yes, said Aunt.
There was another little silence.
Something was watching us from the wood, said Katriona.
I dont think they saw us, said Aunt. I thinkI hopethey will not have seen 
us. I think I did that much. But that was all I could do. And they would have 
figured us out soon enough if you hadnt brought us away so quickly.
Barderyou must have some protection, before you leave us tonight. Im not 
sure I could simply make you forget, I think.
Thats perhaps safest, and youll sleep better.
IId rather not forget, said Barder. If you dont mind. AndRosie matters to 
me, too. Whatwhoever she is.
Katriona said suddenly: Touch your gargoyles nose. The one you made for a 
spindles end.
Barder had his back to the spinning wheel. He looked at Katriona in surprise, 
but he turned slowly round and saw the shining gargoyle and its necklace, which 
looked like woven fog strung with will-o-the wisp. The fates of my ancestors, 
he said in wonder, but he stood up and moved toward it, holding out his hand. He 
hesitated just before his fingers touched the gargoyles nose, but he leaned 
forwardfor a moment his entire body lit up with the soft eerie light of the 
amulet; and Katriona caught her breath, thinking that shed never realised how 
beautiful he was.
And then the light went out, and the gargoyle was just a spindles end, with a 
nose shiny from rubbing, and the amulet was just an odd piece of jewelry; and 
the outside door banged open, and Rosie said plaintively, Are you through 
talking yet? Ive been as long as I can, and Im hungry.
   
Five weeks after that the kings fortress of Flury was broken into, and the 
regiment which guarded it was found asleep at their posts, fallen any way across 
their spears and their swords; and their horses were asleep, and the horse flies 
on the horses were asleep, and, deeper inside, the magicians were asleep, and 
the fairies were asleep, and everyone else, from the courtiers to the kitchen 
maids, were asleep, too.
The carters who were bringing their weekly waggon loads of fresh food ran away 
in terror, and Shon had spoken to one of those carters, because Flury was not so 
very far from Turanga. He says the same thing happened at 
Fordingbridgeeveryone was found asleeponly it was a relieving regiment as 
found em, and thats why the story didnt come out, as it has this time. He 
says the sleeps a bad one, and everyone wakes up from nightmares, and some of 
em were sick, and some of em are still sickespecially the magicians.
What about the princess? said Cairngorm.
The princess had been taken away a fortnight earlier, while the king was there 
to go with her, which must be nicer for hershe must hardly ever see her mum any 
more, the queen mostly stays in the royal city with the little boys, said Shon. 
Ive heard a rumour they smuggle her back to the city sometimes
I hope so, said Cairngorm.
Yuh, said Shon, childless himself and not very interested. Theres different 
stories about why the princess got shifted early this time. Some say the royal 
magicians set up aa random pattern spell about when to move her, and some say 
some fairy seer got her knickers in a twist and insisted she be moved early. It 
dont matter whichjust that she wasnt there.
Theyll beat Pernicia yet, said Dessy, Floras younger sister.
Love, we hope so, said Cairngorm. But we wont know till the day after the 
princess one-and-twentieth birthday, and thats some years off yet.
The single sentence every one of the princess people remembered best about the 
curse Pernicia had laid upon her was My disposition of her future may happen at 
any time.
Meanwhile Rosie went on talking to animals. Since most of the people who had 
much to do with her liked her, and because Narl seemed to take her seriously, 
and because she was Aunts niece and Katrionas cousin, the jokes made of it 
were rarely unkind. But because she would tell people about it, certainly if 
they asked, and sometimes if they didnt (Dessy, its no use flirting with that 
young thatcher from Waybreak, he wont have anything to do with you because hes 
afraid of your mother; his pony says so), people heard a fair amount about it.
Occasionally the information was useful: she told Aunt that the reason why Jad, 
the bakers dog, was getting so thin was because the bakers hob didnt much 
like milk, but did like the table scraps that went into Jads bowl. The hob was 
getting fat, because Jad was a big dog, and Jad was getting thin, because the 
hobs bowl of milk was small. Ill see to that hob, said Aunt. Poor Jad.
But it was evident that Rosies range of acquaintance among the animal kingdom 
was not merely broad but voluble. People listened, and some smiled, and some 
asked questionsand the answers to some of those questions brought more fleeces 
to the cottage, and other trade goods, much to Rosies astonishment and 
Katrionas bemused and secret delight. And some shook their heads. Especially 
fairies. This wasnt how talking to animals went. Except that it did, with 
Rosie. Katriona thought again of all the milk Rosie had drunk on her way between 
her old life and her new one, and wondered how Rosie might have grown up if she 
had drunk only magician inspected, fairy-purified, royal domestic animal milk, 
once she had been weaned from her mothers breast. Perhaps the royal familys 
amenableness was more an inherited willingness to adapt to circumstanceand 
Rosies circumstances were unusual. Katrionas own beast-speech had never been 
as fluent and comprehensive as Rosies; Katriona might have given her something 
on her name-day, but it hadnt been a transfer of her own beast-speech, like a 
parcel changing hands.
There was an unusual silence (even allowing for Rosies absence; she had special 
dispensation to stay late at the smiths that afternoon, and chat up some of 
Lord Prens young stock) by Aunts fireside after the news about Flury.
I wish the queens fairySigilwould send us some word, said Katriona.
Aunt laid the charm she was mending in her lap. She would if she could.
I know, said Katriona. Thats what I mean.
They looked at each other, and each saw reflected in the others eyes a tall 
castle standing alone in a barren landscape, with a smoky purple sky behind it.



Chapter 10
 ^  
As the years passed and, it seemed, the kings folk must have searched every 
handsbreadth of the kings land, and the royal magicians had searched every 
thoughts-breadth of every dimension over and under the kings lands (by the 
time Rosie was thirteen, divisions of the royal cavalry accompanying royal 
magicians had swept through the Gig four times; but if they found anything 
mysterious at the edge of the wild lands where the bdeth grew, they gave no 
sign), and the royal fairies had touched or tasted or listened to every wisp of 
wild magic that sprang from the kings lands, and there was still no news of 
Perniciano sign, no trace, no trail, no clueanother sort of story began to be 
told. No one could say where the first of these stories had come from, but that 
its purpose was to rally morale was perfectly clear.
The reports all agreed that the princes were growing up into fine boys, but they 
had an elder sister who was supposed to be queen, and no one was going to forget 
this: not their parents, not their country, nor even themselves, who had, it 
seemed, never met her: the magicians had declared that it would be too 
dangerous. When the Princes Colin and Terberus made their first little public 
speeches on their eighth birthday, both of them mentioned her, and their hope 
that they would meet her soon. Everyone found this very moving, especially when 
Terberus had added suddenly, in his own voice, to what had obviously been a 
prepared speech, I would like a sister. His people wanted his sister, too, and 
watching the little princes grow up and become young men who could give speeches 
only made that longing more acute.
And, if there is a powerful and wicked fairy somewhere around, you want to know 
where she is so you can stay out of her way. The possibility that she might jump 
out at you from any shadow is very unsettling.
So it was said that the princess had been turned into a lark or a peacock (or, 
blasphemously, a fish), so that she would have no finger to prick; that it had 
not been the real princess at the name-day, but only a magical doll, so the 
curse had not in fact been laid on the princess at all, and while the king and 
queen were keeping her tucked away somewhere while Pernicia was still at large, 
there wasnt really that much Pernicia could do to her but what she could do to 
anyone which was likely to be nasty enough, and the king was very sensibly 
determined to drive her out of hiding and out of his country. There was even a 
story that Pernicia had been captured, but that this news was not allowed out 
because the king would not be satisfied till every one of her spies and helpers 
had been found and identified. Few people found this story very comforting: the 
idea of Pernicia no longer at liberty was outweighed by the idea that ones own 
friends and neighbours might be infiltrated by her confederates.
Almost everyones favourite story was of the party planned for the princess 
twenty-first birthday, which would beggar the descriptive abilities of all the 
bards in the country. The stories of the party grew more fantastic with every 
telling, and, of course, they all had blissfully happy endings.
These stories of the princess prospective one-and-twentieth birthday party made 
Aunt snappish. Theyre worse than castles in the air, she said to Katriona one 
afternoon after Gismo, one of Shons alternate drivers, had been giving fantasy 
free rein at the pub about the latest schemes for wonders. Or rather, they are 
castles in the air, and made out of big heavy stones that are going to fall on 
all our heads and squash us flat. Katriona let the confused provenance of this 
metaphor pass in silence.
The door crashed open, and a little gust of rain and Rosie walked in. Rosie was 
humming. Since her hums were all more or less tuneless, you never knew which 
song she had in mind if she didnt say any of the words. She looked at Aunts 
and Katrionas faces and said, Whats wrong? Katriona smiled at her, feeling 
at once better and worse for the sight of her, thinking, not for the first time, 
of what the king and queen had lostnot just their daughter, but Rosie.
We were talking about the princess, said Aunt.
Oh, said Rosie. She had some fellow feeling for the princess, since they were 
the same age, and she had grown up with the mystery of what had become of her, 
and of the grown-ups interest in any tale purporting to have news of her.
Rosie had a notion that the only way grown-ups knew to protect you was to lock 
you up somehoweven protective spells usually had a locking-up quality about 
them, like the anti-drowning-in-a-bog one Aunt had laid on Rosie about eight 
months ago, after what Rosie still insisted indignantly was nothing like a near 
miss, and which simply prevented Rosie from walking in certain directions in 
certain places, although there were quite a few certain places round the damp 
and fenny Foggy Bottom. (There were serious disadvantages to being a fairys 
niece. The bog spell took more upkeep than ordinary families could afford. Aunt 
had at least let the utterly humiliating spell that prevented her from being sat 
on by large animals lapse a couple of years ago; of course within a day or two a 
horse she was holding for Narl had stood on her foot, but he was the sort of 
horse who if he hadnt been able to stand on your foot would have bitten you 
instead, so she supposed it didnt count. Besides, it had happened at the forge, 
where even Aunts charms became wandery and confused. She hadnt mentioned the 
episode at home.)
Suggestions about the princess whereabouts nearly always included some 
reference to a fortress or stronghold, so Rosie always imagined the princess 
surrounded by a lot of stonework. At first she had seen her in a tiny tower 
room, but then she thought no, shes a princess, she can have a large roomand 
lots and lots of grim-visaged guards armed to the teeth with an assortment of 
deadly and terrifying weapons Rosie had never seen and could only pretend to 
imagine. It sounded like a pretty miserable life and Rosie felt sorry for her.
Why dont we look for her? said Rosie. She could live with us. Aunt, youre 
the cleverest fairy in the Gig. Even Narl says so, and hes not trying to get a 
spell for free. If you found her, no one would know where shed gone, and so 
shed be safe. She could have some fun here. I could show her where all the bogs 
are. Rosie had not come indoors in the best of tempers, as she had forgotten 
which way she had been headed till she found herself reheaded home, briskly 
carried by insurrectionist feet. The ballad shed been humming as she came 
through the dooranother one Barder had taught herhad a pleasingly bloodthirsty 
chorus which suited her mood:  I lighted down my sword to draw, and hacked him 
into pieces sma, and hacked him into pieces sma   Maybe she could be the 
princess guard.
There was a little silence. Thats an interesting thought, dear, said Aunt, 
but Im afraid you have a rather inflated idea of my skills.
Katriona, fascinated, said, What would we tell everyone about where she came 
from?
Rosie shrugged. She had lived as long as she could remember with Aunt and 
Katriona; they seemed a fine sort of family to her. The only question she had 
yet been moved to ask about her parents was how tall they had been, as it was 
plain she was going to be taller than either Aunt or Katriona. (Her outlandish 
colouring, in mostly dark- or mouse-coloured Foggy Bottom, had been explained by 
a tow-headed father from the south.) That Aunt has another niece, and us 
another cousin, of course.
Of course, said Aunt. How sensible you are, Rosie. What a pity we are 
unlikely ever to have reason to make use of your suggestion.
Rosie looked at her suspiciouslysensible was not a word she was accustomed to 
hearing applied to herselfbut Aunt only gave her her usual serene smile, her 
temper quite recovered from Gismos foolishness, as she went on with her 
spinning, the shiny nose of the gargoyle making a tiny bright blur as the 
spindle went round and round and round.
   
Sarkon, Barders master, died as winter was closing in, on one of the shortest 
days of the year, when the cloud cover was so low and heavy the lamps in 
Cairngorms pub had burned since morning. His pyre was lit the next day, and 
only Barder and Joeb, his Second Apprentice, asked for his ashes, for his wife 
had died years before, and they had no family. Because there was no one else, 
Barder and Joeb agreed to hold the three months mourning.
Cairngorm and Aunt and the wainwrights sister, Hroslingathe wheelwright and 
the wainwright shared a yard across the square from the blacksmithhelped as 
they could. Mourning should not be borne by two young men alone, and this was 
just the sort of situation likeliest to bring the Gigs chief priest down upon 
Barder and Joeb and Foggy Bottom generally, with orations about proper respect 
and reverence and the importance of upheld tradition. Barder looked tired and 
preoccupied all that winter, and only twice came out to Aunts cottage, where he 
promptly fell asleep in his chair.
Katriona already wondered, fearfully, if they hadnt been seeing less of him 
since the evening he had made the joke about Rosie being the princess; if he 
hadnt needed more of his half days to do something else in; if he wasnt less 
likely to stop for a moment if Katriona met him in town. There had never been, 
in the years theyd known each other, any specific words between them; neither 
of them could afford to get married and they both knew it, although Katriona had 
long believed he would have spoken if he could. He had made her the egret she 
still wore round her neck, and only she and Aunt and Rosie had spoons and knives 
with Barder-carved handles; but she couldnt help remembering that Barder had 
lately spent his spare time carving spindle ends, and that these were sent away 
for sale outside the Gig.
Not that they needed another spindle end, she told herself, fiercely petting the 
gargoyles nose.
Flora had told her comfortingly that Barders mother had been heard on a number 
of occasions complaining about his attachment to that fairy, saying that there 
wasnt any fairy blood in their family (which was manifestly untrue, since 
Barders aunt in Treelight descaled half the villages kettles although she 
didnt otherwise practise) and that Barder himself had walked into the middle of 
one of her perorations at the pub one day and told her bluntly, if unfilially, 
to be either quiet or civil.
When Barder had befriended Rosie, Katriona had thought (pleased and gratified) 
that he did so initially for her, Katrionas, sake, but in the shadow cast by 
Sarkons illness and death she began to wonder if he had befriended them both 
out of a more generally philanthropic feeling that they needed friends. Even the 
story of his confrontation with his mother could be read as natural chivalry.
On a day early the following spring, Katriona sniffed the air, looked at the 
clouds, consulted the weather-guesser, and decided that the rat-gnomes in 
Trugas henhouse could wait another day. She swept the floor as a sop to her 
conscience, finagling the chalky detritus of magic out of the corners with a few 
scouring charms, and then went out to dig in the garden. Aunt had gone to 
Crossroad Hill to meet Torg and Aileena, the chief fairies of Treelight and 
Moonshadow; Rosie was, as usual, with Narl.
She hummed while she dug and weededher own humming, she thought, under Rosies 
influence, was much less melodic than it used to beand thought about nothing in 
particular. She was still thinking about nothing in particular (except perhaps 
how it was that weeds grow so much more quickly than anything youve planted) 
when a human-shaped shadow fell across her. But when she looked up and saw 
Barder, looking uncommonly tidy and even more uncommonly nervous, she could not 
help her heart giving a great, voice-throttling leap, and tears prickling at the 
corners of her eyes.
She stood up, and went toward him, and then realised her hands were filthy. She 
raised them, and looked at them in astonishment and dismay, as if she had never 
seen filthy hands before in her life, beginning to turn away to go toward the 
water butt where she could wash them but he reached for her just before she 
moved, and seized her by the wrist.
They stood like that, their two arms extended almost full length between them, 
him leaning toward her, she half turned away to go to the water butt, but having 
turned her head back to look at him when he touched herand their faces told 
each other all they needed to know, for he didnt seem able to talk either. They 
moved toward each other, she uncertainly, still not quite believing he had come 
to her after all, and he stepping forward eagerly. He kissed her, and she curled 
up her dirty hands so she could put her arms round his neck without spoiling his 
best collar.
   
I would have sent for you if you hadnt come soon, said Aunt, returning an 
hour later. Barder and Katriona were kneeling side by side, companionably 
weeding; he had taken off his good coat and collar and rolled up his sleeves, 
but was ruining the knees of his good trousers. (Weeding had the attraction of 
novelty for Barder, besides the fact that he would have done anything Katriona 
asked after the important question had been answered the right way, first in 
silence and then in words. Weeding was one of those fairy eccentricities; no one 
else did it; but fairies were always up to strange things, and no one would want 
to take the chance that their balms, tonics and potions might be denatured by 
undesirable proximities in the fairys garden.)
Barder laughed, but Katriona said, You wouldnt.
Perhaps I wouldntve, but I would have thought of it. I have thought of it, 
her aunt replied, not the least discomposed.
And you didnt know, said Katriona. You didnt know.
If you mean my magic didnt tell me, it didnt need to, said her aunt. The 
entire village has been waiting. Possibly the entire Gig. Barder was growing as 
famous for the things he could do with wood, other than wheels, as Narl had been 
for some time for the things he could do with cold iron, besides buckles and 
horseshoes and ploughshares. The progress of such a prominent figures romance 
was, of course, interesting. And everyoneexcept Katrionahad known perfectly 
well why Barder had been so absorbed recently in selling as many spindle ends 
for as high a price as possible; Sarkons was a good house, but rather in need 
of the sort of repairs one wanted to have made before one brought ones new 
bride to it. Katriona now made a strangled noise, and Barders ears, more 
visible than usual from the severity with which he had tied his hair back, were 
bright red. I shall miss you, Kat, Aunt added, a little wistfully.
Oh, but youre coming too! said Katriona, climbing to her feet and taking her 
aunts hands without, this time, considering the condition of her own. Weve 
just been talking about it. Lord Pren has agreed that Barder should have the 
house and yard and be called Master, since he is First Apprentice, and even Lord 
Pren knows that all the really interesting stuff Sarkon has been doing for years 
is really Barder
Barder made protesting noises.
And you know the house is big enoughbig enough and to spareand there is even 
a shed for the cows and chickens. You must come. What would we do about Rosie?
Barder said shyly, Ive known all along that I could never have Kat if I didnt 
want you and Rosie, too. You can put in a garden like this onein rows, and 
weeded. Joeb and I will break up the ground for you before you come, and put up 
the fence to keep the chickens out. Or in.
You know youve been saying its not good for Rosie to live outside the village 
with only two fairies, and its more important as she gets older, said 
Katriona. And Ill be very careful about the binding spells round the yardyou 
know Im good at those. Our neighbours will barely know were there.
Hroslinga has a dja vine, said Aunt mildly.
OhwellIll think of something, said Katriona. Oh, Aunt
Aunt had a preoccupied look. I knew Rosie couldnt go far from you, Katnor, I 
think, from Narlbut I was thinking of the house that Med left
Because its haunted, said Katriona, with a particularly unpleasant mould 
spirit, who turns everything squashy and green, and moans all night.
I could probably turn it out, you know, said Aunt.
Is itis it very distasteful to you, the thought of living in the wheelwrights 
house? said Barder sadly.
Aunt! said Katriona.
Oh my dearmy dears, said Aunt, I will gladly accept your invitation to live 
in the wheelwrights house, if you are sure that you would like it. She looked 
at them and smiled, and then said with suspicious briskness, I am going to make 
tea, but Katriona saw the tears in her eyes as she turned away.
Then all thats left is to explain it to Rosie, said Katriona.
Wont Rosie like the idea of living closer to Narl? said Barder.
If Narl can stand it.
Yes, she will, but she has a lot offriends in the forest, said Katriona. 
Barder knew, of course, about Rosie talking to animals, but as he had watched 
her grow up thinking of her as Aunts niece and Katrionas cousin, he had never 
found it surprising; and he had tried to put his memory of a certain evening 
some months back as far out of his ordinary daily thoughts as possible, to keep 
it safe and secret.
He shook his head now, as the old view of Rosie collided with newer knowledge, 
and Katriona, guessing to whator whomthe headshake referred, looked at him 
worriedly.
He saw the worry and, in his turn, guessed what it was about. Dont fret, he 
said. I took you for the good times and the bad ones in my mind years agoand 
Ive always known you were a fairy, even when you still thought you werent. The 
rest of it doesnt matter. He paused. I took you, and gave you me backeven if 
you didnt know it. Whats happened to you has happened to me, tooeven if I 
didnt know it.
Katriona put her forehead on his shoulder and sighed. Small spider weave, she 
thought. I wish it were as simple as that none of us speak aloud what we know. 
She still often heard the queens voice in her mind: I miss my child so much 
Tell me you are real. But she rarely remembered the small fairys And a poem is 
all I can give her, my dear, my only darling!
But at least I know one more thingimportant thingthan I did this morning, 
thought Katriona. She smiled against Barders shoulder, and raised her face to 
be kissed.
   
Rosie, to her dismay, found that she didnt know what she thought about the news 
that Katriona and Barder were to be married, and that they were all moving into 
town to live in the wheelwrights house with Barder and Joeb, who wished to stay 
on. That Katriona and Barder would marry she knew as well as everyone in the 
village (except Katriona) had known since Sarkon died; but she suddenly 
realised, now that the change was upon her, that she had never thought about 
what would happen afterward.
I have been thinking like a child, she said to herself, in dismay and shame. She 
wanted to have thought about it before, so she would have those thoughts to help 
her know how to feel. Not knowing what she thought made her feel lost; and 
feeling lost made her feel suddenly as if she were somebody else, and that 
feeling set up echoes, deep down inside herself, and these scared her. These 
echoes told her that she really wasnt Rosie: and that she had never been. She 
was someone else; she had always been someone else. Someone who didnt belong to 
Aunt and Katriona, to Foggy Bottom. Who the someone else was the echoes didnt 
say. They only took things awaycomfort, peace, securitythey didnt give her 
anything to replace them. Almost she thought she could hear some strange voice 
saying some strange name, her name, her real name. She put her fingers in her 
ears, but it was not that kind of hearing.
For the first time in her life she woke up in the bed shed slept in every night 
since she was old enough to sleep in a bed without rolling out, and didnt know 
where she was. She lay awake, listening to Katriona and Aunt breathing in their 
sleepKatriona deep and low, Aunt with a little rustling noiseand didnt 
recognise them either; and she knew the noises of their sleeping and the shadowy 
shape of their bodies in their blankets as well as she knew anything, as well as 
she knew the shape of her own hand, her own name but the shadows told her her 
name was not hers, and the shape of her hand was changing. She was fifteen, and 
she had grown four inches in the last year, and her body was evolving from 
square to lanky, and even her fingers were suddenly longer, the knuckles knobby, 
instead of dimpled like a childs.
She lay in the dark and listened, and heard the faint mumbles of the house mice, 
telling each other that Flinx was only just outside, and that one of the 
shutters was unlatched. She felt an owl wing silently overhead, its head full of 
wordless thoughts of dinner, loud enough nonetheless for Rosie to hear through 
rafters and deep thatch. And she heard other things, voiceless, thoughtless 
things: she heard the necklace that Katriona prized so highly sitting in its 
niche; she heard the gargoyle spindle end sitting in the wooden ring where it 
hung when the wheel stood idle, and they said to her: Sleep, sleep, we will 
watch, and watch over you. And then Rosie knew she was dreaming, and fell asleep 
smiling.
She didnt mention her confusion of feeling to Katriona and Aunt, partly fearing 
it might hurt them, especially Katriona, and partly fearing one of Aunts 
foul-tasting tonics, but both Katriona and Aunt noticed. Katriona worried, 
because Katriona always worried, but also because she knew that what had started 
it was the news that they were all to move into the village and live with 
Barder; but Aunt said that Rosie was growing so fast she probably didnt know 
backwards from sideways while the rest of her tried to catch up.
She grew another inch in the ten weeks between Barders formal visit to the 
cottage and the wedding, and Aunt basted another strip of material round the hem 
of the dress Rosie was wearing so that it still came to her ankles the way it 
was supposed toand so that the scruffy third-hand boots that were the only 
shoes that fit her didnt show any more than they had to.
Rosie was unusually docile, which was convenient, but Katriona thought she would 
rather have had her banging doors and shouting that she didnt want to live in a 
town with everybody elses smoke and cooking smells and the dust from the road 
complicating the always complicated housekeeping in a fairys home. But she 
didnt. She didnt even protest wearing a skirt to the wedding, and she hated 
dresses almost as much as she hated her hair; shed worn trousers since she 
could walk.
The best Katriona could think of to do was to ask Narl to keep an eye on her.
Katriona was well-versed in Narls grunts by this time, and the grunt that 
answered this request told her that Narl had also noticed the change in Rosie, 
and had been thinking about it himself. Rosie came home a day or two after this 
and told them, looking and sounding more like herself than she had in several 
weeks, that Narl had begun to teach her horse doctoring.
Girls were less often apprenticed than boys, and no one expected Rosie to need 
apprenticing away from home, since sooner or later she would turn out to be a 
fairy, and meanwhile there was always work for another pair of hands. Narl had 
had temporary apprentices occasionallynot the usual sort, for which he said, 
when pressed, that he had no time, but men (female smiths were rarer than male 
fairies) who already knew their business and were interested in learning to do 
fancy work, like Aunts fire-dogs and Lord Prendergasts gates.
But while Narl did a fair amount of horse doctoring, as all smiths did, and was 
good at it, as many smiths were not, he had never offered to teach anyone what 
he knew. Till Rosie.
Their unlikely alliance had intrigued the villagers for years, and the 
information that Narl was now teaching her horse doctoring only heightened this 
interest. Dessy, who was something of a romantic, once said to Flora that if you 
ever saw them talking to each other, Narl looked younger than usual (although no 
one knew how old he was), and Rosie looked older. Flora knew what she meantit 
was something about the way they looked at each other, as if they were not 
merely friends but old friends, partners, peers. But Dessys tendency to 
daydream was a nuisance round the pub when there was always too much to be done, 
and so Flora said quellingly, Talk to each other? Youre thinking of somebody 
else. Rosie talks enough for six, and Narl doesnt talk at all.
It was also an odd thing that a smith should be teaching a future fairy a 
smiths pragmatic horse-leech skills because the reason smiths were popular as 
horse doctors was because most horses didnt respond well to magicyou laid a 
gentling charm over a skittish colt and he left off shying at leaves and rabbits 
and shadows and threw a proper tantrum about the charm. Blowing the fumes of 
mashed vizo root up his nostrils was easier, and more likely to work. Foggy 
Bottom, which by this time was rather accustomed to being frustrated by both 
Narl and Rosie, decided that the facts were merely that Narl and Rosie were odd, 
and let them get on with it. But Katriona wondered, grateful as she was for 
Narls meddling, if Narl had any particular reason to believe that Rosie was not 
going to grow up to be a fairy.
By the day of the wedding Rosie was enough of her old self to protest violently 
having flowers stuck in her hair. Aunt had the argument with her about it. 
Katriona was elsewhere, with Flora, twittering over the food, and worrying that 
there wasnt going to be enough (there was enough to feed everyone in the Gig 
three times over, as Flora was endeavouring to point out).
I havent got enough hair to stick flowers in anyway! said Rosie passionately. 
This was perhaps not absolutely true; it was a little longer than it had been 
after her first self-inflicted haircut at the age of four. But not much. When 
she was excited about something, and had been running her hands through it, it 
was still short enough to stand out like a fuzzy halo. It was still markedly 
curly, too, but too short to twist itself into ringlets, as anyone could see it 
longed to do.
Aunt considered for a moment and said, Ill make a bargain with you. You should 
wear a proper helmet of flowersremember Soora at Garlys wedding last year?but 
Ill weave you just a little, er, crown of them, thinking, this is just what I 
need, another last-minute job, I wish I had six hands, will that do?
Rosie, no fool, knowing she was being got roundand that Aunt had more than 
enough to do alreadythought of Katriona, who probably would like her attendant 
to be wearing flowers in her hair. She remembered Sooras headdress; she had 
looked like a walking shrubbery, and Rosie had wanted to laugh. Um. For 
Katriona, she reminded herself. Um. Ill finish the gate ribbons for you.
Aunt sighed. Thank you. Wedding gate ribbons were, in most parts of that 
country, a decorative detail only, but the Gig still took them seriously, 
possibly because the Gig, by its climate, was plagued by fog-sprites, which gate 
ribbons successfully confused. More solid spirits of mischief had to be kept out 
of important rites by brush and branches.
The crown suited Rosieand crown it was. Katriona, having permitted herself to 
be reassured by the several tonnes of food distributed on tables both inside and 
outside the pub (the weather having been declared secure, without magical 
interference, by both Aunt and the weather-guesser), would have said she was 
wholly preoccupied with the immediate prospect of being wed to Barder. But she 
was struck by the sight of Rosie in her little crown of flowers, patched-on 
hemline, old boots and all. There was a dignity about her Katriona had not seen 
before, which was, although Katriona didnt know it, a combination of the 
newness of her increasing height and her first glimpse into the darker depths of 
what it means to be human, plus a resolution to bear herself well for the 
wedding of the person she loved best in the world, whichthough she appreciated 
that Aunt had done her tactful bestincluded not snatching the stupid circlet 
off her head and stamping on it. This last was what was making her stand up 
quite so straight and proud. It looked like poise.
   
Rosie had her own room at the wheelwrights. At the cottage they had all slept 
upstairs at one end of the long cottage attic, while various stores, both 
magical and ordinary, took up the rest of the space, hanging from the roof, or 
neatly stacked and packaged on shelves and piled in corners. It was rather 
exciting to have a room of your own. But what did you do with it?
It was a small room, tucked in a corner of the ell that thrust out toward the 
common land that backed the village, and looking out over the shed that 
contained a bemused Poppy, a wary Fiend, and ten chickens in a sulk. Their 
sensibilities had been outraged by the move, and they were refusing to lay. 
Where Rosie knelt by her window she could see Flinx lying on the shed roof, a 
blobby sort of shadow against the flat darkness of the roof. She hadnt been 
sure that Flinx would come with them into town, although she had long ago 
figured out that any important situation containing Katriona would have Flinx 
somewhere lurking on the edges and pretending to be thinking about something 
else.
At present Flinx, having (briefly) met the wainwrights dog, Zogdob, was showing 
a preference for high places. There were several of the town cats with him on 
the roof, all of whom had attended the wedding, with unusual decorousness for 
cats, but then they were all fond of Katriona. (Cats hung round temples and 
priests houses unless the priests positively drove them away. The priests 
religion rather appealed to cats; they borrowed bits of it to work into their 
ideas of augury and metaphysics.) They were discussing the wedding in a 
desultory and solipsistic manner, but Rosie had the feeling that some of the 
sillier remarks were being made for her benefit, so she stopped listening.
She turned round and sat on the floor, leaning her shoulders against the sill, 
looking at her new room. All those freshly whitewashed walls seemed to expect 
something, like a waiting audience expects something, unlike the dark rough 
planking of the cottage attic (which you never got very near anyway because of 
the steep pitch of the roof), and Rosie had little personal gear to occupy 
space.
She wondered who Lord Pren would give their cottage to. Who would sleep in that 
loft, cook over that fire? How long would it take them to learn the trick of 
making the pot hook swing smoothly when it had a laden pot on it, without 
spraying the floor and the shins of the unhappy server with boiling soup or 
scalding stew? Even Aunt hadnt come up with a charm for it. Iron against iron 
is too difficult, she said. If it were a matter of life and death Id work 
something out, but it isnt.
After Rosie had been introduced to her glistening, expectant room she had 
briefly considered claiming to be afraid of the dark so she didnt have to face 
occupying it alone, but she knew no one would believe herand after the silent 
echoes of the last few weeks which told her she wasnt who shed always believed 
she was she didnt have the heart for deliberate impersonation. Besides, it 
wasnt exactly that she wanted to share a room with Aunt; she was just worried 
about how everything was changing.
Poppy had said comfortably that it would all turn out for the best, but Poppy 
usually said that about everything, and she was also heavily in calf which 
always made her sentimental. Fiend, also in calf, was less sanguine; but she was 
at her most pessimistic when she had a baby due, believing that wolves would be 
conjured out of the air by the effort of her labour. The chickens only said that 
the dust was all wrong and the bugs were all wrong and the shape of their coop 
was all wrong and how could any human think they could lay under these 
conditions?
Rosie turned round again, and looked back at the night. Even the sky looked 
different from her new window, although (she supposed) it was the same sky. The 
other cats had left, and Flinx had moved a little nearer the window of the 
bedroom Katriona now shared with Barder. The moon was full tonightit was 
supposed to be good luck to marry during a full moonand the sky was bright with 
stars. The usual Gig ground mist hadnt risen above the first storey where Rosie 
leaned her elbows on her windowsill.
All three of the humans from the cottage, Aunt, Katriona, and Rosie, were 
sleeping in the wheelwrights house for the first time tonightall three of 
them, who were now four because of Barder (five really, for Joeb had another 
little room in the corner between the house and the shop), and she guessed they 
would soon be more than that, because Barder and Katriona would have children. 
And there was a baby-magic boarder coming tomorrow; Aunt had been holding her 
familys frail control over her together with a series of charms, but had 
promised to take her in the moment the wedding was over.
It was late, and Rosie was exhausted, but she wasnt ready to lie down and 
sleep, and risk waking up and not knowing where she was, now that she was 
somewhere she didnt know.
She wondered if she would like living in town. The air smelled so different 
here; the fields and woods and garden and animal smells she was used to were 
still there, but so were the chimney and cooking smells of houses other than 
their own, the slight whiff of lime that told of rigorously clean priveys (the 
village council were adamant about this), the drift of strange and varied stable 
smells from the animal pens, and the dust and dung smells of the road. She could 
even hear a murmur of people talking, and there was a burst of not-so-distant 
laughter, where a few people who had outstayed the wedding party were still at 
the pub.
Feeling misplaced and astray had become familiar in the last ten weeks. At least 
this strangeness seemed friendly. She began telling over in her head some of the 
latest of Narls teachings as something to ground herself with. This was only 
partially successful, since few of his recipes were exact; you added enough 
staggleroot to make the paste stick together, for example, except that the 
berries stickiness varied from year to year on account of the weather, and if 
you added too many then when the paste dried on the horses leg it wouldnt come 
off.
She knew it couldnt be accidental that Narl had chosen just now to start 
teaching her, and she only hoped he meant it, that it wasnt a sort of toy to 
distract a bewildered child. Even as she thought this she realised how offensive 
such a suggestion would be to Narl, and she almost laughed, but laughing was too 
difficult just now. Laughter would rattle her bones apart.
Maybe shed ask Aunt for a few bunches of dried herbs to hang in her 
bedroomtheyd make a nice smell, and would dim the awful whiteness of the 
walls. Barder had whitewashed the bedrooms himself, to make them light and 
cheerful; she couldnt say she preferred gloom. Shed get used to the sounds and 
smells, and a room of her own. She looked round the room once more, and pulled 
the shutters closed, ready to go to bed. At least it was her own bed, carted in 
from the cottage, and her own clothes hanging on pegs by the door. She might 
have had a candle, but if this was to be her room, she wanted to know her way in 
the dark.



Part Three



Chapter 11
 ^  
Rosie had an additional reason for being doubtful about the move to town. While 
Barder was offering them their own house, his shop shared a courtyard with the 
wainwright, and the wainwright had a niece, Peony. Rosie had thought after 
Flinxs dramatic meeting with Zogdob, youre the lucky one, youre allowed to 
run away.
Peony was nearly the same age as Rosie, and an only child in a house of adults 
not her parents, for she lived with her aunt and uncle.
But there the similarity between them ended. Peony had long golden 
curlsalthough of a softer shade than Rosies short defiant hairand limpid blue 
eyes that smiled even when her face was solemn. Grown-ups had never patronised 
her; she was too graceful and too self-possessed, even as a baby, and as she 
grew older she was too sweet-natured. Condescension would have slid right off 
her, like snow on a warm roof. She was rarely disobedient, and when she was, it 
was generally to do with her lingering to give delight or some more practical 
aid by her presence, when her aunt and uncle expected her to perform some errand 
quickly.
She could sew, cook, and clean; she wrote a good clear hand and did sums 
accurately. She could carry a tune, she could dance, and play upon what variety 
of musical instruments the village offered. She was also beautiful. (She had 
long curling golden eyelashes, although not so long as Rosies.) It was all too 
much. Rosie had thought so for years, and avoided her.
Nonetheless, they met up occasionally. The village was too small for everyone 
not to know each other, and furthermore, Peony was only seven months older than 
Rosie, and most grown-ups seemed to think that accidents of chronology should 
oblige children to get along. Rosie was too good-natured herself to hate anyone 
without serious cause, but in Peonys case she had considered it. Rosie had 
heard rather too much about Peonys manifold perfections from the village folk, 
especially after some one or another of Rosies more tactless imbroglios. It was 
all the harder for poor Rosie because she and Peony were the only girls of their 
age in Foggy Bottom; everyone else was several years older or younger.
Rosies good nature had been sorely tested when that particular implication of 
Barders suit sank in. Since all three grown-ups, Aunt, Katriona, and Barder 
himself, were watching her anxiously, they saw her start, and heard her grunt, 
as if from a physical blow, a few moments after the initial announcement. What 
they did not know was that the grunt was a valiantly suppressed Next door to 
Peony? Id rather live in Meds old house, with the mould spirit. Maybe Lord 
Prens new tenant will need a cowherd.
Shed managed to elude Peony during the busy weeks leading up to the wedding 
although Peony had often been underfoot, brightly offering to do anything she 
could do to help, and saying disgusting things to Rosie like, Oh, I do hope we 
can be sisters. Rosie had been able to pretend she hadnt heard. She wouldnt 
be able to go on ignoring her now that she actually lived here.
But the confrontation didnt go as Rosie expected, although it had begun as 
unpromisingly as she could have desired. Everyone had slept late the day after 
the wedding (Rosie had staggered out to feed the cows and the chickens and then 
gone back to bed) and it was midmorning before Rosie ventured into the 
forecourt. She had been driven there by Aunt, who recognised Rosies lurking 
about the kitchen for what it was, and knew that Peony was outside doing her own 
hopeful lurking. My dear, said Aunt, with a sympathy Rosie couldnt help but 
hear, you are going to have to come to some kind of terms with her. I know she 
isshe is not at all like you. But she is probably not all bad, even if she is a 
paragon.
Peony, of course, stopped whatever she had been doing, and came up to Rosie with 
her best, most winning smile, and said, Well, now that all the fuss is over, 
perhaps we can begin to know each other.
Rosie, looking for allies, had glanced around hopefully for Zogdob, but Zogdob 
was curled up at the very back of the courtyard, pretending to be asleep. Um, 
said Rosie unencouragingly, standing like a soldier on parade, back stiff and 
eyes straight ahead. She stood up as much as she could around Peony, because 
standing she was half a head taller than the older girl.
You know, said Peony thoughtfully, looking up at Rosie, you have the longest 
eyelashes I have ever seen
Get dead, said Rosie furiously, abandoning her imitation of a statue: I hate 
my eyelashes.
Peony stared at her with her mouth open, and then she burst out laughing. She 
put her hand on Rosies arm, and to Rosies own astonishment she did not resent 
the touch; she heard in Peonys laughter that Peony was as worried about her new 
neighbour as Rosie was about being her neighbour, and that Peony had been sure 
she would say the wrong thing to Rosie, and it was a great relief to have done 
so and got it over with. Rosie began to laugh, too.
Her chest felt tight from weeks of work and change and fear and resentment and 
hope, and the first laugh hurt; but then she pulled in a great deep breath that 
filled her right up, and she laughed with Peony till they both had to sit down, 
right where they were, in the middle of the forecourt, and Peonys uncle, 
Crantab, had to shout at them to move out of the way. When they finished 
laughing they were on their way to being not just friends, but the dearest of 
friends, the sort of friends whose lives are shaped by the friendship.
   
Aunt and Katrionas baby-magic boarders rose to an all-time high of seven within 
a month after the wedding and Peonys suddenly ubiquitous presence in their 
household was seized on with a slightly desperate gratitudeeven two full-grown 
fairies at the height of their powers might blanch at the prospect of seven 
baby-magic boarders at the same time, and their other work did not ease off just 
because their home life was in an uproar.
Peony was (of course) good with small children, delighted to be of service, and 
happy to wear a charm that Katriona made her so that she could help maintain 
some semblance of order. Even if the charm did make everything she ate while she 
was wearing it taste like sheeps brains. She mentioned this, after about a 
fortnight, humbly, to Katriona, who said, Oh, fates, Im sorry, that happens 
sometimes.
She made a new one, and watched Peony closely at their next noon meal, but Peony 
wouldnt catch her eye, busying herself with preventing Mona from scaring Tibby 
into bursting into tears by making goblin faces (complete with warty green skin 
and fangs) at her. When Tibby wept, the tears turned into all sorts of 
interesting things, most of which would make Tibby cry even harder.
The next midday Katriona drew Peony out into the courtyard, pulled the charm off 
over her head, and handed her a basket. Go have your meal with Rosie at the 
forge.
Peony blushed. The new charm is better, really. It almost makes me like sheeps 
brains.
Katriona laughed. I can cope alone for an hour. Go on or Ill put wings on your 
heels and fly you there.
Nearly three months after Peony began taking her noon meal at the forge, Rosie 
was returning home after a long day: determining whether Greys wheelhorses 
lameness behind was caused by sore back muscles (I dunno, said Kindeye, the 
horse: Its me ankle what hurts, but itit do echo a bit, now you ask me) or a 
mild-mannered riding horses head shaking by a tooth abscess (My head buzzes, I 
dont like it, make it stop, said Yora distressfully) or if a mare visiting Lord 
Prens stud wouldnt come into season because she didnt like the stallion her 
owner wanted her bred to (Hmph was all she would say to Rosie about it).
She found Katriona turning the several hundred spiders mobbing the kitchen 
ceiling back into the grains of barley they had been before Mona turned them 
into spiders. Katriona was returning them to their original shape very neatly, 
in clusters, so that they fell into the basin she was holding under them, 
taptaptaptap. Peony, for once looking a little tousled and harried, was sitting 
at the table mending knees in very short trousers. When the ceiling was 
spider-free (nearly: Oops! said Katriona at one point. Sorry, I didnt 
realise you were a real one), Katriona put the basin of barley on the table and 
sighed.
Peony, love, you need some fresh air. Our little horrors are all asleepor if 
they arent Im going to blow sleep-smoke over them, and professional scruples 
can go hang for one eveningRosie, why dont you take Peony for a walk?
They wandered down the road, away from the square, toward the crossroads where 
you had to choose either Woodwold or Smoke River. It was a hazy, damp night, and 
you could almost hear the fogsprites giggling. It would rain by morning. Peony 
put her arm through Rosies and sighed.
Youre in our house more than youre in your own, said Rosie, a little 
jealously.
Peony smiled. Im useful there.
Youre useful everywhere said Rosie feelingly but without animosity.
Dont your uncle and aunt miss you?
Peony was silent, and Rosie felt a sudden pang of doubt.
Peony?
Peony sighed. Im so tired, I cant Havent you ever noticed the difference 
between your house and mine?
Yours is cleaner, Rosie said promptly. Rosie was very popular with Peonys 
aunt and uncle, because she had taken on the exasperating and painful job of 
bashing and lopping their suddenly riotous dja vine into some kind of order. 
This was an almost weekly job, and Rosie felt she now knew how warriors riding 
into battle against firewyrms must feel. Dja vines did not, it was true, breathe 
fire, but their temperament and their teeth were similar. Peonys aunt, 
Hroslinga, made a point of inviting Rosie in after each of these hazardous 
undertakings, and pressing samples of the bakers best cakes on her. Hroslinga 
was an earnest, anxious, fidgety woman who kept her house extravagantly clean 
(thanks to one of Katrionas charms, any venturesome magic dust fell off at the 
front step, although this did mean the front step required a good deal of 
sweeping) and did beautiful sewing; Rosie was unable to carry much conversation 
on either of these subjects, but liked the cakes.
Peony gave a sort of half laugh, half cough. Yes, it is cleaner. And quieter. 
And my aunt and uncle took me in when my parents died; theyre brother and 
sister, you know that, dont you? And my mothers only relatives, and my father 
was from the south. Rosie knew all this. It never occurred to them to escape 
the responsibility; theyre good people. Theyve raised me kindly and treat me 
well.
They should! said Rosie, unable to remain silent.
Ye-es. I suppose. And Im useful to them, so its not as bad as it might be
Oh, Peony, said Rosie sadly.
Peony said drearily, They dont love me. Not the way Aunt and Katriona and 
Barder love you.
There was a little silence, and then Rosie said, I love you.
Peony made the little half-laugh half-cough noise again, and in something more 
like her usual voice said: Well, I told you we would be sisters, didnt I? Oh, 
Rosie, I was terrified of you! Youre as tall as a man, and as strong, from all 
that time at the forge, and you were Narls friend! Everybody is a little afraid 
of Narl! And your aunt and your cousin are the two best fairies in the Gig, and 
you talk to animals better than any fairy anyone has ever heard of. You were 
going to despise me, I knew it!
I wouldnt have dared. The whole village thinks youre perfect.
Yes, said Peony, all the energy draining away from her again, and in that soft 
monosyllable Rosie heard what her friend was trying to tell her, and her heart 
ached.
Therell be supper by the time we get back, said Rosie, and Peony nodded. They 
returned to the wrights yard in silence, but Rosie had Peony firmly by the 
hand, and Peony did not resist when Rosie drew her indoors. A delicious steamy 
smell of meat and greens and boiled oats met them, and Katrionas voice.
Ive never seen anything like it. In the first place, seven of the little 
monsters at the same time? And thiserlively with it? There isnt that much 
magic in Foggy Bottomin the Gigand Dackwiths family, you know, has never had 
any magic in it ever, not even a third cousin who could clear a kettle. And 
usuallyyou know how it goesall you have to do is herd them, like a sheepdog 
with sheep. Kids are usually pretty willing to be herded, underneath the tricks; 
as often as not theyre scared to death by what they can do and really want you 
to stop them even if they cant help trying to do it anyway. Not this lot. Some 
days Ive actually thought they were going to get away from melike today, 
right, Peony? She was ladling as she spoke, and Rosie and Peony sat down next 
to Joeb and Barder, Peonys eyes lingering briefly on her charm, now hanging 
harmlessly on the wall, above Aunts spinning wheel. The little gargoyle face 
grinned as if it understood the joke.
Joeb sneezed. No oneincluding Joebhad known he was allergic to magic dust till 
Aunt and Katriona had moved in. Aunt was providing him with free anti-dust 
charms, since it was her and Katrionas fault that the wheelwrights house was 
suddenly much fuller of dust than it had been, but finding precisely the right 
strength and proportions was proving difficult. Joeb was perfectly good-humoured 
about it, and they would get the charm right eventually. (Neither Aunt nor 
Katriona could think of anything to do about Barders mothers habit of running 
a finger over some surface, whenever she came to visit, and then inspecting the 
inevitably dirty tip of it with the expression of a woman who has just found a 
toad in her soup.)
And its not only the children, is it, Aunt? said Katriona. I was 
rite-keeping Shons new wheelhorse, and of course hes risking it by waiting 
till he can come to Foggy Bottom to have a new animal rited, but the worst has 
never happened yet, has it? But this time I could feel thethe texture of the 
keeping trying to twist out of my hands. Ive never seen nor felt anything like 
that either.
There was a silence, but Aunt was frowning.
Joeb said hesitantly, Ertheres a talea fairy tale And sneezed, harder this 
time.
Ward and keep you, said Katriona quickly. You could lose all kinds of 
important bits if you sneezed too hard and one shot out, and there was something 
waiting to steal it. Not that she or Aunt couldnt get it back, but it was 
better not to lose it in the first place. Yes? she said. You mean that might 
apply here?
Well, it might, said Joeb cautiously; he was still a little in awe of his 
masters new family. Its just that sometimes when a fairy marries, theres 
more magic around for a little while after.
Aunt said, Yes, I know that one. Its supposed to be one of the reasons fairies 
marry less often than the rest of you. I think the tale came after the fact, but 
never mind.
Its true then? said Katriona.
Perhaps, Aunt said neutrally. Church ceremonies trouble the connection 
between the magical and the ordinary. A fairy in the middle of an important one 
could draw a kind of magical attention to it that pulls the balance out for a 
little while.
Draw attention? said Katriona; and Rosie looked up from her plate, wondering 
why Katrionas voice had gone so odd.
I wouldnt worry about it, said Aunt, still neutral. Its only a little extra 
baby-magicseven of them together are very likely to have had some cumulative 
potency as welland Shon may have waited longer than usual. But Aunts and 
Katrionas eyes turned to Rosie, and then, after a moment, Barder looked at her, 
too, thoughtfully.
Dont look at me! said Rosie. Its nothing to do with me! All I did was stand 
around wearing that silly crown of flowers and being taller than everyone except 
Barder! I only talk to animals! Im not a fairy!
   
Three days after that conversation Rosie woke up in the middle of the night to a 
crash that shook the house. She lay for a moment trying to catch her breath, 
because she felt as if she personally had been thrown to the ground and the 
breath knocked out of her, though she was still in her bed. Her head swam. But 
as soon as she could she levered herself out of bed to look for the others. She 
still did not know the house well enough to walk through it confidently in the 
dark, and she felt her way down the stairs, toward the wavering light she could 
now see round the frame of the not-quite-closed kitchen door.
She pushed the door open with an effort and found Aunt bent over the fire, which 
should have been banked and dark at this time of night, rapidly throwing some 
reeking herb onto the flames, while Katriona knelt by the hearth muttering 
rhythmically, in what Rosie recognised as a spell-chant; but she had never heard 
her speak so quickly and desperately before. There were little flickering 
shadows on the walls, like robins shadows, although Rosie could not see the 
robins themselves.
Kat she said; but her voice was a croak; the pressure on her chest she had 
felt upstairs had returned. She thought she heard Katriona falter at the sound 
of her voice; but by then Rosie was sinking to her knees, her vision slowly 
clouding over: Im fainting, she thought; Ive never fainted before; how very 
odd this feels; I feel as if I am no longer quite here. There were strong 
streaks of colour across her vision-purpley grey, like a malevolent fog. And 
then she felt something round her neck, and it burned, it was burning her, no, 
it was burning the queer oily cloud she seemed to be suspended in, and then she 
felt a hand grasping her upper arm so hard it hurt, and she was back in the 
kitchen again-of course she had never left it-only she was lying on the floor, 
and it was Katrionas hand on her arm, and Katriona was kneeling beside her.
Rosie? said Katriona.
Rosie sat up cautiously. She could breathe again, but there was still a hot, 
almost-burning sensation round her neck and across her upper chest, as if she 
were wearing a fiery necklace; she put her hand up to it and found a little bit 
of charred string, which came apart in her hand. She looked at it, completely 
bewildered; the fragments smudged across her fingers and fell to her lap. Oh, 
Kat, she said, Im sorry; Ive ruined your magic for you, havent I? I didnt 
know you ever diddid thingsin the middle of the night like this. I woke 
upthere was this awful crashand I couldnt breathe for a moment.
Its not your fault, said Katriona; there was a lit candle at her elbow, and 
the hollows of her eyes looked huge. Ifif it was disturbing you, you were 
right to come and tell us. Its a very good thing you came down. Rosie, if 
anything like that ever happens again, come and tell us at once. Do you hear me? 
Promise. Promise that youll find Aunt or me immediately.
Yesyes, I promise, said Rosie, looking at her wonderingly. Waswas it just 
me? Not Barder or Joeb or the littles?
Yes, it was just you, whispered Katriona, and she let go of Rosies arm and 
sat down with a bump. Different peoplereact differently. Like Joeb and dust. 
Its not your fault.
Rosie looked across the kitchen to where Aunt was still standing by the fire; 
but the herbs she threw in now she threw in pinches, not handfuls, and the 
tension had gone out of her. She looked at Rosie and smiled. Go back to bed, 
dear heart. Its over now. Kat, you go to bed too. I can finish here. Its 
over.
   
The baby-magic wore off at last, and Katrionas seven little monsters were sent 
home, Tibby and Dackwith and Mona looking rather dazed, as if they couldnt 
quite remember what had been happening for the last four months. The weather was 
peculiar for the rest of that year (much to the farmers dismay), with 
hailstorms in summer and warm heavy rain after the winter solstice when there 
should have been hard frosts and fairy rimes which might tell fairy seers 
something about the year to come. Katriona and Aunt were kept busier than usual 
disentangling sprite and spirit mischief, and even the good-natured domestic 
hobs and brownies showed a tendency to curdle milk and sour beer and throw shoes 
left out to be cleaned in the dung heap. But the year turned, and became another 
year, and things settled down to their usual level of business.
Katriona and Barders first baby was born eighteen months after the wedding, 
shortly after Rosie turned sixteen. Rosie was steeling herself to feel 
superfluous and misplaced (she had spoken to Peony about this, but no one else), 
and the afternoon Katrionas pains started and the midwife was put on alert, 
there being nothing at the forge that couldnt wait, Rosie went out for a long 
walk in the forest. She gave herself a very earnest talking-to, only half 
listening to all the birds and beasts giving her kindly messages for the 
mother-to-be-or at least only half listening till Fwab turned up. Fwab was a 
chaffinch who felt that his second-most-important role in life (the first being 
to raise as many little chaffinches as possible) was to educate the strange 
human who talked to animals.
He flew down and landed on Rosies head, and gave her scalp several sharp pecks. 
Ow! said Rosie crossly, and brushed him away.
He fluttered just out of reach and sat down on her head once again.
Pay attention! he said, peck. Babies are important! Peck. Babies are the most 
important! Peck.
All right, said Rosie. I hear you. Go away.
You humans live too long; thats your problem, said Fwab, but he spread his 
wings and flew off.
It had already been arranged that Rosie should sleep with Peony if Katriona was 
still having her baby overnight; but that night Rosie couldnt sleep. The houses 
were close enough together that she could hear the bustle from the other side of 
the courtyard, and see the glow of the light cast from the upstairs window. 
Besides, she could hear the mice chatting away about it. Mice are terribly 
chatty. They will chat about anything, and if there is nothing to chat about, 
they will chat about having nothing to chat about. Compared with mice, robins 
are reserved. Rosie felt that if mice did less chatting they would be supper for 
cats and owls less often, but this was not her concern.
The most important rule of the beast world was: You do not interfere.
So she lay next to Peony the night Katrionas first baby was born and listened 
to the mice, and so of course she knew when the babys head was seen, and when 
the rest of him followed, and she wondered if Katriona had thought about the 
mice, and if she hadnt sent Rosie any farther away because it was all right 
with her that Rosie should know from them what was going on, or that there was 
nowhere else to send her or that Katriona had forgotten about Rosie in the 
excitement of the baby. She remembered the dark wakeful nights in the cottage 
loft before the wedding, when she had listened to the echoes telling her she was 
not who she believed she was. She wished she had the gargoyle spindle end with 
her, tucked under her pillow; she had thought of asking if she could take it 
with her, but it seemed too childish, and she was too old to be childish. She 
had given up being childish during those last weeks at the cottage.
She was already tiptoeing round Peonys room and picking up her clothes when she 
heard the first faint cry. She dressed slowly and carefully in the gentle 
darkness, as if she were preparing to meet a stranger she needed to make a good 
impression on. She stepped into the hallway, but then halfway down the stairs 
she stopped, and wasnt sure if she could go any farther. She put her hand 
against the wall, and finally went on, but as if this were an unknown staircase, 
and there might be ogres at the bottom.
She met the midwife, wrapping her cloak round her for her homeward journey, 
crossing the forecourt; Arnisa smiled at her, and patted her arm. A fine big 
boy, she said. Rosie went in the kitchen door and exchanged a long look with 
Flinx, who was guarding the door from the kitchen to the rest of the house and, 
for once, failing to present himself as utterly indifferent to circumstances. 
She went slowly upstairs to Barder and Katrionas bedroom, making a wide circle 
round a bundle of stained bedding and soiled straw standing by the door.
Come in, said Aunts voice. I thought you wouldnt be asleep.
I knew the mice would tell you, said Katriona faintly, as Rosie timidly pushed 
the door open. Come see. Katriona looked exhausted, but her face had been 
washed and her hair combed. The bedclothes still smelled of the herbs in the 
linen cupboard, but there was another, stronger smell in the room. Barder stood 
up from Katrionas side and came toward Rosie, offering her the little bundle he 
carried. It took her a moment to realise that he was expecting her to take it in 
her arms, and not just peer at the little red squinched-up face at one end of 
it. This is Jem, said Barder. Hes yourIm not sure what the name of it is, 
but hes your family.



Chapter 12
 ^  
Rosie wasnt so sure about babies, whatever Fwab said, but she didnt feel 
superfluous and displaced so much as suddenly one of the grown-ups who were all 
in this mess together. The empty, lost feeling that had troubled her before 
Katrionas wedding had been mostly filled up or pushed aside by her new life and 
new responsibilitiesbut Jem squashed the remains of it flat. Jem took up as 
much time as there was time. Is it because hes a fairy? said Rosie, baffled, 
to Aunt.
No, dear, its just because hes a baby, said Aunt, refraining, with heroic 
self-control, from remarking that Rosie had been a baby just like him (if not 
more so) not so very long ago. When Rosie was eighteen and Jem was two, and 
walking, and beginning to talk, and while he was a total little pest (thought 
Rosie) he was also almost recognisable as a future human being, Katriona had 
Gilly, and it started all over again.
One evening when Rosie was walking Gilly, who was going through an unfortunate 
phase when she would only consent to sleep if she was in some grown-ups arms 
and that grown-up was walking the floor with her, Rosie thought: We havent 
heard any rumours about Pernicia in in since the wedding. Shon doesnt tell us 
stories about the kings magicians any moreand we havent seen some poor 
cavalry lieutenant through here on a wild-goose chase in a long time. Rosie 
looked into Gillys little sleeping faceshe had gone all limp and squashy, like 
bread dough that has absorbed too much waterand tried to be pleased. But Rosie 
at eighteen was too old to believe that something out of sight was something 
safe; and from nowhere a cold tendril of fear touched her.
Thank you, love, said Katriona, coming through the door yawning from her nap; 
Ill take her now.
Kat said Rosie, handing the baby over delicately, but not so delicately that 
she didnt grizzle and threaten to wake up and cry properly, Kat, we havent 
heard about Pernicia in years. Even Gismo doesnt have any stories about anybody 
but the three princes any more.
No, said Katriona, beginning to walk round the kitchen as Rosie had walked. 
The kitchen was their biggest room, and well laid out for walking, with the long 
table down its centre and the spinning wheel in the corner by the door. No, we 
havent. Her eyes went to a little three-legged iron pot that now held a roll 
of charm string. Rosie had never found out what had happened to Katrionas 
necklace; only that its loss had distressed her greatly.
But what about the poor princess? said Rosie.
I dont know, said Katriona, looking back at Rosie, and Rosie saw that she was 
sad and frightened and worried, and Rosie thought, how like Kat, to love someone 
shes never met because she has a curse hanging over her and it must be really 
awful for her. Poor princess. I wish I could tell her she has someone like Kat 
on her side. I hope the royal fairies are nice to her, but they cant be half as 
nice as Kat. Maybe Pernicias given up, she suggested, and the princess will 
go home tomorrow.
Katriona tried to smile. I wish. She went on, quietly, not to disturb the 
baby, but as if she had thought about it a long time: Curses tend to wear out, 
of course; but shed know that. Shed have set up something to bind over the 
passage of time before she came to the name-day. Sometimes crossing the 
threshold from child to adult may break even a powerful curse, as it did for 
Lord Curran many years agoRosie nodded; Barder had taught her the ballad about 
itwe hoped but she must have found a way round that too. Aunt has always said 
its been the twenty-first birthday from the beginning; the rest is just 
cruelty, as if the curse werent cruel enough
Maybe maybe it is only cruelty, said Rosie hesitantly. Maybe it is only that 
one birthday. Maybe the princess could go home tomorrow. Till the night before 
her twenty-first birthday.
No, said Katriona. She was frowning slightly, and her eyes were focussed on 
something Rosie couldnt seesomething that Rosie wouldnt have been able to see 
even if shed turned round and looked. No. Sigthe queens fairy would know if 
it were safe. She blinked, and now she was looking at a spider letting itself 
down cautiously from a ceiling beam. Rosie looked at the spider, too. It swung 
back and forth indecisively, gleaming a tiny chitinous gleam in the lamplight, 
and then ran back up its invisible thread, and disappeared into the shadows.
Katriona rearranged Gilly slightly. Im only half awake, Rosie, dont listen to 
me maunder on.
I wish I knew the princess would win out in the end, said Rosie.
So do I, said Katriona.
   
By then Rosie was very absorbed with her work as a horse doctor and occasionally 
cow, sheep, pig, goat, dog, bird, cat, and almost anything else that wasnt 
human doctor. Aunt and Katriona had tried to tease her about all the business 
she was taking away from them, but she was so distressed by this they stopped. 
(Barder still occasionally told her that she should stay home more and whittle 
spindle ends, but since this was usually a lead-in to his showing her another 
deft little trick with knife and wood, she allowed this.) Often enough the 
answer to some ailment came from a joint consultation. Most animals, for example 
(unlike most humans), knew when they were being haunted; this saved diagnosis 
time, because Rosie could relay the information. But Rosie couldnt do anything 
about an earth sprite causing mud fever or a water imp causing rain scald, 
although once, on an occasion of the former, she discovered half by accident 
that the earth sprite was in a temper because all his best tunnels had been 
knocked through and redug by a mole, and managed to talk the mole into moving 
its efforts to the other side of the field.
She had seen the two grooms in Lord Prens livery arrive at the Wrights yard 
across the square from the smiths one morning, and had guessed they were 
calling for Aunt and Katriona, and was a little intrigued at what sort of thing 
Lord Pren would feel required both of them; but when she saw Aunt coming across 
the square toward the smiths yard with the two grooms following, leading their 
horses, her heart sank, because she was afraid she was going to be asked to 
baby-sit.
They want me? she said.
You, said Aunt, smiling.
Told you, said Narl, through a mouthful of nails. Been waiting till you turn 
eighteen. Eighteen was the official age when you could declare you werent an 
apprentice any more, or at least that you could begin to take on work of your 
own, even if you stayed with your master, and if he or she did not object to it.
Rosie, for once speechless, climbed up behind the second groom, and juddered 
back to Woodwold at a cracking trot. She didnt much like riding horses; it 
seemed rude. Pardon me, she said to the horse. My pleasure, replied the horse, 
who fancied himself quite sophisticated in the customs of humans.
She had been to Woodwold before. Lord Pren invited the entire Gig to dinner on 
certain feast days every year (and the town councillors sat at the Prendergasts 
own table), and then the park all round the vast conglomeration of buildings and 
towers and corners and crannies that was Woodwold was covered with stalls 
selling sweetmeats and charms and ribbons and weaving and toys and spindle ends 
(Barders had fetched the best price now for several years, but Rosies were 
beginning to come close), and there were always bards and mastersingers, and 
dancing, especially as the sun went down and the beer, ale and cider consumption 
went up. Even then, with hundreds of people around, you could feel the great 
bulk of Woodwold watching you, but Woodwold was the only really big building 
anywhere in the Gig and the only one therefore that most Gig citizens had ever 
seen; and while there were tales about Woodwold, well, there would be. It would 
be very disappointing if your lord didnt have tales spun round him and his 
family and his holdings; and the Prendergasts themselves had all been so 
tediously normal and solid and responsible for so many generations it was a good 
thing that Woodwold existed to give the bards something to work with. But if it 
loomed over you, well, presumably all large buildings loomed; they couldnt help 
it; and the watchfulness of it was probably just a surfeit of bards tales (and 
possibly of beer).
But Rosie felt differently about Woodwold when she started coming out alone with 
Narl as part of her apprenticeship.
After the fork in the road out of Foggy Bottom the way broadened from a carriage 
width to twice that, and just before you got to the big gates it went twice its 
double width to a great round space like a courtyard, except there was nothing 
there but the gates and the stone wall, twelve foot high, stretching out on 
either side farther than your eyes could see. The gates themselves were twice as 
tall as the tallest carriage and wrought with an intricacy Rosie found amazing. 
(The Gig, and many of the Prendergasts outside visitors, said of them that they 
were so beautiful they might have been magic, if magic could ever have stuck to 
cold iron, or a blacksmith work it.)
When you crossed the invisible line from outside Woodwolds grounds to inside 
your stomach gave a tiny lurch as if youd been briefly turned upside down and 
then right side up again, and your horses hoofs and cart wheels, or even your 
own feet, threw up surprising clouds of dust, just for a few steps. (Lady 
Prendergast always ordered long chains of dust-laying spells before the feast 
days, which were draped gracefully over the open gates.)
Then the drive went on and on and on, because the park went on and on and on, 
and there were beautiful trees and small russet coloured deer nothing like the 
large ordinary deer in the Gig forests (including the fact that they were half 
tame and looked forward to the days after the open feast days, when there were 
always excellent gleanings to be had round where the food stalls had stood) and 
sudden vistas with queer little buildings or statues at the ends of them.
About the time you decided youd wandered into some kind of enchantment and were 
beginning to wonder if you could get out again, there were the stables, on the 
outskirts of Woodwold.
Woodwold always seemed to stand against the sun whichever way you were facing as 
you looked at it, and wherever the sun was in the sky. It was built of both 
stone and wood, and both had darkened over the centuries and, seemingly, grown 
into each other, till it was impossible to tell where one left off and the other 
began. If you tried to analyse it, it was a very uneven house, with a wing here 
and an outbuilding there, an extra storey in this bit but not in that, six 
windows on this side of this door but seven on the other. But its impression was 
nonetheless of great centredness, of some profound organising spirit or 
principle that informed it from the least and lowest scullery to the tip of the 
tallest tower, where the Prendergasts standard flew.
Which is to say it felt alive. Or at least it felt alive to Rosie. She always 
half expected it to talk to hershe could half feel the sense, whatever it was, 
she used to talk to animals, straining for some contact with it. The stone wall 
was the boundary; she would have known where she was as soon as she passed the 
gates if shed come blindfolded.
She would have felt Woodwolds presence.
It seemed bigger that day, without Narl. Narl was a greater neutraliser of 
unknown potencies even than Aunt.
She felt she was lucky, that first time by herself. Gorse, Lord Prens favourite 
stallion, was off his feed. They treat me like a parade saddle, Gorse told her. 
To be polished and polished and polished, and then hung on a hook until theres 
a parade. Gorse was sixteen and a half hands tall and as golden as 
late-afternoon sunlight; just standing near him made you feel prouder and 
nobler.
Your manners are too good, said Rosie. If youd bite people occasionally, and 
throw tantrums, theyd get the idea.
Gorse bowed his head so he could look into her faceif Gorse had a fault, it was 
that his sense of humour was a little statelyand she could look in his. The 
resigned sadness in his dark eye made her brusquer than she would have been if 
shed remembered whom she was talking to, and that her future might depend on 
what she said next. Take him hunting, Rosie said aloud. Let him get sweaty 
and dirty and tired and frightened. Hes gone all hollow inside; he needs 
something to do.
Hehe is put to the finest mares in the country, said the Master of the Horse, 
rattled and anxious. He thought of being angry, but the look on the horses 
faceand on Rosies-stopped him.
Rosie gave a little jerk of laughter. That isnt what you do she said. Is 
it? She liked Lord Prens Master of the Horse, and, more important, he liked 
her. Hed always been very polite to her when she had been there with Narl, and 
even contracted apprentices, which she was not, were not necessarily treated 
with much regard. She now looked the Master full in the face, saw him take in 
what she had said, and then a reluctant smile relaxed his expression. Youre 
every bit as blunt as Narl, he said. He seems to have trained you thoroughly. 
Very well, I shall tell Lord Prendergast that he should take the most valuable 
horse in his stables out hunting. Theres a boar hunt soon, for the rogue that 
has been tearing up Mistweir; will that do?
Woodwolds Master of the Horse began calling her my Rosie when talking about 
her to other horsefolk, and seemed to look on her as something between a 
protge and a daughter. But her particular gift was not merely that she could 
talk to the horses, but hear and be heard by them. She was called out one day 
when Fast, a big blood-bay racer, had developed his dislike of moving shadows to 
a point when he would throw himself over backward rather than leave his stall 
and then take his stall to bits because he felt restless and shut in.
You self-absorbed brat, she said, flinging his stall door open. You try one of 
your melodramas on me and Ill hit you over the head with a plank. What is it 
you think you want? To be king of the world? That would get boring too, you 
know, making decisions about whos right and whos wrong when your citizens 
disagree, and trying to figure out whos plotting against you and what to do 
about it. Get it through your thick head that there are other creatures here who 
are just as important as you are, whatever you may think, and start behaving 
like it, or Ill tell the huntsman to turn you into a hearth rug.
Fast, who had reared up as soon as the door opened, dropped back to earth again 
looking rather dazed. Rosie felt a very little bit guilty, because he was very 
young, and very, very fast, and his grooms and riders had all been taught to 
treat his every whim with great deference. It was not entirely his fault that 
hed started stirring things up because he could. But he still had to be made to 
stop. Lord Pren would neither have a dangerous horse in his stables, nor sell a 
brute on. Rosie told herself she was saving Fasts life, crossed her arms, and 
scowled at him ferociously.
She could feel him thinking, but he gave her no words. After about a minute of 
tumultuous silence he bowed his neck and made small humble chewing noises, like 
a distressed foal. Rosie unfolded her arms and reached to rub his forehead. Want 
to go for a walk? she said. Its a lovely afternoon.
She told Narl about the confrontation with Fast while she watched him working on 
the new good-luck medallion to hang behind the bar at the pub. Theyd had a 
silver one that had belonged to Cairngorms grandmother, but it had exploded, a 
few weeks ago, which had unnerved everyone very much, especially Cairngorm, who 
didnt think she had any enemies that either disliked her that much or could 
afford to do anything so histrionic about it. But she decided to take no 
chances, and ordered its replacement in cold iron. Barder had lately been 
teaching Narl fancy knot-work, and the medallion looked like a great weave of 
black rope.
Rosie had taken Fast for his walk down the drive to the gates, and had stood 
staring at them for several minutes while Fast browsed for more interesting 
grasses than grew in Woodwolds flawlessly kept paddocks. At a distance you saw 
uprights with three crosspieces near the top and three more at the bottom, but 
when you stood close and peered, the framework disappeared in a seethe of plants 
and animals, all wound and folded together like a heap of sleeping puppies, so 
that lions faces emerged from twists of clematis vines, a leaping hare arched 
its belly over a curl of snake, and pansies and roses grew like a mane down the 
backbone of a bear. She had reawoken to her surroundings when Fast came up 
behind her and nibbled at the nape of her neck.
Narl she began, and he glanced up at her, and she thought, you wretch, youve 
already decided not to answer whatever it is I ask. Is it true Lord Pren 
brought you here to make those gates?
No, said Narl, and returned to his medallion. Rosie sighed, and headed for 
home, to weed the herb garden.
She was still thinking about Woodwold when Aunt called her in to help get tea 
ready. She couldnt quite bring herself to say I keep waiting for it to speak 
to me so instead she said, Theres a funny almost smell to the place, she 
said. Isnt there? Of course theyve got some kind of barrier up at the gate, 
and the jolt of crossing it almost makes me think Im smelling hot mead or 
cellar mould or something. But after youre well inside it gets more distinct, 
not less, except that you cant think of anything it smells like. Its not even 
really a smell I think.
Aunt looked at her with interest. No, youre right. But its as much like a 
smell as it is like anything else, and you might as well call it that. I 
wouldnt have expected you to pick it up. You have absorbed more living with 
Katriona and me than I thought.
You mean its a magic smell? said Rosie, wrinkling her nose; but that may have 
been from the proximity of Jem, who had been outdoors rolling in something 
noxious, probably from watching Zogdob do it first. Flinx, following Rosie in 
from the garden, had already approached Jem in apparent disbelief, stuck out 
first his whiskers and then his tail, and stalked majestically from the room.
Not exactly, said Aunt, but its a smell that is produced by the fact of 
having magic around.
Rosie laughed. A typical fairy answer. Even if I had turned out a fairy, I 
would never have got my mind round it. Youdve had to make a charm for melike 
Snick carrying a bit of hawthorn and rowan when he plays cardsor Idve gone on 
doing a kind of horrible baby-magic till I died of old age.
Aunt got the look on her face that meant she was thinking about something else, 
and even if you asked her what it was she wouldnt tell you. Not necessarily. 
Magic usually flows to the shape of its vessel. If you would be so kind as to 
divest that child of his clothing, I will upend him in the bath. In his present 
condition he will put us all off our tea.
When the initial force of Jems protest was spent, and he had declared his 
intention to be a fish, in the hopes of getting a reaction for having used a bad 
word (disappointed, he began to splash water on the floor), Rosie said 
thoughtfully, But I still dont understand. The Prendergasts arent fairies or 
magicians. They barely have babymagicthat really fine walking forest a few 
years ago was the butlers son, wasnt it? I remember you making that enormous 
charm so he could stay home. They dont even keep fairies of their ownwhich is 
why theyre always asking for you and Kat. So what is thethe smell?
Aunt finished scrubbing Jems hair and dipped some water over his head. Its 
the house itself, she said briefly. Youve heard the stories.
This was not the answer Rosie wanted. The idea that something so powerful slept 
so lightly under the surface of the ordinary worldmagic-pocked and -dishevelled 
as the ordinary world wasthat even an ordinary person who happened to live with 
two fairies might notice its presence, made her very uneasy. Never mind that it 
always seemed to be on the brink of talking to her.
Aunt, looking at her, guessed some of this. Think of it as a kind of watchdog, 
she said. Think of Spear.
Rosies mobile face immediately relaxed as visions of large, turreted watchdogs 
marched solemnly across her inner eye. She had taken her first steps clinging to 
Spears tail, while Flora and Katriona washed platters and mugs and talked. 
While his dark coat was now almost white with age he was still the terror of 
rowdy drunks all over the Gig.



Chapter 13
 ^  
What began with a minor charm gone slightly awry had set a pleasant precedent. 
Most noontimes Peony still came to the smiths yard with her and Rosies meal 
hot from the fire at home or from the big communal oven between the pub and the 
bakers, and she and Rosie and Narl ate together, or rather Peony and Rosie ate 
together and talked (Peony was more sympathetic toward some of Lord Prens 
spoilt beauties than Rosie was) while Narl wandered round the forge examining 
whatever he was doing or was planning to do today or this sennight or next year. 
Narl thought sitting down to eat was a waste of time (and hot food in the middle 
of a working day nearly indecent).
One day Peony was describing the collar she was embroidering for Dessy to wear 
at Floras wedding, and broke off and began to laugh. Rosie, your face. You 
would rather be bent into a curve, fried in the fire, and nailed to the bottom 
of some horses foot than pick up a needle, wouldnt you?
Yes, said Rosie. Rosie had been taught basic hemming and mending from Aunt and 
Katriona, hated it, and while she was far too honest to try to get out of it by 
doing it badly, did it naturally so badly that she got out of it anyway.
The problem is only that youve never learnt to like sewing. Embroidery is the 
way to do that, said Peony.
Rosie periodically fell into moods of gloom because she felt she was so little 
help to Aunt and Katriona, who would probably rather have had her time and a 
clever pair of hands than the coins Woodwolds Master of the Horse gave her, and 
so she was willing (if reluctantly) to think that possibly needlework could help 
make up for her other failings. So, that evening, while they were alone in 
Rosies kitchen, Peony brought out a few coloured threads and a bit of stiff 
cloth, thoughtfully chose a nice serene blue to begin with, and showed her 
friend two or three basic stitches.
But Rosies fingers, once the needle and cloth had been turned over to them for 
practise, as if they each had minds of their own and been perfectly drilled in 
teamwork since birth, started flying across the little stretch of linen, dipping 
the needle in and out and producing, as if from out of the air, the most 
wonderful landscape of bright flowers and butterflies.
Rosies fingers came to the end of the bit of material and turned it ninety 
degrees to begin the next row; but the rest of Rosie jerked violently back, like 
a person on a runaway horse might pull on the reins, and the little square of 
cloth fell to the floor, needle and thread trailing behind it. Rosie tucked her 
hands under her arms and sat, trembling and shoulders hunched, in her chair, 
while Peony bent down and picked up the scrap of cloth, and stretched it gently 
between her hands.
But Rosie, its beautiful, she said. When did you learn to embroider like 
this? I thought you told me you didnt know how.
I dont know how, said Rosie in a muffled tone.
Well, it doesnt matter, said Peony, meaning to be soothing. You do know how, 
and this is one of the prettiest bits of work I can remember seeingfar beyond 
anything I can do. I dont even understand one or two of the stitches youve 
used. Your work will be in terrific demand the moment I show this to anyone
You cant, said Rosie, making half a snatch at it where Peony was holding it 
up, and pulling her hand back at the last moment as if she were unwilling to 
touch it. Youre not allowed to show it to anyone. I forbid it.
But said poor Peony, bewildered. Butarent you going to do more? Dont you 
understand how good you are?
Im not good at it! shouted Rosie. I dont know what happened! Its got 
nothing to do with me! Dont you dare tell anyone! I am never going to touch 
another needle as long as I live! And she burst into tears and rushed out of 
the room, narrowly avoiding bumping into Aunt, who had come to see what the 
commotion was about.
   
In a little while Rosie, with her head under her pillow, felt, by the gentle 
flexing of the floorboards communicated through her bed frame, someone come into 
her room. A familiar hand touched her shoulder, and a familiar weight sat on the 
edge of her bed. Rosie, without taking her head from under the pillow, reached 
out one of her dangerous, traitorous hands, and grasped Katrionas hand.
Katriona could feel the fingers still trembling, and her professional fairys 
mind noted the signs of aftershock. An old enchantment suddenly brought into use 
often made its subject tremble uncontrollably; it was another example of the 
force of Rosies personality and will that she had managed to raise the latch on 
a door, thunder upstairs, put a pillow over her head, and reach out to cling to 
Katrionas hand as if that clasp was all that was saving her from falling into a 
chasm.
An old enchantment suddenly brought into use also left a trail in the air, like 
smoke from a fire, for anyone to see, if they were looking.
No Gig fairy would think twice about it, coming from this house, any more than 
any passer-by would think twice about ordinary smoke from a house chimney. Aunt 
was, even now, hastily lighting a larger magical fire to obscure the faint trace 
of the accident that had befallen Rosie.
Just as their own relative poverty protected Rosie from learning how well she 
might make sweetmeats, so her loathing for needlework would, Aunt and Katriona 
had allowed themselves to think, protect her from her gift for embroidery. Who 
could have anticipated a loving, patient and domestic friend like Peony for 
Rosie? Katriona sighed. Would Peony want to show Rosie how to dance and play the 
flute next? They couldnt risk putting the tiniest charm against it on Peony; it 
would be impossible to make such a charm invisible without making its unseen 
presence even more obtrusive in other ways.
Katriona thought of several occasions earlier in Rosies life and thought, This 
is such a small mistake. Surely well be lucky this time. We must be.
Katriona stroked Rosies shoulder briefly with her free hand and then pulled a 
little tuft of herbs tied together with string out of her apron pocket. This 
will help the shakes, she said to the head under the pillow. If you will come 
out from under there and sniff it.
Rosie sat up and shed the pillow like a bear emerging from hibernation. She 
clamped her shaking hands together on the tuft that Katriona offered her, and 
sniffed. Her eyes were wet and red. When she spoke her voice was not quite 
steady. Theres something wrong with me, isnt there? she said. Theres 
something I cant quite remember aboutabout before I lived with you. I know I 
was too young to remember anything, but I do. Well its not exactly a memory. 
Its just knowing that something doesnt fit.
She stopped, because she wasnt going to tell Katriona about the time just 
before the wedding, when Katriona had been so happy, because it might take 
something away from the memory of that happiness to know that Rosie hadnt been. 
It never bothered me. But that was an enchantment, just now. Peony may not 
know itshe didnt grow up with two fairiesbut I know it. Why did someone put a 
spell on me? A spell to do embroidery? What am I?
Whats the rest of the spell? Do you know? What she wasnt saying was: Am I 
dangerous to you and Aunt, to Barder and Jem and Gillyand Peony? What do you 
know about what I cant remember? Aunt always says that my mother had no magic 
and my fathers entire family had never had any magic. Then why enchant me?
What she wasnt saying was: I am your cousin and Aunts niece, arent I?
Katriona was shaking her head, not because she wished to lie to Rosie any more 
explicitly than the last nineteen years had been a kind of lying to her, but 
because she had no idea what to say. If she had not been so preoccupied, she 
would have heard the unspoken questions, and would have known that a warm flood 
of reassurance would drown the awkward ones most effectively; but she didnt 
hear them.
Katriona still often dreamed of the princess name-day, and about small spiders 
weaving grey webs on velvet sleeves, and woke up suddenly as if shed heard the 
words spoken aloud, finding herself in her own bedroom with Barders warm, 
gently snoring body lying comfortingly next to her. She didnt like remembering. 
She didnt see it couldnt mean that Rosie would, one day, be taken away from 
them; andas Barder had said the night Jem was bornshe didnt know what you 
called it, but they were her family. Rosie was theirs. But since Katriona had 
married, and especially since she had had children of her own, her dread of the 
memory of Rosies origin became almost intolerable.
The three of them who knew never discussed it. Aunt and Katriona were rarely 
alone together any more, but even when they were, the subject of Rosie did not 
come up as it used to. Rosie was an adult: she had her work and a life of her 
own. Their old discussions of how to manage her were no longer necessary; and 
what else there was to discuss did not bear discussion. Not with her 
twenty-first birthday now so near. Barder never mentioned it, although, Katriona 
thought sometimes, watching him tease Rosie, or teach her a new ballad, or a 
better way to arrive at the effect she wanted on something she was whittling, 
that he was restraining the same sort of fierce possessiveness about her that 
Katriona herself felt: Rosie was one of them. But as Rosie grew older, so grew 
nearer that inevitable parting, a parting so profound Katriona thought it would 
be like seeing her die
And what if they could not, finally, defeat Pernicia? They had two years left: 
and still no word, no robin-borne whisper, nothing, from Sigil. Only two years. 
Katriona plunged into speech, to get away from that most appalling thought.
Iweit will only make things worse, to tell you now, she said. Im 
sorrydarling, Im sorryIm not just being mysterious, you do believe me, dont 
you? We have been waiting forfor a sign. I do not know why it is so long in 
coming.
There was a silence. Rosie was still sniffing, half tearily, half dutifully, at 
the herbs in her hands. But her colour was better, and her hands no longer 
shook. She heard in Katrionas voice that they had been waiting years. Nineteen 
years? You are so helpless when things happen to you when you were a baby. You 
cant even remember what they were. You can only sort of half guess they were 
there
She thought of the echoes in the darkness, before the wedding, before Jems 
birth, telling her that she was not who she believed herself to be, that she did 
not belong to these people she loved. The Beast at least knew why he had been 
turned into a beast, she said finally, referring to a tale she had made Barder 
tell her over and over when she was very small, and Katriona, her nerves 
overstretched with sorrow and anxiety and indecision, gave a shout of laughter.
Rosie smiled reluctantly. If it werent fairy business, Id fight you about 
it, she said. But if I do, well both get cross, and then Aunt will have to 
make peace between us, and I still wont have learnt anything, so I wont. She 
handed the herb bundle back to Katriona. Thank you.
She brooded. This is the first time I can ever remember wantingjust a 
littleto be a fairy. So I could know.
Darling, it doesnt work like that, Katriona said gently, trying not to start 
laughing again, because she knew it would hurt Rosies feelings, when the 
laughter would be at herself, for her frustrated unknowing. Rosie was giving her 
a youre-just-saying-that-to-make me-feel-better look, and Katriona added 
truthfully, Im still waiting for my familiar animal to find me, you know. Im 
a fairy, and I dont know.
Rosie, who could only, barely, with the greatest effort of intellect, imagine 
what it was like for the rest of the human world not to talk to animals, and 
couldnt even begin to imagine what it was like for Katriona to have had 
beast-speech and lost it, gave a deep sigh, leaned forward, and kissed her on 
the cheek. Thanks for the herbs. I have to go find Peony, and apologise.
   
Peony had been so distressed at causing her friend pain that she barely heard 
the apology because she was so busy proffering her own; and that was the end of 
it, except that she tried never to mention embroidery in Rosies hearing again. 
And when, months afterward, she had offered to teach Rosie the steps of the 
commonest round dance that everyone (except Rosie, Narl, and old Penfaron, who 
had a wooden leg) danced on feast and festival days, and Aunt and Katriona who, 
this time, were in the room when the offer was made, said No! simultaneously 
and rather too loud, neither Peony nor Rosie asked for any explanation.
About a week after Peony had showed Rosie a few basic embroidery stitches, a 
hippogriff was seen flying over the Gig. Hippogriffs were generally creatures of 
ill repute, unless you were a magician, and it was bad news to have one in your 
neighbourhood. It might mean that the wrong sort of magic was about to follow 
it; and this one, certainly, seemed to be looking for something. People grew 
alarmed, and there was a run on aversion charms, which made you, more or less, 
depending on how good the fairy who made them was at the job, beneath the notice 
of any wandering magic looking for someone to seize onto. Aunts and Katrionas 
were very good charms, and by the time the hippogriff had not been seen again 
for a fortnight and people were beginning to hope the Gig was to be spared after 
all, they had no more charms to sell, and no chance of making more till winter, 
when the deers-foot vine turned red and the salia berries yellow. In the 
general unease it seemed surprising to no one that Aunt and Katriona gave 
aversion charms to Rosie and Peony.
But the hippogriff did go away, and the only bad news the Gig heard that winter 
was of an invasion of taralians, which were large striped cats of fierce 
intelligence and fiercer appetite (a full-grown taralian could eat a horse in 
one go) and which the king himself had led the army against. The army had been 
victorious, and the remaining taralians had been driven back across the border 
into the wild wasteland of the south where they had come from, but the king had 
been wounded, and while the wound was slight, he was slow to recover his 
strength, and there were murmurs of a spell. Why had the taralians come into 
human-settled areas in the first place? They were savage on their own ground, 
but they rarely left it, and the winter was not a hard one.
The king, it was said, had symptoms very like those of the soldiers and 
courtiers who had been thrown down by the enchanted sleep at Fordingbridge and 
Flury: headaches, lingering lethargy, inability to concentrate or to make 
decisions, insomnia, nightmares. It was all the more disturbing not only because 
he was the king, but because everyone knew this king to be a robust, phlegmatic 
man who ruled thoughtfully and kindly, and with a reassuring lack of 
imagination.
The danger to his daughter had sapped him at last, the whispers went. Too much 
of the kings resources have been spent to protect her; were still being spent 
to protect her  wherever she was. Too much more was spent looking for Pernicia: 
too much wasted. Pernicia had been not only wicked and powerful but clever; 
twenty years of helpless fear had worn the country down, the king most of all. 
When Pernicia sprang her trap at last he and his magicians and his armies would 
have no strength to resist her, and she would have not only the princess, but 
the countryjust as the old tales of her had predicted. But she would not have 
done it this way if she had been able to seize all at once, which meant she was 
not so powerful as she pretended: let us, said these whispers, return to normal 
now, when there is still a little time left. Who has seen Pernicia since the 
name-day? She would not bide her time so if there were a faster way. Perhaps the 
curse on the princess is not what Pernicia declared it: it is, instead, that 
those around her will fall ill of some mysterious illness that bleeds off health 
and strength and will and courage. Bring her home nowand let her pass the crown 
to Prince Colin, whom the people know and love. Let them rally round him, this 
last year before the princess twenty-first birthday, till there is no trap for 
Pernicia to spring. The curse never was that the princess should die of the 
prick of a spindle end; and there are no such spindle ends left anywhere in the 
country.
Let her come home. Let this farce be over with. Let us welcome the young king to 
be, and forget Pernicia. The curse on the face of it is nonsensehas always been 
nonsenseand we have been fools to believe it.
That is what she would want us to believe, said other whispers. That is also why 
she waited so long, for our nerve to break at the very last. Never has a queen 
of our country abdicated. Wait till the princess one-and-twentieth birthday; it 
is only one more year now. Wait.
   
Spring in the Gig came that year with an unusual number of daffodils opening as 
cabbages or hollyhocks, and most of the lilacs were a rather distressing 
cerulean. The old cottage where Aunt and Katriona and Rosie had once lived was 
so infested by a species of bat, which not only left its droppings about in the 
way that bats do but snored thunderously, that a complete removal spell and 
purgation had to be done on it over the course of several days while its current 
tenant stayed at the pub and recovered her equanimity. The mould spirit in Meds 
old house was joined by several of its cousins who decided the house wasnt big 
enough for all of them, and began to colonise the houses on either side, and 
were fearfully rude to Katriona when she told them they either had to leave or 
shed dry them to thistledown and blow them away on the wind. (After a few third 
cousins had bounced away as dandelion fluff, however, the rest decamped.) And 
the quantity of magic dust, both the chalky kind and the almost invisible 
twinkly kind, on the baskets of herbs Rosie brought to the smiths yard to be 
rendered into ointments and tonics for her horses, was so excessive, that 
sometimes, when it leaped out of the basket to run away, it took the herbs with 
itmuch to the delight of the village cats, most of whom took to hanging round 
the forge more than the priestlings house, and batting at bits of nothing with 
their paws, which of course all cats did anyway, but the habit was much more 
disconcerting in a smiths yard, which pleased the cats even more.
Most years there was a new sort of fever that emerged from the Gig marshes as 
spring warmth awakened them from their cold winter dreams, but this years were 
unusually widespread and persistent; Aunts robins told her that it afflicted 
many birds and beasts as well as the human denizens of the Gig. Fwab and several 
other creatures both winged and earthbound told Rosie that there were far too 
many migrants, moving both in and out of the Gig, and that everyone was edgy and 
anxious for no cause they could name. Except, of course, that this was the 
beginning of the princess twenty-first year, and that her twenty-first birthday 
was now less than twelve months away.
There were more reports of disturbances in the rest of the country than usual, 
too. Since things were always turning, or pretending to turn, into other things, 
or behaving disconcertingly, at least briefly, in that country, it was sometimes 
difficult to judge which reports needed investigating and which could be left 
alone. A large family of gripples was unearthed in Incorban, which explained why 
the civic water supply kept turning purple and then failing; the purple colour 
had seemed very alarming, and so the king had been applied to. Oh, gripples, 
the mayor said, heaving a sigh of combined relief and dismay; at least it was 
only gripples, but then gripples were a terrific nuisance, and would be 
expensive to dislodge.
There was a sudden rash of sightings of merfolk in the great inland lake called 
Gilamdra. A merpersons touch is poisonous, but merfolk are so beautiful there 
is almost always someone, most often someone young and romantic, who will try it 
anyway. (Priests were curiously apt to this error. The prieststhose that 
survivedinsisted that they had been trying to convert them.) It wasnt just a 
question of staying away from the shore, however, because the merfolk sang, 
especially the women, and their singing was as beautiful as they were 
themselves, and as penetrating as a draught under the door. The king sent a 
troupe of magicians to Gilamdra, and the magicians hung an inaudibility veil 
round the lake, which made the lap and splash of the water weirdly silent as 
well, and created a kind of sticky boundary that birds flew through with a jolt 
and a gluey pop and a squawk of protest.
Also in that last year before the princess twenty-first birthday an unusually 
high percentage of the first- and second-years at the Academy decided to return 
home and take up farming or politics; several of the oldest Academicians decided 
to retire; and a number of village fairies had a change of heart and became 
midwives or dairymaids or married the fellows whod told them theyd be happy to 
marry if theyd give up this magic thing.
Narl was still Foggy Bottoms official horse-leech but he now would only say 
Ask Rosie any time his opinion was sought. The occasions when this 
pronouncement brought a desperate cry of Narl! from Rosie herself became fewer 
and fewer, and one of the things that came to be said about her was that at 
least shed tell you what was going on and what she was doing about it, which 
Narl never had. She went up to Woodwold so frequently that spring that most of 
Lord Prendergasts folk knew her by sight, and often, when the Master of the 
Horse was finished with her, she found the cowman or the shepherd, with a client 
on a string, waiting for her. She also spoke to the great bell-voiced hunting 
hounds, the swift silent sighthounds bred, it was said, from the queens own 
fleethounds, and sometimes a terrier enduring, in that well-ordered estate, an 
insufficiency of frustrations to go terrier-mad over. She spoke to curly, 
soft-eyed spaniels, and she learnt to withstand the attentions of a particular 
spaniel named Sunflower, who loved people, all people, so much, she could not 
bear to miss any opportunity for hurling herself upon them, and was so utterly 
beside herself with joy at finding one that could talk to her that any attempt 
Rosie made to try to persuade her that restraint was a virtue was lost in the 
tumult. Sometimes Rosie spoke to lapdogs suffering from a surfeit of tit-bits; 
she did not care much for most of thesetoo many of them didnt have the sense 
they were born withexcept for Lady Prens own hairy palm-sized mite, Throstle. 
Throstle was a fides terrier, more commonly called a teacup terrier. Teacup 
terriers were supposed to be small enough to curl up in a teacup (they were also 
rather the colour of tea leaves, and their rough coats had something of the same 
texture), and were mostly to be found up a ladys sleeve or in her pocket, and 
were often rather crazed, for they had a vague racial memory that they had once 
been bigger. Throstle appeared to be totally unaware that he was too small to 
protect Lady Pren from anything larger than a medium-sized beetle, and took his 
position very seriously.
Rosie spoke to the half-wild birds in the mews, who answered in images as sharp 
as knives and flung as quickly as a falcon seizing a smaller bird out of the 
air. They spoke of death and of food, and of their handlers, whom they both 
hated and loved, for they were only half wild, and they knew it.
And one spring day when the sky was so bright and hard you felt you could rap on 
it with your knuckles and it would sing like beaten metal (a very rare sort of 
day in the misty, clammy Gig), she spoke for the first time to the great white 
merrel, with its ten-foot wingspan, which lived in the rafters of Woodwolds 
Great Hall where it shone from the darkness like a moon from a cloud; and it 
told her that the incomprehensible noise of banquets and their smothering 
smells, and the cheeping and scurrying of servants, were a poor trade for the 
freedom of its forest.
The Great Hall, even almost empty, as it was whenever Rosie had occasion to be 
in it, seemed to her nearly overwhelming. She did not come here often, and 
rarely lingered. It was so tall that the ceiling was lost in shadows with the 
shutters open and sunlight streaming in across the pale scrubbed planking of the 
floor; and it was large enough that you wouldnt be able to recognise the face 
of someone half its width away from you if the person were your dearest friend. 
Lord Prendergast held his judicial sittings here with an eye to intimidating 
miscreants.
Rosie thought she could have grown accustomed to the mere size of it. But the 
loomingness of Woodwold was especially acute here, and it seemed to her there 
was a kind of weight upon her as soon as she crossed its threshold, the weight, 
perhaps, of the long years of its existence, for this was the oldest part of 
Woodwold; but more, of its strange half-waking awareness. The pressure eased 
when she went farther in, to Lady Prendergast and her ladies rooms, to talk to 
lapdogs and canaries, or downstairs to the kitchens to negotiate an invasion of 
squirrels. (Squirrels did not, in fact, negotiate. They believed that they were 
too quick and too clever for anything ever to catch them, or to keep them away 
from anything they wanted, unless they were having a bad day, and it was up to 
Rosie to convince them that having a bad day is a flexible concept, especially 
if there were enough ferrets and tunnel-hounds involved.) I am sorry, Rosie said 
to the merrel. I do not think I can ask them to give you your freedom.
I know you cannot, said the merrel. But you asked and I have answered.
She asked, humbly, half expecting the creature to break its chain and fall on 
her with its beak and talons in a fury of frustration: Is there anything else I 
can do for you?
There was a silence like the pit of winter, and then, as if from a very long way 
away, she heard a small voice like a fledglings say wistfully, Will you come 
and talk to me again some time?
Yes, said Rosie. Of course I will. I would be gladhonouredto do so.
She often thought of the imprisoned merrel, after that first conversation. She 
decided that she could go on not knowing what the spell on herself was, and why 
it was there, for as long as it took Katrionas sign to arrive. She thought of 
all the things she had done in twenty years that had not brought it onwhatever 
the spell was about. Enchanted embroidery, although it had felt very nasty at 
the time, as if her hands no longer belonged to her, was pretty negligible after 
all. Especially when you remembered the merrel.
She thought of the merrel stretching its wings, silently, in the dark peak of 
Lord Prendergasts Great Hall; she thought of how carefully it moved among its 
cage of rafters, so that the chain around its ankle did not clink; so carefully 
that any of Lord Prendergasts guests who did not know it was there would never 
look up to find it. (The floor beneath it was scrubbed twice a day; in moulting 
season it was swept three times.) She thought of the story the huntsman told 
her, of how it had been woundedthey guessedby a dagger of falling ice, in the 
mountains where the source of the River Moan flowed, several days ride from 
Woodwold; and how Lord Prendergasts hunting party had found it, but that he had 
stopped them from killing it. Even with a broken wing and half dead of 
starvation no one liked to approach it. The huntsman threw a net to tangle its 
feet, and Lord Pren himself had hooded it with soft leather cut from his own 
hunting waistcoat, and then had it bound and brought home, and its wing set. But 
the wing had not healed as it should, and so it was given the vaulted height of 
the Great Hall to live in, where no one dared trouble it, and it was fed by a 
falconer with a very long pole.
The merrel also knew its wing had not healed. But I could reach a great height 
once more before it failed me, it said. And from there I would fold my wings and 
plummet to the earth as if a hare or a fawn had caught my eye; but it would be 
myself I stooped toward. It would be a good flight and a good death. And so I 
eat their dead things cut up on a pole, dreaming of my last flight.



Chapter 14
 ^  
That spring, too, Narl gained a new apprentice. Ordinarily such an arrival would 
be the focus of conversation and speculation for weeks: not only had Narl 
accepted him, which was unusual enough, but this one was a handsome young man, 
and as clean shaven as Narl.
But the run of odd fevers round the Gig, especially in Foggy Bottom, which 
neither Aunts herbs nor the priests arcane mutterings seemed able to cure, nor 
even, much, to ameliorate, distracted everybody; and those who were well enough 
for gossip had no time for it. The fevers were not severe, but their prevalency, 
lack of origin, and reluctance to depart were disturbing enough to take the edge 
off any interest in a good-looking, well-mannered young stranger.
Katriona had less to do with the sick that season than she might have had some 
other year, because she had four little wielders of baby-magic to look after, 
including their own Gilly, who had been set off, early and spectacularly, by the 
birth of her little brother, Gable. (Jem had recently slid through his own 
incursion of baby-magic without much more than the occasional manifestation of a 
black, red-eyed Thing that crouched in corners breathing stertorously. Jem had 
insisted that it was friendly, so they had left it alone, although everyone but 
Jem had circled its chosen corners somewhat warily.) Gable, fortunately, was a 
placid baby, and never interrupted his nursing while Katriona was frantically 
flicking counter-spells with the arm not holding him.
Peony was constantly in demand either as a nurse or to help keep order at the 
wheelwrights, and she missed her noontimes at the forge for some weeks. Rosie 
had told her of the new apprentices arrival, his name, Rowland, and the fact 
that he had no beard. But Rosie was not very interested in him, and so Peony 
wasnt either.
Till the first day Peony returned for her usual noontime at the forge. Rosie, 
standing at the head of one of Lord Prens horses, looked up just before 
Rowlands and Peonys eyes met. Youre here! said Rosie. Im positively 
starving. Peony, meet Rowland. This one needs settlingmeaning the 
horsebefore I want to leave him. Dont eat everything.
By the time Narl and Rosie had left their charge with a little hay to keep him 
contented, Peony and Rowland had been trying to start a conversation for some 
while. Rosie was vaguely aware that her friend and the new apprentice were 
behaving out of character; Peony could talk to anyone, and Rowland had very 
pretty manners, much prettier than any smiths apprentice had any business 
having, which made him even more conspicuous than he was already for being tall 
and handsome and clean shaven. But here were these two social adepts standing 
staring at one another, Rowland with a hammer he kept passing from hand to hand, 
Peony clutching the basket in front of her as if she were warding off demons 
with it. Rosie was used to the effect Peony had on almost everyone at first 
meeting, especially young men; but Peony never behaved like this.
Something stirred at the back of Rosies mind: surprise, curiosity, wonder. 
Dismay. And something else. Narl, she said quietly.Look. What is the matter 
with them?
Narl straightened up from the wash bucket, drying his hands. He still had most 
of his attention on the horse they had been shoeing; it was just the sort of 
brilliantly athletic maniac Lord Prens youngest son favouredand, furthermore, 
it had terrible feet, with horn that wouldnt hold a nail. However often it came 
in to have a thrown shoe refitted, it would never believe that this wasnt the 
time that Narl was going to use the red-hot tongs and pokers on it, and not 
merely on its shoes. If he hadnt had Rosie to help himshe had told him she 
told the crazy ones stories, as you might do with a fractious child at 
bedtimehe probably wouldnt have been able to shoe it at all, however much 
mashed viso root he used. It looked half asleep now, musing over its hay with 
its ears flopping like an old ponys. He was half tempted to suggest that it was 
clever enough to know a good thing when it heard it, and merely liked Rosies 
stories, but he also knew this wasnt true; the white round its eye as he 
approached it and the way it held the foot he was working on, told him better. 
It was always the crazy ones that hated being shod who most often threw shoes.
He gave his apprentice and the wainwrights niece a look while he passed his 
towel to Rosie, but he was more interested in the problem of where to put nails 
in a hoof already full of crumbling nail holes. His face was, as it usually was, 
expressionless. But Rosie was watching him as she washed her hands, and she had 
learnt to read his face in the years she had been hanging round the forge to a 
degree that perhaps Narl did not realise himself. And she saw awareness, or 
understanding, strike him as he looked, sharp as a knife, and where the 
invisible blade wounded him there bled hope and fear and longingand something 
like resigned despair. This was so unexpected she almost put her hand on his 
arm, almost said to him, What is it? Can I help? I would do anything for 
youwhen she realised, first, that he would not want her to have seen what she 
had seen, and second, that what she had barely stopped herself from saying was 
the truth.
She was wholly absorbed in giving her hands and forearms the scrubbing of their 
lives when Narl turned back to her, and she raised a carefully blank face to 
him. She could feel she was blushing, but she had splashed cold water on her 
face, too, which would do as an excuse. Theyve just fallen in love, he said 
neutrally, and his face was again as calm and unreadable as it usually was.
His face was so tranquil and his tone so mild that Rosie almost believed she had 
imagined what she had seen. He was Narl, and nothing ever disturbed him, nor 
distracted him long from cold iron. She had drawn his attention away from its 
usual paths, but only briefly; Narl was about to take his noon meal standing up 
and looking at some half-finished project, or studying bits of waste iron that 
would no longer be waste when he was done with them.
But then the meaning of his words sank in. They? she said, bewildered. But
It happens that way sometimes, said Narl. Hard on them both, for hes 
promised elsewhere.
P-promised? said Rosie. You mean, to wed?
Yes, said Narl, and got one of those even-more-than-usually shut-in Narl looks 
on his face that meant he wouldnt say any more, and if Rosie had had her wits 
about her she would have wondered why hed said anything at all; it wasnt the 
sort of thing Narl usually volunteered.
I-I must tell her, she said, confused.
You must not, said Narl. Hell tell her. Its their business. Let them be. 
Rosie, he said, as she turned away, staring blindly into space, putting the 
towel down by feel and dropping it instead onto the unswept courtyard earth. 
Rosie. Shes still your friend.
And then he did put his hand on her arm, and she looked down at it, the big 
brown hand with the work-blackened fingers against her own sun-browned and 
-freckled skin. He removed his hand, and she looked up at his face again, and 
tried to smile, to nod. She thought she knew what she had seen in his face when 
he had first looked at Rowland and Peony: he was in love with Peony himself.
And Rosie had just learnt she was in love with him.
She blundered away, toward Peony and Peonys basket. She had been hungry, only a 
very few minutes ago. She concentrated on remembering that she was hungry. I am 
all right, she said to herself. I am all right. This was not easy, for 
dissembling was a skill foreign to her nature, but her wish not to cause 
distress to her friends was as strongstrongerthan her own distress.
They all got through the meal somehow, Peony, Rowland, and Rosie. Narl was 
invisible in the shadows under the roofed end of the forge; Rosies eyes sought 
for him occasionally, looking for the shadow that moved, from where they sat in 
sunlight. The sunlight seemed unusually dazzling that day, full of little 
twinkly bits that got in your eyes and made you blink, or even made you flap 
your hand in front of your face, as if they were something you could brush away. 
She wondered how long she wondered if Narl had ever thought of making his 
feelings known. Rosie thought she knew the reason for his silence; Peony was not 
in love with him, and Narl had none of the suitor about him to woo her.
None of the three ate much. Narls meal disappeared, but whether he ate it or 
fed it to one of the town dogs, no one knew but Narl.
   
Narl said people do fall in love in an instant sometimes, said Rosie, her 
voice muffled, since she had her arms on the table and her head in her arms. 
Katriona and Aunt were making and binding charms together, and Rosie had just 
finished whittling a top for Jem, who would have it in the morning. Gable was 
asleep in the cradle Katriona rocked with one foot, and Jem and Gilly and the 
small boarders were asleep upstairs, and in the kitchen they were waiting for 
Barder and Joeb to come in to supper.
The shutters rattled. It was a cold summer, and there was a searching, prying 
wind that sniggled round houses, under closed doors, and down the backs of 
necks. The fog-sprites were in an unusually bad mood, hanging so much dew on 
spider-webs that the webs broke, and making day-old bread soggy rather than 
stale. Even the mice, whose households were always plagued by draughts, 
complained of the cold, Thats true, said Aunt. Ive never seen it happen, 
but it does.
Nor have I seen it, said Katriona, but Ive always wondered if there isnt 
some fate in it. Not necessarily magic, like that poor queen who fell in love 
with her husbands best knight, but fate, something that happens to you, like 
being born one day rather than another in this village rather than that one.
Rosie stood up and moved restlessly round the kitchen, stopping at Aunts 
spinning wheel to rub the nose of the gargoyle on the spindle end. Shed picked 
the habit up from Katriona so long ago she could remember steadying herself with 
one hand on the frame of the wheel while she stretched to reach the spindle end. 
The little face always seemed to grin a fraction wider for a moment after youd 
rubbed its nose.
You arent in love with Rowland yourself, are you? said Katriona in a 
carefully bland tonereasonably sure that the answer was no, but sure as well 
that there was something further troubling Rosie than Peonys romance. One of 
the many things Katriona had worried about as Rosie grew older was the 
likelihood of her falling in love with somebody; Katriona had known that she 
wanted Barder or no one by the time she was twelve, and Flora had found her 
Gimmel at sixteen, though it had taken them another ten years to be able to 
afford to marry. Rosie had never shown any signs of falling in love, although 
Katriona had lately wondered a little about Woodwolds Master of the Horse, and 
what on earth and under sky she could say if he put his suit forward and Rosie 
was inclined to listen; but it hadnt happened, and the princess 
one-and-twentieth birthday was eight months away.
A kind of numb, dislocated bewilderment had settled down over Katriona with the 
turning of this last year toward that birthday. She found herself remembering 
the events of the year the princess was born with greatand obtrusivevividness: 
this was when they had heard of the princess birth, this is when the herald had 
come and made his announcement of the invitations to the name-day and she, 
Katriona, had drawn the long lot
Three times in the last twenty years someonesome magichad almost found Rosie, 
and three times Aunt and Katriona had deflected or confounded it. The fourth 
time had brought, not a tale of another assault on another of the kings 
strongholds, but a hippogriff flying over the Gig; and while the rest of the 
villagers relaxed as soon as there were no more sightings of it, the Gig fairies 
could feel that it had left something behind. Something it had, presumably, come 
here to leave. Something that might be causing the fevers and the weather Small 
spider weave! thought Katriona angrilynot for the first time. It is not the 
wearerwho is lost! Why have you never sent word! We are only two village fairies 
and she is your princess!
Eight months.
In love with Rowland? said Rosie with a little of her usual force. No. Hes 
nice enough, but hes hes oh, hes boring. Her voice was plainly telling the 
truth, but her thoughts were on something else, and she turned her lips in and 
bit down on them, as if preventing herself from saying anything further.
Barder came in just before the silence among the three women became sticky, 
threw himself into a chair, and sighed.  Joeb will be along as soon as hes 
washed, he said. Im sorry were late again. Every wheeled vehicle in the Gig 
seems to be having the most extraordinary bad luck. Spokes break, rims pop, 
axles crackI dont understand it. Crantab says the same. He has a waggon in for 
repair now that looks like it simply made up its mind to burst. We could both 
take on new apprentices nowtheres plenty of work for thembut this isnt the 
way it should be, and its not the sort of work you feel really happy doing
His voice tailed away because the suspicion had to arise that the unusual level 
of breakages was due to some kind of magic, and cleaning up magical messes was 
not considered wholesome or honest labour. The only thing no one has brought me 
for mending is a spindles end, he said, trying to make a joke of it. He looked 
at the two fairies. Usually you tell me when its something that concerns me or 
my work, he said.
Joeb entered at that moment, looked round, took the plate Aunt offered him, but 
instead of sitting down as he usually did, said hastily that there was something 
he wanted another look at tonight, and went back outdoors. In the silence of the 
kitchen they heard his footsteps retreating on the hard-packed earth of the 
yard.
Kat, said Barder.
We dont know, she said, but as if the words were wrung out of her. It feels 
like a searching spell. Something that knows it has been searching for the wrong 
thing for a long time. Too long a time, she thought. Searching spells dont 
last twenty years, but this one had. It was a gallimaufry, a patchwork, a 
bristling, ragged confusion of the shreds of many days, days stretching into 
years, worked and reworked and turned back on themselves, the frayed ends teased 
out and bound together again, every failure stitched into the body of the thing, 
so that it would not be repeated, till at last it would find what it wanted 
because there would be nowhere else left to look. And it was almost 
undetectable; it was the shaggy greyish fringe at the edge of your vision when 
you had gone too long without sleep. It wasprobablya senseless series of 
fevers and breakages. Katriona couldnt have made such a spell. She didnt know 
any fairy who could have. It was so outlandish neither Katriona nor Aunt could 
fully believe it existed; and they were the only two of the Gig fairies who 
could so much as guess at it.
She is as safe as ordinariness can make her. Ordinariness and beast speech, that 
rare fairy talent.
Aunt said: Your waggon probably did burst.
Barder picked up the bread knife and examined it as if deciding what it was for. 
Do you know what it wants? he said.
No, said Katriona. Yes, said Aunt. Sort of, said Katriona, speaking so 
nearly simultaneously that the four words came out as a kind of burst: 
Noyessortof.
There was another pause, and Barder said slowly, I see, and then the three of 
them exchanged a look so fraught with unsaid understandinga look that appeared 
to bind them not merely all together but also to prevent their looking at 
something elsethat Rosie began to pay attention.
She was aware that all had not been well in the Gig this year. She knew about 
the fevers and the breakages, and the steady high run on minor squaring charms, 
which kept ordinary things what they were. It was only yesterday that Dessy, 
having had the third mug in a row turn into a frog when she tried to put beer in 
it, and despite her having murmured mug, stay mug over each as she took it 
down from the shelf, burst into tears and swore she was going to run away to 
Turanga and find a job in anything that wasnt a pub. Rosie had happened to 
enter the pub while Dessy was still weeping and threatening to leave, and had 
got down on her hands and knees to talk the beer-mug frogs out from under the 
bar, where they were huddling, confused and frightened, and longing for 
something, so far as Rosie could make out, that seemed to be a sort of swamp 
made of beer and sausages.
But her real attention was elsewhere. Shed never before had a problem she could 
neither forget nor do something about. She wanted never to have seen that look 
on Narls face; she wanted never to have found out what that look meant to her. 
She wanted not to watch Peony moving through elation and misery a dozen times a 
minute. She had wanted to blame Rowland for everything, but found she couldnt, 
because he was a friend. He was patient and thoughtful and funny (in a way that 
as shed gotten to know him better reminded her of Peony. It didnt surprise her 
that theyd fallen in love, but she wondered how theyd managed to do it in an 
instant). He was interested in animals, not only the horses and oxen a 
blacksmith shoes. He learnt the names of all the village dogs, even the 
medium-sized hairy brownish ones that all looked alike to most people, and he 
stopped to listen to birdsong. And the cats liked him. They called him 
Sweetbreath and Aroouua, which was a cat word indicating that you had supple 
joints. They rarely said aroouua of human beings. They called Narl Stone-Eye and 
Block.
He wasnt really boring. She just wasnt in love with him.
Shed been listening idly to the conversation, wrestling unwillingly with her 
own thoughts, and she looked up just in time to intercept the charged glance 
among the other three. If Id held a stick between them at that moment, she 
thought, it would have sizzled.
Rosie said to Flinx, lying near the cradle so he could play a kind of dicing 
with death between his tail and the cradle rockers, You could tell us something, 
couldnt you? You cats know somethings up; even the priests cats are worried. 
She couldnt be sure, then, if he let his tail be pinched deliberately, or 
whether, stiffening all over in outrage at Rosies questiona cat does not 
submit to interrogationhe merely forgot, and left it in a dangerous location; 
but pinched it was, and he bounded to his feet with a shriek and darted out of 
the room. Oh, Flinx, sighed Katriona. You could lie somewhere else.
That cat doesnt come indoors to lie near the fire because hes getting old, 
said Aunt. He does it to prove that he should never come indoors at all. The 
conversation was turned; but supper was a haunted meal that evening.
   
Like most lunches were at the forge now, Rosie thought the next day: haunted. 
Rowland and Peony seemed hardly to talk to each other and when they did speak it 
was like Aunt and Katriona and Barder last night; as if what they were really 
saying was happening somewhere behind their words. Rosie had begun to 
imagineshe hoped she was imaginingthat whatever irresistible force was drawing 
Rowland and Peony together, there seemed to be another, nearly as powerful, that 
was dragging them apart. Rosie half wanted to watch them, and half wanted never 
to look at them at all. She developed Narls habit of wandering round the forge 
staring at things, although she was careful not to choose the same things to 
stare at that Narl himself did.
She wondered why the air between Rowland and Peony seemed to twinkle sometimes, 
and that when they were together they seemed more troubled by magic-midges than 
people who werent fairies, sitting in a forge, ought to be; and she pretended 
that her own skin didnt seem to tingle and buzz if she sat long near them. She 
had never paid much attention to people in love beforeexcept Katriona and 
Barder, but theyd been in love since before she was born, and presumably all 
the itchy unsettledness of it had worn out by the time Aunt had fetched her home 
to live with her and Kat. Maybe this is just what lovethat first burst of 
mutual lovewas like. Magic did tend to be drawn to excitements and upheavals. 
She thought of asking Aunt, but she didnt have the heart for it.
Of course the village found out about Rowland and Peony. Peonys beauty and 
sweetness had made her prospective marriage the liveliest odds at the pub since 
Rosies disappointing show of babymagic, and far more heatedly contested, since 
at least half the men young and old, married and unmarried) laying their wagers 
were in love with her themselves.
So, Narl, are you ready to take on another man permanently? said Grey one day. 
Narl only grunted, but Grey would have been astonished if he had answered so 
frivolous a question. But Brinet, from whom Rowland rented a room and in whose 
kitchen he had his breakfast, asked Rosie one day if Peonys aunt had started 
measuring the family wedding dress against her nieces figure; and Rosie, 
expressionless, grunted, and walked away.
Grunted at me just like Narl! Not a word! Not a nod or a smile! said Brinet, 
much offended, to Cairngorm, later that day. I dont think working with a man 
like Narl is good for a young woman, however clever she is with beasts!
But Rosie felt herself to be at full stretch and had no slack for dealing with 
busybodies. A few days after she had declined to answer Brinet, she found Peony 
weeping into a pan of potatoes she was peeling, and sat down and put an arm 
round her. IIm sorry, said Peony. Its justsuddenly too much.
Cant you marry him then? said Rosie, remembering what Narl had said, and 
guessing what was suddenly too much.
No, said Peony, and when the single syllable made her tears stop Rosie knew 
how hopeless it wasknew, perhaps, because of all the tears she herself had not 
shed into her own pillow recently. No. Hes pledged toto someone else. Someone 
hes never met. Sheshe has a curse on her, and it makes her very lonely and 
sad.
Rosies heart sank. Its a family thing then? What is a blacksmith doing with 
the kind of family that pledges its sons to other peoples daughters sight 
unseen? Especially daughters with curses on them? That explains his manners, of 
course, if he comes from that kind of family, but then what is he doing as a 
blacksmith? Because he is a blacksmith. Even I can see he knows what hes doing, 
and Narl would never have taken him if he didnt. Couldnt he chuck it all over 
and be a blacksmith?
Magic, thought Rosie, and frowned. Was this part of what Aunt and Katriona were 
talking about the other night, when Barder was trying to squeeze some answers 
out of them? But if the searching spell wanted Rowland, wasnt he right there? 
Maybe not, surrounded by cold iron.
Oh, Rosie, said Peony, picking up a potato. I hope you never fall in love 
with the wrong manthe wrong man that you know is the right man.
It isnt for much longer, she added, after a pause. He must go home soon 
andlive up to his oath. They are to be married shortly after herher birthday, 
which is in spring, when the crocuses come out. Like the princess, and you, 
Rosie.
Rosie grunted a Narl grunt. She was back that day from Woodwold. Lord 
Prendergasts hounds had broken away from the huntsman, which had never happened 
before in anyones memory, and Lord Pren had had to forbid the man to quit his 
post, and set a spy on him that he couldnt creep off and disappear, so 
devastated was he. Rosie was called out to talk to the dogs, who were all deeply 
ashamed by their ignoble behaviour, and grovelled abjectly to the huntsman, whom 
they loved, at every opportunity.
I dont know, said Huwreer, one of the oldest and wisest hounds. Ive never felt 
anything like it. It was like being six months old again, but crazy. Ive known 
crazy dogs. They cant learn and they dont care they cant learn, and thats 
worse, and if your huntsman doesnt know his job, one crazy dog can ruin the 
pack, because when were runningHuwreer paused. Rosie knew what she meant. When 
a dogs brain is full of prey-smell there isnt a lot of room for independent 
thinking.
Storm coming, the merrel had said, sitting in the darkness in the roof of Lord 
Prendergasts Hall. Storm coming. The weather, advancing toward autumn, was as 
restless and volatile as Lord Prens youngest sons horses; but bad weather had 
never sent the dogs mad before.
Rosie felt she was surrounded by bad weatherher own and everyone elses. Rain 
and wind hardly came into it. Rowland couldnt really have anything to do with 
the princess, but it still seemed so very odd that her own private world should 
be trying its best to crack up during this last, tense, distracted year before 
the princess one-and twentieth birthday. If this is what it felt like in the 
Gig, it must be really dreadful where she was.
I am thinking I will ask my aunt and uncle if I can go to Smoke River for a 
season. Perhaps I can learn a spinning charm. Peony gave Rosie a thin, watery 
smile, like sun trying to break through rain clouds. You know it is a great 
frustration to me that I spin poorly.
Rosie did know. Peony was slow and clumsy about this as she was slow and clumsy 
about almost nothing else. It was a longstanding joke between them that Peony 
had been able to spin perfectly well until Rosie moved next door. Rosie had once 
offered to loan the gargoyle spindle end to Peony, explaining about the nose 
rubbing, but Peony declined, saying seriously that if it were a charm, it 
belonged to their family, and it would have its feelings hurt, or might go 
wrong, if loaned outside.
Ill ask Barder to make you a spindle end as a coming-home present, said 
Rosie, stifling the urge to beg Peony not to go away and leave her alone, alone 
with Narl at the forge every day.
The sun broke through a little more credibly in Peonys smile this time. Id 
rather you made me one yourself, she said.



Chapter 15
 ^  
Autumn was a season of storms, when the winds shouted bestiaries and the 
genealogies of kings and queens under doorsills and down chimneys, and chimney 
pots, after such storms, were found to have taken up residence on other roofs of 
their own choosing, and sometimes in trees, and several times at the bottom of 
the town well, which they did not want to leave, saying it was peaceful down 
there, the presiding element disinclined to air-frenzies like wind, and that 
fish were pleasanter companions than humans. There were too many storms, and 
people grew weary of them, and the dull fevers of the spring and summer became 
sticky, hacking coughs.
It had been raining off and on, cold, obdurate, needle-tipped rain, with often a 
hard frost overnight, weeks of this, till the ice got into the ground and 
discouraged the winter crops from growing, and the tracks were sloppy and rutted 
and treacherous, and the sky low and dark and menacing. Foggy Bottom was less 
foggy than usual, for the nervy winds that had blown all year were still 
blowing, in haphazard gusts from all the points of the compass; the strange 
fevers that troubled the Gig backed and blew and came and went like the 
disagreeable winds; the fog-sprites huddled under peoples eaves and shrieked 
like banshees, especially in the middle of the night; and none of the fairies 
weather-guessers worked.
And then the storm descended in a lash of sleet and hail. Rosie was soaked to 
the skin running across the square from the smiths and home to supper. There 
were only four of them that evening; Joeb was taking his day off at Greys farm 
where he was courting the dairymaid in any and all weathers, and Peony was with 
her aunt and uncle. Jem, Gilly, and Gable were all asleep upstairs; Katrionas 
last baby-magic boarder had gone home three days ago. We wont hear if anyone 
howls, in this wind, said Katriona.
Jem will come and tell us if anyone does, replied Aunt.
They all listened, but for nothing they knew to expect, and started in their 
chairs when an especially savage wind-fist drove at the shutters. Rosie thought 
of Narl sitting over a small solitary fire, and wondered if he ever wished for 
company. Katriona had occasionally inveigled him across the square to supper; 
she said they owed the master of Rosies livelihood something, and he had 
refused any other payment. Shes done me a favour, was his only explanation. 
He talked little more at the supper table than he did during the day at the 
forge, but he wasnt a difficult companion; and he and Barder were old friends. 
Barder could translate Narls grunts better than anyone else in the village, 
save Rosie. But Narl had not come to supper in the last six months.
There was a bang on the kitchen door, the door to the yard. It was so 
substantial and purposeful a bang that while everyone wanted to assume it was 
only, once again, the wind, they all knew it was not.
They stopped listening for nothing and instead wished for this something to go 
away. There was another bang.
Barder sighed, because he had barely sat down to supper.
Is it a bad break? he asked resignedlybecause it always was, at suppertime, 
and it would be, in this weather, or whoever it was would have waited till 
morning. It might be so bad a break there were horses to cut free; in which case 
Rosie would have to come with him He spoke before he had the door properly 
open. But the tone of his voice changed the question on the last word, as he 
opened the door fully.
A tall dripping figure stepped inside, invisible within a silvery cloak that 
glistened in many colours: This was finer cloth than even Smoke River could 
make. Invisible, that is, except for the bare feet.
Rosie noticed the feet firstclean and smooth, despite the weather and the 
roadsand the way they seemed to feel the floor as a hand might feel a tool 
unfamiliar to it.
Forgive me, said Barder, embarrassed and stiff with it. Good evening to you. 
I am the wheelwright, as well aswell, I fix most things made with wood. The 
wainwright shares this yard with me, but the nearest carpenter is at Waybreak. 
When there is a knock on the door at this time of day in bad weather, it is 
usually because there is something to be mended.
The head, hidden inside the deep hood, nodded. But as it flung its sodden cloak 
back from its face, Katriona leaped to her feet with a little, terrible cry. It 
is too late! she said. You cannot have her!
She moved sideways to stand behind Rosies chair, and put her hands on Rosies 
shoulders, and Rosie, bewildered, and frightened by the tone of Katrionas 
voice, could feel her hands trembling. There was a muscular ripple across the 
feet, like a hand testing the heft of sword or axe; Rosie found it difficult to 
raise her eyes to the face.
The wet figure shook its head, and raindrops flew; there was a puddle forming on 
the floor. You cannot deny what she is, any more than I can deny that the last 
one-and-twenty years have also made her yours.
He turned to look at Barder, who had closed the door against the storm but stood 
staring, with his hand on the latch, at their unusual visitor. Under his cloak 
he wore clothing that seemed to be made entirely of long ribbons of fabric 
cunningly wrapped and tucked; and his hairless skin was the colour of deep water 
in shade, a kind of dark silky iridescence not unlike that of his cloak. His 
bald head gleamed like a jewel. Strangest of all, by his side hung a long curved 
blade like nothing the Gig had ever contained, fine metalwork curling over the 
hilt and lettering in a strange language written on the blade, for it wore no 
scabbard, picking up the light as the man moved so that it seemed as if it moved 
of itself, as if it shrugged its own skin free of the wet caress of the cloak. 
No one ever wore anything so obviously a weapon in the Gig; even when the kings 
cavalry rode through their sabres were sheathed and hung like long thin luggage 
from their saddles.
The stranger looked at Barder first, and when he was done looking at Barder, he 
looked slowly round the rest of the room as if he had every right to be there 
and to inspect it so closely. If Rosie had not been frightened by his 
assuranceand by the casualness with which he carried his long bladeshe would 
have been angry at his presumption. When his eyes fell on her she was enough 
recovered from the shock of his appearanceand Katrionas reactionto stare 
straight back at him, but the protest she would have liked to utter remained 
stuck in her throat.
He turned at last to Katriona, and Rosie, seated while the two of them stood, 
could not decide if he raised his chin to condescend to her or to recognise her 
as an equal. Listen, he said to Katriona, and as he stretched out his hand 
toward her a spider dropped down from nowhere, from some fold of his glittering, 
ribbony sleeve. These are the words you have waited long to hear: Small spider 
weave on a silver sleeve, Oh weave your grey web nearer. From a golden crown let 
your silk hang down, For lost, lost, lost is the wearer.
The spider fell about halfway to the floor from the mans outstretched arm; 
hesitated, and ran back up its silk, disappearing briefly there in the silvery 
folds, and then let itself briskly down again. Now it had two streamers to work 
from; busily it began to swing itself back and forth, spinning a web, in the 
wheelwrights kitchen in Foggy Bottom, hanging from a strangers sleeve. But 
just as the web began to take shapeit was a crazy-quilt web, each loop at 
variance with its neighboursthe spider paused, as if dissatisfied, and ran 
round its gossamer network, tweaking corners as if, from the spiders 
perspective, they would not lie straight, like a person making a bed.
I know who you are, said Katriona, and the anger in her voice was startling. 
I know who you are. Is thisfestival trickof yours intended to amaze the 
country folk? I think we deserve better than your contempt.
The man said gently, I did not know I carried a passenger till just now, when I 
held out my arm.
The spider rushed down to the bottom of its uncompleted web, and appeared to 
hurl itself off the edge, like a child taking a running leap into a swimming 
hole. It touched the floor, snapped itself free of its silken ladder as if 
impatiently, and set off across the floor. Toward Rosie.
Oh dear, thought Rosie. Spiders like all insects were very hard to talk towith 
a slight exception for butterflies, who were all crazy in an almost human way, 
especially the ones who had spent most of their short lives enchanted. Talking 
to them was like trying to walk on your hands, or say all your words backwards, 
or kiss your elbow. In some cases it was just about possible (Rosie could have 
something pretty nearly resembling a conversation with a butterfly, if both she 
and the butterfly were trying) but sometimes it wasnt. Rosie had never picked 
up much but an irregular clicking that she guessed might be some sort of code, 
supposing she could figure it out, from any spider.
This one was clicking furiously as it came toward her across the floora tiny 
smiths hammer tapping away at an even tinier bit of iron. 
Tickettytickettyticketty. She didnt want to bend over with Katrionas hands 
still heavy on her shoulders, so she sat quietly as the spider came up to her, 
made its way over boot to trouser leg and up to lap, and crept to the back of 
her hand. It was so light she could only feel it on her by looking at it; then 
she could just sense the bend of a hair as it trod upon her skin.
The clicking stopped abruptly. Im sorry, she said to it. I dont understand. I 
cant er hear you.
There was a pause. Then a click, a pause, another click, another pause, a click, 
pause, click. Then a longer pause, and repeated. Rosie realised on the third 
repeat that she could hear differences in each of the four clicks; and so she 
strained to listen. All will be well, said the spider, and stroked the back 
of her hand with several feet; they felt like eyelashes. There was something 
familiar about its voiceexcept spiders dont have voicessomething familiar 
about its words, no, its inflection, no, something that reminded her of 
something from a very long time ago, from those ancient days before she lived 
with Aunt and Katriona. Something about her parents? She had never wanted to 
know about her parents, as if knowing, somehow, would make her belong less to 
the family she loved.
But the people round her were talking. Katrionas voice no longer sounded angry, 
only tired and disheartened. I have nothing to return to you, for it burnt to 
black ash, and then crumbled to dust so fine I could not hold it, although I 
tried, she said.
Did it? said their visitor, and they all saw that he was shaken. Did it? I 
had not realised she was so strong. When, can you tell me when it happened?
Yes, said Katriona. Six years ago, in late summer, about three and a half 
months after Barder and I were married.
Six years ago, said the man, as if thinking aloud. Yes, I remember, it was a 
season of storms at Caerleon. We feared then that she had drawn a true line on 
what she sought, for we knew we had yielded more than we could afford. But when 
nothing happenedwhen nothing seemed to happenwe thought we had held after all. 
Well! Old Nagilbran would be pleased to know what good use his amulet was put 
to; he was inclined to think me frivolous. And the man smiled a grim smile that 
was not frivolous at all.
Why didnt Katriona say, What are you talking about? What has another battle at 
another royal stronghold have to do with us?
But she didnt. She said, I think it did more than the work of that one night. 
Since then there have been no more except I wish I had it now. You said you 
would take it from me when I had no further use for it, but I have use for it 
now, by reason of your coming; and she caught her breath on a sob, and her 
fingers dug painfully into Rosies shoulders.
That the stranger was a fairy was as obvious as his bare feet. Rosie had never 
met a magicianseeing an occasional one riding with a company of kings cavalry 
didnt count as meetingbut the wildness that hung round this man told her he 
had never gone to the Academy, never spent long hours indoors memorising the 
pronouncements of his forebears, never earnestly debated the existence of fish. 
The room was thick with the possibilities of his power. It fanned her face like 
the heat of the fire; Rosie half believed she could reach out and pluck a 
miracle from the air, and it would take definition and solidity from the mere 
shape of her hand reaching for it.
And yet she could read from the way he held himself, as if she might read a 
horse or a hawk, that this man would placate Katriona if he could; that for all 
he wore a sword and stared round the room like a wealthy buyer at a fair, he 
came as a friendeven as a supplicant.
What could anyone in the Gigexcept possibly Lord Prendergasthave to do with a 
man like this man? Rosie glanced down at the back of her hand; the spider had 
disappeared.
He stood as if waiting or thinking; at last he said gently, You knew this day 
would come; I cannot help it, any more than you, any more than she herself can.
I had no choice! cried Katriona.
You could have let her die, said the man. She would have died by now, else. 
Several times over. Or worse than died. Do you need me to tell you so?
But Katriona had sunk down by Rosies chair, her hands running down Rosies arm, 
and then she laid her head against her hand resting on Rosies knee, and cried 
like a baby. Rosie, not until that moment realising she could, leaned over and 
picked up her cousin, her foster-sister, the only mother she could remember, and 
pulled her into her lap, as if Katriona were the child and Rosie the guardian, 
the protector, the champion. Rosie put her arms round her, and swept the damp 
hair off her forehead, and kissed her, and Katriona clung round her neck and 
wept.
Fox, murmured the man. Foxbadgerbearotter. Doe and cow, mare and goat, 
bitch and wolf and You had a journey, did you not, with the little one? Rosie, 
is that what you call her? Rosie?
Rosie surged to her feet, Katriona still in her arms, fury giving her the 
necessary strength. Stop it, she said to the strange man who had hurt Katriona 
and ruined their peace. I do not know what you are saying to Katriona, but I do 
not like it. I like it even less that you should talk about me as if I am not 
here. Rosie is my name. And you have not yet told us yours.
Katriona made a tiny sound of embarrassment or thanks, and Rosie bent and let 
her gently down, keeping her own gaze fastened on the dark man. The rain had 
stopped, and the wind. In the sudden silence, if the humans in the room had not 
been so intent on each other, they might have noticed that Flinx had crept into 
the kitchen, and the house mice had crept in round him, as if they knew that for 
this evening of amazements they were safe from him. One of the kitchen 
shuttersthe one that never fit properly, and leaked when the wind was from the 
westrattled briefly and swung open, and Fwab hopped in, followed by several 
robins and an owl. The door to the courtyard opened silently, for Spear was 
clever with latches, and he was followed by Zogdob and Ralf, the bakers 
half-grown puppy. Through the open door anyone who looked might have seen 
several deer walking quickly into the wrights yard, ears wide and alert; and a 
hump on a pile of timber might have been discerned as a badger. Still slightly 
too far away for human ears was the sound of galloping hoofs; just audible, but 
not absolutely identifiable as anything other than the wind, was the long 
ecstatic bay of a hunting hound declaring that he had found his scent and was 
following it.
The stranger murmured, But they have never told her; Sigil, they have never 
told her, and many expressions ran over his face like small sharp gusts of wind 
riffling the surface of a pool: astonishment, dismay, disbelief, disapproval 
darkening to condemnation; and the man stepped toward Rosie and, to her utter 
horror, dropped on his knees in front of her. From that position he gently drew 
up his beautiful and dangerous blade and laid it across his hands, holding it up 
toward her as if it were a gift. Rosie involuntarily put her hands behind her 
back.
It is your name, yes, he said, looking up at her, the sheen of his skin 
opalescent in the soft lamplight, the blade in his hands bright as the moon. 
But you, dear one, dearest one, you are our princess, the princess we have 
striven so anxiously to defend, Casta Albinia Allegra Dove Minerva Fidelia 
Aletta Blythe Domnia Delicia Aurelia Grace Isabel Griselda Gwyneth Pearl Ruby 
Coral Lily Iris BriarRose. And I am your servant Ikor, among the least of your 
servants, but I was to be your one-and-twentieth godparent, and so I was sent by 
the queens fairy, Sigil, to find you, and to tell you that your long 
concealment is at an end at last, and we must quickly plan what to do; for she 
who cursed you seeks you even as I have doneand she willas I have donefind 
you, for we can no longer stop her. We have tried, these twenty years, but we 
have finally failed, and we know it. No fairyno magicianshould have been able 
to make a searching spell that endured twenty years, but Pernicia did it. It is 
a great shaggy thing by now, spiny as a holly tree with the errors of twenty 
years looking; and we have teased and pestered and vexed it as we couldthe 
guarded fortresses were not our only means of confusionbut it has gone on 
looking. When we found that the spell had settled here, in the Gigwe knew what 
this meant. And so the best we could do at the bitter end is hope to find you 
firstonly a minute first, an hour, a dayor three months. I gladly offer my 
life to you, but that is not enough.
Rosie heard what the man said, but she did notcould notwould nottake it in. 
She seemed to be floating free from her body; her body remained standing in the 
fire- and lamp-lit kitchen, Katriona beside her and the rain-drenched stranger 
kneeling at her feet; but she, Rosie, the real Rosie, had gone away, gone away 
to a safe place where she couldnt be told horrible, frightening, devastating 
lies. Dreamily she looked round her; it was a foggy place she stood ineven 
foggier than Foggy Bottomand at first she could see nothing clearly. But she 
heard voices: animals, her animals, her friends, talking, talking robin to fox 
and deer to badger and otter to vole.
They were all talking, talking to each other, using human kinds of words as the 
swiftest means of communication, all talking together, for tonight all defenses 
were down:
You here!
Yes, and you!
And you and you!
Why did you come?
And you?
It is in the air.
Yes, the air, and the water.
It fell with the rain.
I heard it in the wind.
I felt it in my feet upon the earth.
Something coming.
Someone coming.
Some great thing happening.
We know of the princess.
We know ofher who cursed her.
We know that this thing is coming at last.
My grandmother told me it would come in my time.
My father told me. He remembered the day.
I remember the day.
The princess and the bad one.
But this thingthis happens here.
Here.
Near to us all.
I thought of Rosie.
We thought of Rosie.
Something about Rosie.
Rosie, our Rosie.
Our friend.
Our speaker-to-all.
So we came.
And I.
And you.
And all of us.
But the princess!
She cannot be!
She talks to us!
She is the princess. The humans would not get this wrong.
The wet black man would not get this wrong. Can you not smell it on him?
But here!
Her!
Rosie!
Our Rosie the princess!
I knew there was something wrong about all those strongholds! Did you ever hear 
of anyone who got a smell of her?
But here, right here with us in the wet lands!
Waitll I tell the cousins!
The princess! Shes alive!
You know the stories, of how we all fed her as she fled across country, away 
from the one who wished her ill
We fed and hid her
Fox and bear and badger and deer and cow and ewe and goat and bitch and wolf 
bitch and cat and wildcat, we all fed her
The stories never said where she fled to!this from a very young and foolish 
rabbit, who was instantly pinned to the ground by the weight of disapproval this 
thoughtless remark brought him. Well, of course not, said a goose, and gave a 
scornful hiss as she swayed past him and settled nearer the door to the 
wheelwrights, wriggling between two sheep and a beaver.
The princess!
Our princess!
I should have brought her a giftI know where there are some apples
some sweet acorns
some beautiful roots
a squirrel that hasnt been dead very long 
Rosie laughed, from wherever she was, in the rolling grey fog, and the laughter 
stirred her from lethargy, and she looked down. She seemed to be wearing a long 
dress made out of something as grey as the fog, grey and twinkling, but the fog 
only glittered in the corners of her eyes, whichever way she looked, and the 
great sweep of skirt that fell round her glittered and winked all over. She 
could feel the weight of the dress, heavy as cold iron, which made her stiffen 
her back against it to hold herself straight, like a horse in its first shoes 
lifting its feet high in surprise.
She thought, this is the sort of dress a princess wears; but I am not a 
princess. I left all that behind, back in the kitchen, with the man holding his 
sword and dripping water on the floor. I left it behind. I am a horse-leech, and 
I wear trousers, not heavy clumsy skirts.
She didnt want to see the dress, and she put her hands over her eyes; but the 
weight of it would not go away. She dropped her arms again, already weary of the 
weight of the sleeves. I left you behind, she said to the dress. I left you 
behind. I am Rosie, niece and cousin to the two best fairies in the Gig, I live 
in the wheelwrights house, Barders, who is my friend and my cousins husband; 
I am the friend also of Peony and ofof Narl. I am a horse-leech.
In her mind she glanced once more at the wheelwrights kitchen, looked at the 
kneeling man with loathing, but then she looked away from him, at Barders kind 
thoughtful face, Aunts sharp clever one, and at last looked at Katriona, at the 
tearstains still visible on her face, something like the well-known look of love 
and anxiety there, but now harsh and bleak and almost despairing. I left you 
behind, Rosie thought wonderingly, and looked down once more at the dress she 
was involuntarily wearing.
Something, some individual twinkle, moved as she looked, and she reached out her 
hand, and the spider crept onto her extended finger. All will be well, it said, 
and Rosie said to it, I know your voice. I know you. Who are you?
The spider didnt answer.
Rosie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and ducked out of the cold heavy 
dress and slipped back into her body, still standing in the wheelwrights 
kitchen, and instantly she felt the warmth of the fire at her back, and the 
poised, tingling tension in the room. The animals were still talking:
Butthe princessherethat means
Yes.
Yes.
But if Rosie is anyones princess, she is our princess, and we will keep her.
We will keep her safe.
Let the humans do what they can.
Against the bad one.
And they will. For she is theirs, too.
But we will do that which has also to be done.
As soon as we find out what it is.
We will find out.
Yes.
Ours, sighed many voices.
Ours to keep.
Rosies eyes were still closed, and among the animals voices she heard another 
voice, and against Rosies closed eyelids there seemed to be streaks of lavender 
and purple and black forming patterns that made Rosie feel dizzy and sick; and 
then there was another voice, a human voice, a voice that spoke to her of her 
death and was glad of the prediction. I have found you at last, it said. Found!
But then the voice changed, faltered, lost its malice, and became 
familiarfamiliar and loved and near at hand. It was Katrionas voice, and it 
was calling her name, the name she knew, the only name she knew. Rosie. Rosie, 
Rosie. She opened her eyes, having forgotten that they were shut. The man, Ikor, 
no longer knelt at her feet, Katriona had her arm round Rosies waist, and Aunt 
stood next to her and held a cup out toward Rosie, saying, Drink this. How 
steady is your hand? Shall I help you?
Rosie fumbled back a step, found her chair again, and sat down.
A dog head insinuated itself onto her kneeone of Lord Prens tall sighthounds, 
she could almost remember his name, yes, Hrocand a half-grown puppy, far too 
large for the job, plunged into her lap, Ralf. Several mice ran up her trouser 
leg. Flinx, as if it were an accident, sat on one foot (Rosie could feel him 
hooking his claws into her boot to stay on), and Fwab perched on her head. She 
took the cup with one hand and then decided to add the other hand to the other 
side of it, but she drank without assistance, and as the tonicshe recognised 
the smell from one of Aunts little bottlesslid down her throat she thought of 
the terrible voice she had just heard, and in her mind it infiltrated the name 
the man Ikor had just spoken: Casta Albinia Allegra Dove Minerva Fidelia Aletta 
Blythe Domnia Delicia Aurelia Grace Isabel Griselda Gwyneth Pearl Ruby Lily Iris 
BriarRose.
And, looking into Katrionas face, she understood that it was all true; and 
understood as well why she had not told her; and bitterly resented it, almost 
hated her for it, almost hated Katriona. And yet she also knew that she was 
gratefulhumbly, shamingly grateful to have been just Rosie for almost 
one-and-twenty years; and she felt that her gratitude was an obligation as heavy 
as the truth, as heavy as the iron dress.
Its true, murmured the animals.
Its true.
She looked at the four human faces looking at her, and stamped one leg, because 
the mice tickled; her other foot vibrated with Flinxs purring. She couldnt 
remember him ever purring for her before. She stared at Ikor, leaning now 
against one wall, an owl standing on a shelf just above him, shining white as he 
shone black and silver, his hand on the hilt of his great curved sword, 
compassion and wonder in his face. What stories, she said to her friends, what 
stories about how you all fed the baby princess? What stories about how she fled 
across country after her name-day?
Stories, said a number of voices, and Rosie forced herself to remember that 
animals do not tell stories as humans do. Things told were how to build nests 
and line dens, how to escape your enemies, how to find or catch your food, and 
how to do these things while not attracting the wrong sort of attention, which 
included all human attention.
Why? said Rosie. Why did you help herthem? Katriona had brought her 
homebrought her here. Katriona had been the one from Foggy Bottom who had gone 
to the princess name-day; Rosie knew how every village, every town, had been 
allowed to send one person. The others from the GigOsib from Treelight, Gleer 
from Mistweir, Zan from Waybreak, Milly from Smoke Riverall of them were only 
too glad to tell stories of their journey, of the name-day, in spite of what had 
happened to the princess. Katriona never spoke of it at all; it was Flora who 
had told her that Foggy Bottoms representative had been Katriona. Rosie, well 
acquainted with Katrionas tenderheartedness and distress at the princess 
plight, had thought she knew why she did not talk about her experience.
Why? she asked again. I do not understand. Why did all of you help?
There was a rustle of puzzlement through the animals, but the puzzlement was at 
her for her question. At last the owl said to her, We do not know why. It was 
the thing to do. The bad one is bad; the sort of human-bad that leaks, like an 
old bole in the rain. Those of us who saw this knew this; it was there. Our 
parents and grandparents, if they were there, knew this. You humans use we and 
all of you differently. We did not gather together. We gave the story of the 
bad human-gathering day to our neighbours, and our neighbours to their 
neighbours, and they and we did what there was to do. The story now is the way 
of things. It is done.
You are our princess, said other voices. It is now, not then.
Aunt. Of course Aunt knew; for Katriona would have come home with the baby 
princesswith her, herself, Rosieand told her what had happened; and Katriona 
had been barely more than a child herself, fifteen, five years younger than 
Rosie was now. Bardershe could see that Barder had known as well, and for a 
moment she had to struggle to forgive the three of them for this, that Barder 
had known, too, for he would not have learnt till later; they would have told 
him over her, Rosies, head, her unknowing head. Barder must have read something 
of this in her eyes, for he gave her a funny, twisted little smile, weaker than 
usual, but the familiar smile the two of them had exchanged many times in the 
last years, as the two ordinary people in a house that held two fairies, a smile 
of equal parts love and exasperation.
She was glad she was sitting down, for she could feel tremendous forces shifting 
inside her, aligning this new, appalling knowledge with everything she knew 
about herself, and everything she didnt know: with her memories of cutting her 
hair when she was four, of falling into a bog when she was ten, of looking into 
the darkness of the cottage loft when she was fifteen, of finding out that she 
was in love with Narl when she was twenty; of growing up talking to animals as 
she talked to people, and not understanding for a surprisingly long time that 
not everyone did this. She felt as if when she stood up again this immense 
change would have expressed itself physically somehow; she would be taller or 
shorter or have six fingers on each handas people with fairy blood occasionally 
didbut no, she was the princess, and her family, her real family, had no magic 
in it.
And then her eyes filled with tears, and she threw herself forward into 
Katrionas arms (Ralf squeaked, but held his place), Katriona, dearest cousin, 
sister, motherand none of these, for Rosie was a princess, the daughter of the 
king and queen, and no blood at all to Katriona, to Aunt, to Jem and Gilly and 
Gable, and the loss was suddenly more than she could bear.
Oh my dear, my dear, she heard Katriona saying, you are still our own Rosie; 
never doubt it.
She cried for what felt like a long time, till her eyes were sandy and her mouth 
dry, and then she stopped. She wiped her eyes (and Ralfs back) with a towel 
that Aunt offered her, and Spear and Hroc licked the bits she missed. When she 
raised her face from the towel the first thing her eyes fell upon was the little 
grinning gargoyle that Barder had carved. She remembered the story of the 
blunted spindles, how the lost princess had been cursed to prick her finger on a 
spindlean iron spindle, such as Rosie had never seenon her birthday, and die 
of it; and she remembered Katrionas habit of rubbing her finger down the 
gargoyles nose, for luck or reassurance, and how she, Rosie, had picked the 
habit up from her.
The room was very full of animals now: sheep and lambs; a fawn, its mum with her 
head through the door; several more catsmostly on the table; rabbits and hares; 
a grizzled old badger and a smallish young pig; a shiny black cock sitting on 
the back of Barders empty chair, pretending to ignore the glossy cock pheasant, 
whose tail was longer than his if not so iridescent, on the back of Katrionas.
Birds perched almost everywhere that would hold two clutching bird feet, 
including the backs of the sheep. There were a few moles pretending to be small 
humped velvety shadows, and a stoat, looking stubborn, as if his friends and 
family had tried to talk him out of coming and he had come anyway. Lord Prens 
stallion, Gorse, thrust his head through the window Fwab had opened, and Rosie 
heard Fast whinnying behind him; and she could hear the teem and seethe of the 
courtyard, as more beasts came, and more and more and more.
Water still dripped off the trees and trickled down the roof, but the only other 
noise was what the animals made. Rosie could hear the giggle of otters, and she 
heard the pattering thoughts of goats and the more laborious ones of cows, and 
not far away in the forest there was at least one bear. She looked up as another 
shadow fell across the doorway, and there was Peony, an expression of 
astonishment on her face, and a half-grown fox cub in her arms.
Rosie stood up again, tucking Ralf under one arm; there was now a sparrow 
sitting on one shoulder, and a grouse on the other; one of the sparrows wings 
clapped against her ear as it kept its balance; Ralf was under that arm. But it 
was only the tiny prickle of Fwabs claws against her scalp that was making her 
eyes water. Two of the mice she had shaken out of her trouser leg had scampered 
up the outside, and dove into a pocket just before her standing would have 
shaken them loose a second time. Rosie ran her free hand through her short hair 
in her old familiar gesture-Fwab, very used to it, hopping in the air just long 
enough for it to sweep under him but this time, to those looking on, the 
resulting fuzzy nimbus looked less like a sunflower and more like a soldier 
having just removed a battle helmet. Her voice was perfectly steady:
We havent much time to decide what we will say, for Lord Prendergasts people 
will be close behind Gorse and Fast, and the village will be close behind them, 
as soon as they look out their doors for a breath of air before bed this evening 
and see the menagerie at the wrights. My one-and-twentieth birthday is upon 
usthat is what you are here to say, is it not, Ikor?and my final doom comes 
with it, for good or ill. What is it that we must do?



Part Four



Chapter 16
 ^  
Again Rosie found herself standing at the strange window of a strange new 
bedroom, staring out into darkness and a series of roofs, and wondering what was 
to become of her. But this bedroom was still strange to her after three months, 
whereas the wheelwrights house had been home in three weeks.
The window she stood at now was high up, much higher than any village house, 
higher indeed than any tree Rosie had ever climbed. Nor were the roofs she 
looked out on the friendly, ordinary muddle of sheds and outbuildings suitable 
to a house that had belonged to several generations of village craftspeople, and 
some rather untidy common land beyond, but a long rolling sea of wings and 
stableblocks and armories and chapels and bakehouses and dairies and servants 
quarters, and still more walls and roofs that she had no names for, surrounded 
by beautifully kept parkland and pasture and gardens and poultry runs.
She was at Woodwold.
She wished for a cat to be lying nearby, flicking its tail in the starlight and 
muttering indecipherably. But the tower roomchosen by Lord Prendergast and 
approved by Ikorwas very high indeed, and the confusion of roofs alarming, even 
for a cat that liked climbing.
It was always quiet up here, but tonight not only did no owls hoot, no horses 
whinny from the stables, no dogs bark in the grounds: the mice behind the 
wainscoting and the pigeons under the elegant lacery of the overhanging roof 
were silent.
Waiting.
Tomorrow was the princess twenty-first birthday. There was to be a grand ball, 
the grandest ball anyone had ever seen or heard of, and Rosie, as if from exile 
or through a wasting illness, remembered the old stories of what the princess 
twenty-first birthday ball would be.
The courtiers, including (so far) forty-four magicians and twenty-six fairies, 
had been arriving for the last two months. Ikor, the queens fairys special 
emissary, greeted them, and told them what they needed to know; and if any of 
them doubted him (as the magicians surely did, on principle), none of them 
challenged him. For the storythe story that was given out by Ikorwas that it 
had been the queens fairy, Sigil, who had saved the princess on her name-day, 
and who had repulsed Pernicia and devised the princess sanctuary. (As a result, 
fairies all over the country were being treated with a reverence they were quite 
unaccustomed to, and which the more practical among them found rather a 
nuisance.)
Sigil herself had not only refused to come forward and be made a proper fuss 
over; she faded to a vague colourless presence at the queens elbow no one was 
absolutely sure, a moment later, that they had seen at all. But the other 
courtiers, grand and strange, poured into the Gig, complaining about the roads, 
speaking with the accent of the royal city; and with them they brought exquisite 
gifts, for the Prendergasts, and for the princess.
The king and queen and their three sons had set out for the Gig as soon as 
possible after the announcement of the princess whereabouts was madean 
announcement that had flown on spell-wings from the Gig to the royal citybut 
they were taking a long passage through their country, meeting their people, 
letting them see from the joy in their faces that the news was true, and 
assuring them that they would take an even longer passage back to the royal 
city, and introduce everyone who wanted to meet her to the princess, who would 
be imprisoned no more.
There was no mention of the fact that Sigil had told the king and queen that 
they must not arrive at Woodwold before the very day of the ball.
There were people all over the country saying, Woodwold! How very extraordinary! 
We never thought of Woodwold! And others who said, Lord Prendergast is a deep 
one, keeping to himself as he does; and yet the Prendergasts have always been 
like that, staying away from court to bury themselves in their own lands, 
notoriously loyal when they might have been kings and queens themselves, almost 
as if fate were laying something up for the future.
The entire country felt as if it were on holiday, as if all the feast days of 
the yearof the last one-and-twenty yearswere being rolled together to make one 
immense, joyous, irresistable celebration.
Because the princess ball was Pernicias final routthis too was explicit in 
the story Ikor was telling. Pernicia had failed. She had had her twenty-one 
years, and she had failed. They had kept their princess safe. On her 
twenty-first birthday they would not be looking anxiously over their shoulders 
for black and purple shadows where no honest shadows could lie; they would be 
celebrating the end of darkness.
For this was a part of the great magic Sigil and Ikor and Aunt and Katriona had 
created. This was a part of their last, desperate throw against the fate that 
had caged the princess on her name-day that the people should believe that 
Pernicia had already lost, and that the princess birthday was a time of 
rejoicing; that they might freely love their restored princess so much that the 
love itself was protection and defenceand that behind that defence other, 
secret defences could be devised.
People forgot; it was in the nature of people to forget, to blur boundaries, to 
retell stories to come out the way they wanted them to come out, to remember 
things as how they ought to be instead of how they were. And Aunt and Katriona 
and Ikor and Sigil had arranged to help the people forget, to remember just a 
littlejust a crucially littleawry.
Pernicia could not be defeated by any of the usual means of straightforward 
feats of magic and of arms. And so they had had to come up with an alternative.
It was a deceiving magic so vast that the four fairies walked half in the 
spell-world all their waking hours, and their dreams were troubled by it even 
when they slept, which was little enough, and restlessly. Katriona felt as if 
she and Aunt and Ikor and Sigil had unravelled themselves from their human 
shapes and reknitted the thread into a world-shape: the shape of a world where 
Pernicia had lost, and the one-and-twentieth birthday of the once-cursed 
princess was a joyful and carefree occasion, where the only concern would be 
that you didnt miss anything particularly good to eat, and that you shouted 
loudly enough when the princess health was drunk. She knew Aunt and Ikor felt 
the same by the expressions on their faces: the faces of people whose bodies 
could barely hold their clothes out in the right dimensions of height, width and 
depth, because there is so little of them left, beyond the magic they maintained 
and endured.
She wondered, now that she felt a tattered, shambling thing herself, if the 
tattered, shambling, persistent searching spell had once been a human being. She 
and Aunt had not seen it again since Ikor had arrived in Foggy Bottom. She did 
not know if it had disintegrated, or gone home, or
The conspirators all wondered why Pernicia remained silent. Ikor had won their 
second-to-last throwhe had found the princess before she did; but the news of 
the princess discovery was not only no secret; it had caused a tremendous 
thunderclap in all the ethereal layers, from the darkest underground chambers of 
the gnomes and earth-sprites and rock-witches to the high cold realms of the 
cloud swallowers and the star-dancers. Pernicia knew. Pernicia also must know 
that some enchantment was making the people of the country she planned to 
destroy believe that her design had already foundered.
But she was biding her time, as the last days ran out before the princess 
one-and-twentieth birthdaywhen Pernicia would be at her strongest. The 
birthday, and their final contest. And Katriona found herself grotesquely 
grateful for her enemys silence, for she did not think the conspirators 
precarious delusion could have held against even so much as one gust of 
Pernicias laughter, the demon laughter that had pulled the banners down on the 
princess name-day.
Katriona often thought she could not have done it at all without Sigil. It was 
not just a matter of four of them instead of three; it was the clear patient 
lines of the magic Sigil worked, which never sagged nor snarled and were never 
overwhelmed or confused. She never saw Sigils face, although when she heard her 
voice, she sounded as nearby as if she stood next to her, with her arm round her 
waist again, and Katriona holding a baby princess. None of the three of them in 
Foggy Bottom knew where Sigil was, not even Ikor; she had not remained in the 
royal city, nor had she gone on the royal progress with the king and the queen 
and the princes. But the three other fairy conspirators often heard her voice, 
and constantly felt her presence, and her strength, and her love for the 
princess she had not seen in more than twenty years.
   
Rosie rested her chin on her hands, listening to the waiting silence. This is 
the only way, she told herself. We went over it and over it and over itKat and 
Aunt both said Ikor was right, it is the only way, and it gives us hope when 
there was none: because Pernicia had not been baffled or defeated, and all there 
really was to set against her, here at the final confrontation, was Rosie 
herself. Which was all there had been twenty-one years ago; all that Katriona 
and Aunt and Sigil and Ikor had been able to do was give her time to grow up.
It had been Ikors idea, of course. It took an outsider to see it, to suggest 
it; Ikor, who had been chosen by Sigil not only because he had been the 
twenty-first godparent and the bestower of the amulet, but also because he was 
the sort of person who saw what there was to see and the sort of fairy to shape 
it best to his purpose. Yet he had almost been undone by the knowledge of 
Rosies beast-speech; It cannot be, he said, over and over. It cannot be. 
This was the only time during that long night that Katriona laughed. But it 
is, she said. Dont you thinkI have often thoughtit is one of the things 
that has saved her this long? She has been as safe as ordinariness could make 
her: ordinariness, and that she talks to animals like a fairy. Better than a 
fairy.
These had also been the only moments during that long night that Ikor had lost 
his ascendency over them, as he repeated, It can not be. They were, for 
another little while, a family, united against an invader. But Rosie could not 
hold to that memory, not sitting in a tower room in Woodwold the night before 
the princess birthday. What she remembered was the look on Kats face when she 
agreed to Ikors plan.
Often in the last three months Rosie recalled the voice she had heard the night 
of Ikors arrival: I have found you at last! Found! That she had not heard it 
again gave her no comfort; for she knew the truth behind the conspiracy. And 
tomorrow was the princess birthday.
Rosie remembered the look on Peonys face as she stood in the doorway on that 
evening, the fox cub in her arms, contemplating them allthe animals wrapped 
round and flowing from the figure on the chair, the figure of Katrionas cousin 
and Aunts niece and Peonys best friend, who had just found out that she was a 
princess, a princess with a curse on her.
Everyone had fallen silent, and looked at the newcomer, framed by the wet 
twilight; there was a peevish mutter of wind. The firelight touched her worried 
face with gold, and set fire to her bright hair and the fox cubs fur.
II saw-from my window, and I came down He just just jumped, said Peony. The 
fox cub had turned over on his back, the better to bat at one of Peonys long 
ringlets, fallen gracefully over her shoulder, with his forepaws, and looked 
perfectly content and at ease. II thought he must have mistaken me for you, 
somehow, so I then had the excuse of bringing him to you. Rosie, are you all 
right? You look strange. Why are so many of your friends here? Is something 
wrong?
Mistaken you for her? said Ikor. Mistaken you for her
Peony turned to look at him, astonished. I am Ikor, he said and bowed. He had 
not bowed before; he had spoken to the others directly, and had knelt to his 
princess. But to Peony he bowed, a beautiful bow, no less graceful for the swing 
of the curved blade at his side. That will be how courtiers bow, thought Rosie, 
and, as Peony gave him a bemused little curtsy in return, she thought, and Peony 
curtsies like a lady, even if shes the niece of the wainwright.
And then Ikor had said, gesturing with the hand that did not rest on his sword 
hilt, And this is Casta Albinia Allegra Dove Minerva Fidelia Aletta Blythe 
Domnia Delicia Aurelia Grace Isabel Griselda Gwyneth Pearl Ruby Coral Lily Iris 
Briar-Rose your princess.
Peony had gone pink and then white, and Rosie, both at the time and later in 
memory, had never understood why there had never been the least flicker of 
disbelief in her face. Peony heard and believed, and with a tiny oh she made 
her way through the seethe of animals and dropped down at Rosies side; but poor 
Rosie slid off her chair and sat on the floor, her free hand clutching at 
Peonys free handthe fox cub and Ralf showed signs of disagreeing with each 
other, and had to be held backsaying, Dont kneel! Kind fates, Peony, Peony, 
please dont kneel!
There was a clatter of hoofs outside, a heavy, purposeful clatter of ridden 
horses, and voices. Rosie knew one of the voices, one of the grooms from 
Woodwold. Theyve come for Gorse and Fast, she said, and Ikor nodded, and the 
owl that had been sitting on a shelf over his head stepped off it onto his 
shoulder. Rosie could feel Ikor asking for volunteers among the other birdshe 
didnt exactly have beast-speech, but he was getting his point acrossand there 
was a general rustle of reluctance among the smaller birds, and they were all 
smaller than the owl. Fwab, you go, said Rosie. Ill watch out for you.
Watch what out for me? said Fwab. From where youre standing you can just about 
watch my tail feathers disappearing down someones gullet.
But he gave his wings a flap, sat down again long enough to peck her scalp 
sharply for old times sake, and flew to Ikors shoulder, stuffing himself as 
well as he could under Ikors ear.
Truce, said Rosie to the owl.
Truce, said the owl, amused. I would not have come here were I looking for 
breakfast.
There was an inaudible mutter from Fwab, but he poked his head a little farther 
out from under Ikors ear, so he could get a good view of whatever was going to 
happen next.
The owl swivelled his head, and looked straight at Rosie with his wild yellow 
eyes. I stay to do you honour, princess. I sit on this mans shoulder because he 
says this will help you. You have a terrible enemy, princess. We feel her with 
this man, though he comes for good.
Forgive me, small one, said Ikor, but an owl is so impressive, and between 
his thumb and forefinger appeared a small seed, which Fwab, after giving it a 
dubious look with his left eye and a brighter one with his right, plucked up 
delicately and swallowed. He was just swallowing his second seed when the groom 
Rosie knew appeared at the doorway, shaking a dripping hat.
His lordships compliments, but two of his lordships horses have seen fit to 
bolt off hereRosie, what on earths up? the groom added, gawping at the 
multitude; and then Ikor moved so as to catch his eye. The owl was very 
impressive, towering over him from its perch on his shoulder, the crown of its 
head brushing the ceiling; its pale tawny-grey colouring seemed meant to 
complement Ikors own. Forgive me, said Ikor. I fear it is my fault. He said 
nothing more, but the groom looked at the owl, and watched Fwab accepting 
several more seeds from Ikors fingers, and assumedwhat Ikor meant him to 
assume.
Most of the rest of the mice had crawled up Rosies trouser legs, and two or 
three down her waistcoat, now that she was so conveniently sitting on the floor 
(and she had her arm so firmly round Ralfs neck). Flinx was still purring, now 
pressed against Rosies side (having quelled Ralf with one look), but there was 
another owl, two kestrels and a merlin, and other cats; and mice were always 
happiest in the dark, with a low ceiling. Rosie had to stifle a growing 
compulsion to laugh, mostly at the terrifying absurdity of her situation, but as 
if the small scritchiness of mouse feet and whiskers were the last straw; and 
she clung to Peonys hand (Peony, too, seemed to be having trouble with her 
breathing) and gulped at the bubbles of laughter.
Indeed I was on my way tohmmask an audience of his lordship when I 
washmmwhen I chose to come here first. Perhaps you would be so kind as to give 
him a message that I will wait upon his convenience tomorrow morning?
The groom had slapped his wet hat on his head again to answer this imposing 
stranger politely. A raindrop fell off the brim and ran down his nose; he 
sniffed involuntarily. What name shall I say?
Ikor, Queens Messenger.
Queens Messenger. The animals murmured among themselves, and Rosie felt it 
against her skin like a draught, raising gooseflesh. She swallowed another 
bubble of frightened laughter, and hiccupped instead.
The grooms glance brightened at once, and he gave a crisp bow.
Sir, he said, and then the other groom appeared at his elbow and said 
aggrievedly, They wont budge. Ive got their bridles on and everything and 
they just clamp their jaws and stand there.
Rosie said hastily, Go on, my friends. Ill see you tomorrow. I think.
But the horses did not move; Rosie heard the groom muttering and wheedling. 
Gorse said, There is something very wrong, Rosie, princess. We have tasted it on 
the air, long time past, we have smelt it coming closer, looking, looking for 
something, like a bully his lost whip, like a wolf his dinner, not just looking 
but desiring, craving, must-having. Long before this short now, when this 
strange man comes, and says that it is you it looks for, because of this thing 
you are, and it will become the whip in the hand of the bully when it touches 
you. We all fear this hand. We fear this man, who brings the smell, and the 
desiring, with him, although it is not in him; he carries it, like harness, and 
that which laid the harness on him is not far behind him.
But you are ours, princess, you have been our friend, you have been our friend 
since before you learnt to speak to us, andwe may not like it, but we need 
human friends, because we have human enemies whether we will or nay. Now we hear 
what this man says as his words strike you like blows from a whip. You are the 
thing that brings the bully, the wickedness, here, but so also are you the thing 
that will drive this wickedness from our land. We understand this now, beyond 
his human words, for we have our own legends and our own losses. This man, with 
his fear and his wounds where the harness has rubbed him, cannot save you alone. 
We will not give you up to him, to humans. That is why we are herewhy so many 
of us are here. We came before we heard what this man told you; we heard a thing 
cominga big thing and a strong thing. And more of us come now that we hear the 
tale he is telling. Do you not understand?
Rosie said bemusedly, Perhaps you understand better than I do. Humans talk so 
much. We do not see or hear or taste or feel or touch nearly so much as we talk. 
I am deaf and blind and dull with it, I think.
The bigger the herd the safer, said Gorse. We do not wish to go. Sip and 
Matty-those who carried the grooms here-will join us if we ask them. I can call 
every horse from my lords lands, if you ask. There is not just one owl or one 
hawk in your big roomand they hunt aloneand there are mice and rabbits and 
small birds, in spite of them, who come also to you.
No, said Rosie. Go home. In this case the big herd only makes us visible, and we 
do not want to be visible. Go home. Please.
Gorse tossed his head in irritation, and Fast bit a piece off the warped shutter 
and chewed it, clanking his bit and throwing splintery foam. There was a yelp of 
protest from one of the grooms. After a moment Gorse said, You are the princess. 
We know what this means. You should have the biggest herd of all.
Rosie said, I dont want to be the princess, and she could feel laughter and 
more tears both struggling to get out, and she hiccupped again.
Gorse said gently, I did not want to be my lords best stallion, to be led in 
front of men with cold eyes, to waste my time indoors so that I do not ruin the 
gloss of my coat, to be put to mares who do not know me nor I them. Fast did not 
wish to be able to run so that madmen would ask him to do it again and again and 
again. We are what we are. Some day I will no longer be able to mount the mares, 
and then I will have a little green paddock of my own with a few of my old mares 
who will no longer have foals, and I will stand in the sun till every hair of my 
coat is burnt dull dun. Some day Fast will no longer be able to run. We are what 
we are, princess.
Rosie said at random, because she did not want to listen to what he was telling 
her, Horses do not speak as you are speaking to me. You sound like the merrel.
Gorse said, We animals talk when we have need. This, now, what is happening, 
this is need for all of us. You do not expect a colt afraid of the blacksmith to 
tell you everything he knows; what need have you of it? It is only one colt, one 
fear, one blacksmith.
Rosie said slowly, Fwab told me once that we humans live too long.
I do not know. Humans talk. It is the way humans are. Perhaps the talking fills 
the years; perhaps the years stretch to hold the talking. In winter like the 
warmth of the barn humans have built us with some of the things they talk about, 
and the sweet hay, and the corn. The merrel tells stories because it is alone 
and lonely, and talk is all it has left, talk and memory. Come to me in my 
paddock, when I am old, and we will talk.
Isaid Rosie, but she had nothing to say.
Tell us again to go, and we will go, said Gorse. But remember who you are. And 
that if you have need of us, you must ask.
I will remember, said Rosie. Her hiccups were gone. Go. And I will come to you 
in your paddock, when you are old. We will come through this time, because I 
want to see you sunburnt and dusty.
She stirred, and found Ikor watching her. I believe your horses will go with 
you now, he said, and Rosie smiled faintly as the grooms bowed to him 
respectfully and disappeared from the doorway. There was a subdued tap of hoofs, 
and a faint smoky trail of disappointment from Fast, who had hoped for action, 
hoped for an enemy to trample or to outrun. I will remember what Gorse says, she 
said to his fading presence. Remember I am not old yet! Fast replied.
Quickly now, said Ikor. Close the doors and windows!
Rosie, looking round, realised that she had been half aware that the beasts had 
been spreading through the house and finding places to settle down, for the 
night, for the companionship, for the news, to be near her, and (in many cases) 
out of sight of the villagers; and somehow Ikor had put this to them as well, 
that there was some last virtue in secrecy till they decided what they would do; 
this night, they were going to decide. And so there was a kind of patchwork 
quilt or carpet or drugget of animals upstairs and down, several sheep and a 
badger in Jem and Gilly and Gables room and a goat and twin kids in Katriona 
and Barders with a few geese; a small heifer and six otters, two hedgehogs and 
a dozen voles in Rosies; a fawn and its mum at the top of the stairs, and a 
stag, antlers conveniently shed only a few days before, at the bottom, rabbits 
on the landing, and a small bear in the shed with Poppy and Fiend and the 
chickens; and birds and mice (including a few sleepy dormice tucked behind the 
shutters) and cats and three dogs, several half-grown piglets, and a fox cub in 
the kitchen. Most of the robins were in Aunts lap, and Flinx was now in 
Katrionas. The owl on Ikors shoulder had returned to its shelf, but Fwab had 
half tucked his head under his wing and was pretending to doze on Ikors 
shoulder, a pretense belied by the quiver that went through him every time Ikor 
gestured with the seed-producing hand.
They had talked all night. Rosie could remember how long a night it had been, 
and yet how surprised she was when she saw dawn leaking through the cracks in 
the shutters, as if dawn was not going to come again until they had met Pernicia 
and defeated her, or she them. Rosie had to keep jerking herself back from 
thinking it was all a long pitiless dream: Ikor, the news he brought, the news 
that Pernicia was not merely their countrys problem, like a drought or an 
invasion of taralians, but their problem, her problem, her own particular enemy 
who knew her name and sought her lifeher, hers, Rosies, because she was a 
princess and not Katrionas cousin and Aunts niece, which she could not forget, 
because Pernicia would not, and because she had promised Gorse she would 
remember who she was.
Nor had she ever been surrounded by so many and different animals all intent on 
the same businessher businessbefore; and the churn and roil of remarks and 
opinions (and requests for repeats of what had just been said: Rosie was by far 
the best human translator, or conduit, and Aunts robins, who were fluent with 
Aunt, tended all to talk at once) made Rosie dizzy. And so she missed some of 
Ikors description of the last year, of how everyone close to the king and queen 
sensed that what they had been waiting for, and dreading, and hoping to avert, 
had not been averted at all (unless they could take some credit for the last 
twenty-one years) and was approaching the culmination it had always been moving 
toward.
The magicians and we fairies had it the strongest, of course, but even the 
scullery maids and the stable lads could feel it advancing, like a bad storm 
makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle.
And so we had to find you first, for if she met you, touched you, grasped you, 
before we didwellthere would have been nothing left we could have done to stop 
her.
Rosie remembered the voice in her head: Found! But she did not want to tell 
anyone about itespecially not Ikor; and she had a fuzzy sense that describing 
it aloud would make it more real, and she did not want it to be real.
You truly didnt know where we were, said Katriona.
No, said Ikor. That was Sigils decision, although I agreed with it. Knowing 
leaves marks, however faint. We would have liked no marks at all, but Sigil had 
to speak to you, and you had to take the princess away from the place where 
from the name-day. But at least those were the faintest of traces, and we did 
what we could to confuse them. If we had known in what direction to channel our 
thoughtsor even what direction not to channel themNo. That would have brought 
disaster, not safety. The royal magicians, of course, did not agree, but they 
could do nothing about it. He made a faint dry huffing noise that was almost a 
laugh. Sigil had made up her mind. He paused and the humour left him. There 
has never been any consensus among us on whether the curse could have been 
brought off early; Sigil and I both believe that even if it could not, Pernicia 
would have enjoyed having the princess under her hand before she closed her 
fist.
How did you find us? said Aunt.
I followed the track my amulet had left, one-and-twenty years ago. Oh yes, it 
was a very pale and faded track indeed! But I could follow it, and perhaps, no 
one else could, since Pernicia never found you. It was why I was chosen for the 
journey, although there was another brief pause I would have vied to be 
chosen anyway. But my situation was also uniquely persuasive; the forgotten 
godparent who had nonetheless inadvertently given something.
Rosie could feel his eyes on her, but she kept hers resolutely on the floor. She 
was still periodically shaken by deep tremors, and had chosen to sit on the 
hearth, with her back to the fire; her shirt was so hot that sometimes when she 
moved and it touched her skin it burned, and she jerked where she sat, but she 
did not move away.
Some of the younger animals were falling asleep. The fawn on the landing had 
stopped saying But I dont understand, and the kids in Katrionas bedroom had 
stopped saying But why would anyone want to do that? and various other little 
ones had stopped saying But thats so mean. Why is she so mean? Ralf had curled 
up, nose under tail, and gone to sleep in her lap; Peony sat next to her, a 
little way along from the intensest heat of the fire, but they were still 
holding hands. The fox cub, also asleep, had his nose under Peonys elbow, and 
his long fuzzy cubs brush drooped over her knees. Katriona kept glancing at 
them, as if to reassure herself that theyor at least Rosiewas still there; 
Rosie would meet her eyes when she felt her looking, but not Ikors.
Her mind wandered again, thinking of the embroidery spell. It would have been 
one of the gifts from her fairy godmothers, she thought. She remembered that 
there had been fairy godmothers, and that Katriona had not thought highly of 
them, although she couldnt remember ever having heard what the gifts were. If 
they were things like embroidery, no wonder Katriona hadnt been very impressed. 
What else could she do? Darn like the wind? Spin straw into gold? She caught her 
breath suddenly: My awful, horrible hair. Princess hair! Golden curls! I 
wonder? She glanced sidelong at Peonys long golden waves; yes, but they suit 
her, she thought. She put one hand up to her head and gave her hated hair a 
yank. It was quite firmly hers, whether it should have been or not.
I wonder what Ikor would have given the prinme?
when Rowland disappeared, thats when we really began to worry, Ikor was 
saying, and Rosie felt the shiver run through Peony at his name. Rosie saw 
Rowland shape itself on her lips, but she did not speak aloud. What had a 
blacksmiths apprentice to do with anythingeven a good blacksmiths apprentice? 
It couldnt be the same Rowland. Even a good blacksmiths apprentice with a 
funny vow in his family that would stop him marrying the girl he loved
Cold iron, said Aunt thoughtfully. I have thought there was something odd 
about that boy, but I was so sure there was nothing wrong with him I was willing 
to let itand himbe. There has been so much going on this year
Yes, said Ikor. Cold iron. We knew when he disappeared that he must have gone 
as a blacksmiththe irony of it (if you will forgive the term) is that it had 
been my suggestion that he take up smithing, because of the vow. He was of 
apprenticeable age, and his father came to us for advice. You know that every 
heir-prince of Erlion makes a vow on his tenth birthday? Of course he knew the 
story of our princess, but there was no guessing The vows usually run along the 
same lines, dedication to the princedom and to the realm, and so on and on. Its 
been more of a form than a vow for generationsbut the powers still there, 
which is one of the reasons that the Erlion princes are such good friends to our 
monarchs. Young Rowland thought he would do something a bit grand; although my 
impression of the boy was that he wasnt thinking about the grandness of it so 
much as of the poor lonely princess with no friends, and no one, presumably, 
willing to marry her, which would be a terrible thing for a future queen.
Rowland shouted it right out at the ceremony. No one had thought to ask him 
what he was going to say because they assumed he would say what his father and 
his grandfather and his great-grandfather had said. His poor father, when he 
came to us, said that he had remembered to ask Rowland if he had got the words 
of his vow by heart, and Rowland had said that he did, but his father hadnt 
asked what those words were: he wanted Rowland to know that his father trusted 
him not to make a mess of it. And there we were.
So, since the Erlions always apprentice their childrenthey think it builds 
characterI suggested that he learn to work iron. By the time old Erlion got 
back to his palace, thered been a hippogriff seen, and hed set out to us the 
day after the ceremony which was, for a mercy, private, so at least we managed 
to block up most of the gossip. He found a smith to accept the boy at once; and 
fortunately Rowland took to the work. All that iron was the best warding charm 
we could have come up with, andit left no track to follow. Including, of 
course, for us, when he disappeared, most of a year ago. Didnt that cause an 
uproar! Maybe worse even than the ceremony of the heirs vow. Because we all 
knew that the likelihood was that wherever he thought he was going, and for 
whatever reason, the power of the vow would pull him to the princess.
Peony was shivering uncontrollably now. Rosie, half stupid with her own troubles 
and half grateful for the distraction of someone whose troubles might be even 
more oppressive than her own, put an arm round her. Ralf grunted and stretched 
in his sleep, laying his head on the fox cubs back as if there had never been 
any thought of dispute between them. The fox cub opened one eye and closed it 
again. Peony put her face against Rosies shoulder, and Rosie felt a few tears 
damp through the cloth to her skin.
 so I wasnt very surprised when I picked up Rowlands trace, too, the moment 
I reached Foggy Bottom. My princess, he said, turning to Rosie, and obviously 
having to make an effort not to drag her up off the low hearth or prostrate 
himself at her feet, I suppose you have met Rowland?
A brief desire to laugh washed through Rosie again, making her feel rather sick. 
She had felt too many things in too short a space of time. I know him, she 
said. I suppose I know him rather well, since I often work with him. Im the 
horse-leech here. The blacksmith, Narl, that Rowland has apprenticed himself to, 
iswas also my master, and is one of my best friends.
Ikor looked at her, and Rosie could guess that he was trying to decide how to 
phrase his next question. Are you aware of anyconnection between you?
Peony was holding herself so rigidly she felt like iron herself, except she was 
warm. Rosie tightened her arm round her and said, firmly and truthfully, No. 
Ierwe have nothing to say to each other. He likespays attention to animals, 
and his manners are very nice. Thats all. She tried to think of something to 
say that would comfort Peony, but nothing came to her. He is very clever with 
iron. Narl enjoys teaching him.
You need not marry him if you do not wish to, said Ikor. Weve studied that 
for the last eleven years andwith both of you present and willingwe can 
dismantle the bond.
Well isnt that grand news, spat Katriona. Better than strawberries in 
January. Thats the sort of announcement I would expect out of a magician, not a 
fairy. Ikor, what are we going to do now?
There was a silence, and it grew upon Rosie that she knew what Ikor was going to 
say, knew what was in Ikors mind, what had been forming in his mind since Peony 
had first looked through the door with the fox cub in her arms.
No, she thought. No. Ill run away first. If I run away, ittheyshewill come 
after me, and itll leave everybody else alone. But even as she thought this she 
knew it wasnt true. She knew it was not just the princess lifeher lifeat 
stake. Shed known that when she was still just Rosie, village horse-leech, who, 
when she thought of the princess, pitied her, for carrying a doom that stretched 
over her entire country.
Peony sat up, and released her grip on Rosies free hand. Yes, she said. Yes, 
of course I will.
You will what? said Ikor softly.
Ikor began Rosie, furiously.
Rosie, no, said Peony. Its my idea. I dont say he wouldnt have tried to 
give it to me if it werent, but he didnt have to. She turned back to Ikor. 
Ill be your princess for you. Ill be the princess everyone looks at while you 
and Rosie dodo whatever it is you have to do. Thats what you want to ask me, 
isnt it? But you will have to teach me how. I dont know any more about being a 
princess thanthan Rosie does.
Peony began Rosie again.
Peony turned to her swiftly. Its all right, she said, patting Rosies hand. 
Its all right.
They looked into each others eyes for a moment. Peonys were blue and clear and 
steady, as they always were. Rosie groped for some concept of how Peony could 
accept such a burden. Can youcan you do it for Rowland? she said at last.
For your country and your queen, said Ikor.
Peony gave a squeak, halfway between a laugh and the sound someone makes when 
theyve closed their fingers in a door. No, I cant do it for Rowland, oror 
for my country and mymy queen. But Ill do it for you, Rosie.



Chapter 17
 ^  
Ikor returned from his interview with the Gigs lord, on the day after his 
storm-escorted arrival in Foggy Bottom, with the information that the princess 
and her lady would remove, and welcome, to Woodwold, and the sooner the better; 
let us saytomorrow. Lord Prendergast was insisting on sending his best 
travelling carriage.
The news went like wildfire round the Gig; Ikor made no attempt to disguise 
himself, nor his presence at the wrights yard, nor the reason for it. We have 
nothing to spare for such minor glamours, he said, grimly, when he set off the 
morning after his arrival for his appointment with Lord Prendergast. It is 
better to say what we are sayingat once. And soaccording to the story that 
flew back to Cairngorms pub faster than Ikors feet could bring himwhen the 
Queens Messenger had been formally announced at the door of Woodwolds Great 
Hall, he gave his business in a cool voice that was nonetheless heard by 
everyone in the huge room: I come, Lord Prendergast, to crave the favour of 
your hospitality for our princess, the kings heir, who is free at last from her 
long concealment. In the hush that followed, Lord Prendergast was the first to 
move, stepping forward to indicate to the Messenger a smaller room where they 
could speak privately. He had a dazed expression on his face, but his manners, 
and his loyalty to the king and the kings heir, were perfectly in place.
There was a crowd gathered round the wrights yard by the time Ikor returned 
(having refused the lords carriage for himself), to congratulate, to stare, to 
wonder, to question. Barder and Joeb and Crantab. were trying to get on with 
business, though their hands were slow, and they shook their heads a lotnot 
only in response to their neighbours remarks.
The women were in the wheelwrights kitchen. Aunt was spinning, soft thump thump 
thump and even softer whrrrrr, as if it might have been any morning of any day. 
Katriona was brewing a serenity restoring tisane. Peony, her colour very high, 
was trying to comfort her aunt, who was weeping, Rosie thought, in bewilderment, 
because she didnt know what she should be doing; Rosie recognised this in 
another because she felt that way herself, although she shed no tears. But Rosie 
felt something beyond bewilderment: she felt trapped. Trapped, suddenly, by the 
people she had known all her life. But now they were the audience, and sheshe 
and Peony were the spectacle.
Jem and Gilly were trying to play on the kitchen floor, but their hearts werent 
in it. Gable, the most equable of babies, was inclined to fuss; Rosie picked him 
up and began to play pat-a-cake with him, less to soothe him than herself. She 
went on playing pat-a-cake even as Ikor told them they were leaving the next 
day; but still the message passed through her, and she heard the mice in the 
walls taking it up, and a few minutes later Zogdob howled, a long, despairing 
wail: only Rosie really understood about scratching a dogs spine properly, and 
she was going away. I wish I could howl, Rosie thought.
It was Peony who managed to laugh a little, to say I dont knowI dont know 
anything, to kiss proffered cheeks and squeeze proffered hands, when the 
princess and her lady were briskly escorted from the smaller prison of the 
Wrights yard into the travelling carriage that would take them to the larger 
prison of Woodwold. Rosie stared round dumbly, registering both curiosity and a 
sort of shocked reverenceand, on a few faces, pityin those who had come to see 
them off; only Flora came boldly up to her and gave her an immense hug and then 
a shake, murmuring, as if to a small child, Its all right. Rosie, its all 
right and Rosie willed herself to smile. Even Fwab, materialising from nowhere, 
pecking her scalp and tweaking her ears, could rouse only a minimal hand flap to 
dislodge him.
Rosie had never ridden in a carriage before; she didnt like it. It had a roof, 
and a closed door, and it was a prison, too, and the wheels and the horses 
hoofs said gone gone gone and lost lost lost. It was a low, foggy, overcast day, 
and cloud-streamers drifted by the carriage windowLord Prens best carriage had 
windows made of clear glass. Rosie tapped her finger on it: it was cold and 
damp.
She was accustomed to the tiny, disturbing jolt as you passed the iron gates 
into Woodwolds lands, but it was much stronger the day that the princess and 
her lady arrived, and Peony, who only knew Woodwold from feast days, had a 
little Oh! of vertigo startled out of her. Rosie thought she felt Woodwold 
stir; and she felt it stir again, more urgently, when they crossed the threshold 
of the Great Hall. Rosie, without meaning to, in a gesture rather like rubbing 
the nose of the gargoyle spindle end, or picking up a baby to play pat-a-cake 
with, called out, Merrel?
Princess, it replied, in a way that gave and included the name she thought of as 
her own, Rosie, and Woodwold, somehow, heard it, took it in, grasped it or 
swallowed it. Felt it. And responded. Prinnncessss, it said. Rooosie.
It was a hearing like no other Rosie had ever experienced, as if trees and 
stones had spoken. For a moment she could not move, as if by hearing something 
speak that did not breathe nor have voice nor move, she herself was robbed of 
all these things; and another world blossomed round her, a world in which a 
human could not live. But then the floor rippled under her feet, a tiny ripple, 
no more than the lightest suggestion of motion, and she staggered on her two 
human legs, and came to herself again, and she looked round, and thought no one 
had heard what she heard, nor, perhaps, felt what she had felt.
And then Lord Prendergast himself was coming toward them, and she and Peony both 
swept into their best curtsies (Rosies much more like a bow with a little 
angular twitch of skirts), and were horrified to find the lords hands on their 
wrists, drawing them upright.
It is I who must bow to you, he said, and did so, and then he looked into 
their white faces and said, both solemn and teasing, as if they were merely two 
more of his daughters, You must learn now, you know. It will not do if you bow 
to your own courtiers.
Yes, my lord, said Peony faintly, and then Lord Pren turned to introduce them 
to his wife, seizing them again by their wrists while she made her curtsy. But 
Rosie was preoccupied with a deep, deep note, like the last resonance of a drum, 
which you cannot hear, but only feel in your body, which was Woodwold repeating, 
Rosie. Princess. The floor shivered again, not quite imperceptibly.
I apologise for theerfloor, said Lord Pren, looking awkward for the first 
time. This house has sheltered my family for all the centuries it has stood 
here, and its loyalty is perhapsertangible. We do most sincerely welcome you 
here, and we will do all in our power to make you comfortable, butandI suppose 
it has been over a hundred years since we have greeted royalty in this Hall, and 
perhapserthe house is remembering that youermerit a special respectgreater 
than your humble servants the Prendergasts. ButI have to sayWoodwold itself is 
a trifleerinscrutable if thats a word you can use on aerhouse.
He fell silent, and they all heard the guest cups rattling on the table, and 
Lady Pren made a graceful pounce at the wine ewer, which was standing a little 
too near the edge. Iterits reactions are not generally this pronounced, he 
added, frowning slightly, in puzzlement or wonder, and Rosie recollected a 
favourite Gig rumour that the Prendergasts never went to court because if they 
left Woodwold for any time greater than the length of a hunting trip into the 
mountains beyond the river, it would pull itself out of the ground and go 
striding over the countryside after them. But then perhaps it has never had the 
glorious opportunity to be the first to greet an heir princess taking her proper 
station after long concealment, and again he bowed. Peony drew closer to Rosie, 
and tucked her hand under her arm.
But Woodwold quieted at his words, as if they had been the acknowledgement it 
wished or needed; and after a minute or two Lady Pren began to pour. But Rosie, 
as she sipped the weak sweetened wine, felt an alertness round her that had not 
been here any of the times she had come before, and she went on feeling it, some 
not-quite-inanimate something watching for some enemy, fretfully aware, as no 
human in the house seemed to be, of some deception performed under its roof, 
even if the floor no longer shuddered. Rosie hoped that no one else heard its 
abyssal whispers, Princess. Rosie. Or that if anyone did, they would not realise 
that only one person was being named.
   
The princess and her unlikely lady-in-waiting were installed at Woodwold at the 
top of a tower that stood at the peak of a kind of culminating swirlyou 
couldnt call it a corner, Rosie thoughtof wall. Woodwolds many ells and 
additions followed their own logic through half or one-and-a-half flights up and 
down and precipitate twists and confusing passages and unexpected alcoves, and 
ceilings that swooped toward you and then just as suddenly flew up into domes 
and peaks. Their tower rooms, two above and two below with a stair between, were 
small by Woodwolds standards but big by Foggy Bottoms; their bedroom, one of 
the upper two rooms, was as big as any of the village cottages entire 
downstairs floor. The room opposite was a parlour, and below there was an 
honest-to-goodness bathroom, with shining, well-rubbed piping Rosie might have 
found fascinating in other circumstances, and a dressing room; and opposite it 
(over a little hallway for privacy) was a room for guards and chaperones and the 
kind of paraphernalia they accrued. From the lower pair of rooms a wriggle of 
wedge-shaped stairs led down into the main body of the house.
Ikor hung his sabre, Eskwa, over the lintel of the door frame into their 
bedroom. Eskwa both binds and cuts, Ikor told Rosie. If you have need of 
either, he will answer to your hand.
The Prendergasts had been told that the princess and her lady would prefer to 
share a room for the sake of their own comfort and reassurance; and the 
Prendergasts, who had six children of their own and were very tender to the 
young women suddenly thrust upon them, found this not in the least odd. After a 
shock like that poor girl has had, I should think shed want her best friend by 
her side, said Lady Pren. That was true enough, even if not as Lady Pren 
understood it.
Im sorry, Rmy princess, Ikor had said, upon returning from that first 
interview with the lord and his lady, and who, after less than a day in Rosies 
blunt and matter-of-fact company, was showing signs of finding it as impossible 
to call her by her title as she found accepting it. And Peony. But you must be 
bound together as tightly as we can bind you; and you cannot leave Woodwold till 
after the princess birthday. Do you understand?
They understood. They had understood even before Katriona told them it would not 
work if they werent friends already. Not just friends: if you hadnt already 
left deep marks on each others lives. Peony, do you know that you have Rosies 
gesture of running your hand through your hair? You didnt when we first moved 
here. And Rosie, youve picked up the head shake Peony uses to settle her hair 
back into place again, which you never used to do when we lived in the 
cottageand when you havent got hair to settle in place besides. You finish 
each others sentences half the timeor sometimes, if you think no one else is 
listening, you dont bother to finish them because you both know what you were 
going to say. If one of the rest of us needs to know, we have to ask. That fox 
cub wasnt so far wrong when he jumped into your arms, Peony, instead of braving 
the menagerie in our house. He knew you wereyou were part of the same thing. 
They had been sitting at the hearth in the wheelwrights kitchen; it was 
evening. The name-day ribbons and rosettes were spread out on the table; they 
were still crumpled from their twenty-year-old journey at the bottom of 
Katrionas pocket, but were only a little faded, and they looked like what they 
were: ornamental badges from some royal rite. Rosie and Peony were to be 
escorted to Woodwold the following morning.
And Rosie and Peony knew, in a way they discussed with no one else and did not 
need to discuss with each other, that the deception would not have worked if 
they had not already been such friends, if they had not already known so much 
about each other that each fitted instinctively to the shape of the others 
habits, customs, life. They would not have been able to bear the further binding 
that Ikor now settled round them, that Eskwa oversaw from the lintel of their 
bedroom at Woodwold. It was not merely that they were rarely out of each others 
sight now, never farther than a room or a dividing wall distant; it was that 
they could feel thethethe whatever it was, the magic, the magic that had drawn 
Rowland to Foggy Bottom and Ikor after him, the magic that was now rushing them 
all toward the princess one-and-twentieth birthday.
They could feel Ikor plucking at the bond between them, taking tucks in it as 
one might take tucks in a dress passed from a bigger owner to a smaller, or as 
one pulls the unworn edges of sheet together and creates a new centre seam. 
Rosie began to feel that neither she nor Peony alone was quite real. When Peony 
smiled, her own lips turned up; when Peony waved her arm in the air, a 
ghost-shadow flew between her arm and Rosies. As the weeks passed, Rosie saw 
more and more of these ghost-shadows; and she felt some kind of resonance 
between them and the heavy inaudible mutter of the house that sheltered and 
shadowed them. She felt as if her flesh, her self, were thinning, dissolving, 
like honey stirred into water, dissolving into the strange air of Woodwold, and 
into the passionate awareness of the presence of the princess in the people 
round the two of them.
It did not try their friendship; curiously, it made them cling to each other, 
for the knowledge of each others solidity was the greatest comfort against 
ghosts. Katriona and Aunt spent as much time as either could spare with them, 
for the companionship of a third broke up the ghost-shadows as sunlight breaks 
up real ones, and Aunt and Katriona had long been known and welcome at Woodwold. 
Ikor, seemingly, could not find a way to settle in their companyperhaps since, 
once they had removed to Woodwold, he was very careful to address Peony as 
princess and Rosie as ladyand he was mostly as reticent as any of the 
awestruck servants of Woodwold were. But Katriona and Aunt and Ikor really had 
no time to spare, and mostly Rosie and Peony were alone together in the 
consciousness of what they did and who they were.
   
During those three months of zealous human preparation Woodwold remained 
restlessly half roused; Rosie felt its awareness following her through the 
corridors, up and down the stairs; sometimes she felt a quiver like an animals 
skin when she touched a wall or a latch with her bare hand. She tried to say to 
it, Sleep, sleep. I am nothing to you, but she knew it did not heed her. And, on 
the night before the princess birthday, with all the animals silent, Rosie 
could hear the murmur of Woodwold in the creaks of great beams and vast 
rock-slabs infinitesimally shifting against each other, and the nearly noiseless 
accumulation of dust: Rosie, it said. Rosie.
Its only the last name of the princess, Rosie said to herself. Its a house, 
even if it is big enough to be its own country. Houses dont memorise long human 
namesany more than I do, she thought, a little wistfully. Peony can remember it 
all, but I cant. Thethe syllables I seem to hear are nothing buta sort of 
draught, with a puff at the end that sounds like the name of-the name of a 
flower, or of a princess. Its nothing. Its a current of air.
She stared out at the clouded landscape, drawing swirls with her finger through 
the faint haze of chalky powder on the windowsill. The room was swept and dusted 
twice a day, but nothing could keep the princess bedroom cleanalthough no one 
but the conspirators thought this was anything more ominous than every fairy and 
magician in the country sending her their best wishes. And perhaps the 
persistence of the spiderweb in the upper left corner of Rosies favourite 
window had something to do with the room being the top of a tower, and, until 
three months ago, little used. Rosie saw the spider often; it usually emerged 
from its corner when Rosie curled up on the seat and put her elbows on the sill 
to look out. In the absence of her usual animal companions, she had come to 
think of it as company, though it never spoke to her.
Rosie, muttered the rafters. Rosie, whispered the roof tiles.
The stories about Woodwold, which for many generations had interested no one but 
scholars and the citizens of the Gig, had been brought out of the backs of 
peoples minds; except that there were so many gaps there was very little story 
after all (discounting, in the cause of temperate truth, the more elaborate 
flights of the Gigs bards), except that it was an odd old house, one of the 
largest and oldest and perhaps the oddest in the entire country, and it lay very 
near the edge of nowhere, on the bank of the River Moan. Some tales could be 
told of the Prendergasts: that they were even older than their house, that their 
forefathers and foremothers, fore-aunts and fore-uncles, had come to their 
rulers call whenever their ruler had had need of them; they had stood by the 
queen when she foiled Pernicia the first time; they had fought at the side of 
the king when he drove the fire-wyrms out of the Gig. It was half remembered, 
half believed that it was at that time that the Prendergasts had fallen in love 
with the Gig and had decided to stay there, and that it was in thanks for their 
valour against the fire-wyrms that the king had deeded it to them.
There was a crumb of a story about why Woodwold had been founded where it had; 
something to do with a seers vision. Forecasters visions were the least 
reliable of the practical magics, and the longer-term a forecast the less 
reliable; few people would choose to build a house from something a seer had 
said. But the crumb of story insisted that the seer had been a member of the 
Prendergasts himself, which was curious, since seeing, however useless, required 
very strong magic, and the Prendergasts were not a magical family. Perhaps they 
had been, and it had left them over the generations.
There were no recent stories of the Prendergasts, unless you were horse-mad. The 
odd, damp little bit of country under their stewardship did, it was true, 
prosper, but fine hides and wool and weaving and ironmongery and carved spindle 
endsand horsesdid not make interesting stories.
People said, I wonder what the princes will make of their elder sister?
Everyone said, What shall we make of our future queen?
   
Ikor had removed to Woodwold with the princess; as a stranger to the Gig and a 
member of the royal court (and, perhaps, as a negligent wearer of naked sabres) 
he had an authority that the humans of Woodwold were glad to rely on (the 
animals were less impressed, and, Rosie feared, the house failed to notice at 
all). Aunt and Katriona remainedexcept for too-infrequent visitsin Foggy 
Bottom, and tried to seem no more and no differently distressed than Peonys 
aunt and uncle.
Peonys aunt and uncle were in considerable confusion of mind, waking, as they 
now believed themselves to be, from a long dream, in which Peony had been their 
niece. Their only sorrow now was that they could not quite remember how it had 
come about that they had been so astonishingly chosen to raise the secret 
princess. They felt they had the vaguest wisp of memory of someone, a fairy or a 
magician (magician, I think, said Hroslinga. Wasnt he tall, solemn, and 
dressed all in black?), giving them a child to be raised as their niece: (I 
remember him telling us he had to make us forget his visit, said Hroslinga. I 
remember his hand coming toward my forehead to rub out the memory. I do.) We 
always knew we were ordinary, said Crantab, but we didnt know we were 
perfectly ordinary! He loved his joke so much he had to tell it several times a 
day, but people were inclined to be indulgent to the man who had raised the 
princess, and went on laughing at it to please him. Crantab and Hroslinga were 
happy not to be called up to Woodwold; they were happy to leave all that to 
Katriona and Aunt, and to the mesmerising and rather scary Ikor.
But Hroslinga, one day, having told the story of the black-robed magician all 
over again for the dozenth time to Katriona (the story, with a little help, was 
becoming ever more interestingly detailedAlthough, by the fates, she doesnt 
need much help, Katriona said to Aunt), said something else. They had been 
folding sheets together, and remembering that this had been one of the jobs 
Rosie and Peony had done. A silence had fallen as Katriona tucked little sprigs 
of lavender between the folds, and gathered up Hroslingas sheets to hand to 
her, and Hroslinga, musingly, as she accepted the bundle, said, It is a great 
relief to me now, to know that she isnt my own kin. I was never as fond of her 
as I knew I should be; and this has troubled me all her life.
She was too deep in her own thoughts to see how Katrionas hands shook as 
Hroslinga accepted the weight of the sheets; and she had no way of knowing that 
Katriona shut herself up as soon as she left, so she could burst into tears 
without anyone knowing. When she came out again a few minutes later, wiping her 
eyes, she went out into the yard, where her three children were playing under 
Barders preoccupied but probably watchful enough eye, and hugged them all 
fiercely in turn (Oh, mum, said Jem disgustedly). She never told anyone what 
Hroslinga had said, not even Aunt or Barder, and, contrary to all her usual 
scruples, laid a mild enchantment on Hroslinga, that she might never say it 
again.
The other Gig fairies were pressed into service to the princess, too, but theirs 
was a different sort of service; they were to keep the bounds beaten, the bounds 
of the Gig, against whatever might seek entry that was not welcome. Such was 
the disturbance round the revealing of the princess that there was a terrific 
amount of magical activity all over the Gig, and bounds-beating under these 
conditions was more than plenty to prevent any fairy having time or energy to be 
inquisitive about what another was up to, or to wonder if the two best fairies 
in the Gig didnt seem a little too weary and anxious and preoccupied when all 
they should be doing that was any different from what any of the rest of the Gig 
fairies were doing was missing their cousin-niece who was being well taken care 
of by that very odd but unmistakably magisterial Ikor, up at Woodwold with the 
princess.
It wasnt as though the bounds had to be held against anythingor anyonein 
particular; it was just a general policing activity, all though very trying. The 
entire Gig was drawing the sort of mostly minor but vexing magical disruptions 
that fairy houses did, but expanded for its greater dimensions: dja vines, 
instead of growing the length of an arm, grew the height of a tall man 
overnight; there were clouds of butterflies, wearing little frilly dresses made 
of primroses and hats of lily-of-the-valley (which was disconcerting in 
midwinter); door latches became oracular, so you could not go in and out of your 
own front door without being told (in sepulchral tones) what your next sennight 
was going to be like (fortunately the predictions were usually wrong); and three 
stremcopuses had been seen. Stremcopuses rarely came so far north, and never at 
this time of year; the winter winds made their twiggy arms die back at the tips.
   
Rowland had been the princess first visitor, the very afternoon of the 
princess arrival at Woodwold. He had appeared dressed like a blacksmithif an 
unusually clean blacksmithbut he was unintimidated by the Great Hall as no 
blacksmith should be, and he carried himself not at all like a blacksmith. He 
also obviously assumed that he would see the princess. These things gave him 
away at once. The news of what, precisely, they gave him away as, tarried only a 
little behind the central tidings of the revelation of the princess herself. The 
story was, of course, exceedingly popular with everyone who heard it: the heir 
of Erlion who had vowed to marry the princess, and who, disguised as a 
blacksmiths apprentice, fell in love with the princess disguised as the niece 
of a wainwright
Poor Peony had had only one caveat about her impersonation: You cannot tell 
Rowland that I am the princess, that it is happily ever after for us, she had 
said, savagely: Peony who was never savage about anything. For I am still the 
niece of a village wainwright and he is the Heir-Prince of Erlion. Rowland, 
loyal subject of the king as well as Erlions prince, kept whatever Ikor told 
him to himself; and perhaps only those who knew him wellRosie among themcould 
read in his carefully composed face that happily ever after was not guaranteed.
Ikor, as tired and drawn as Aunt and Katriona and much more dour, once said to 
Rosie, If he had met you anywhere but a smiths yard
He said it because his exhaustion was bearing him down till he hardly thought to 
remain standing beneath its weight till the princess birthday; and the vow of 
the ten-year-old prince might have been another post to thrust under the sagging 
roof-tree of their artifice. But Rosie had her own fears and sorrows, and she 
could not stop herself from biting back at him: Then he would have fallen in 
love with me? But he would not, you know. He might have found himself bound to 
me, yoked to me, like oxen in harness, but it would not have been love. Let them 
have what they have, because at least it is real, in all this all this
Ikor fell on his knees beside her, which he never did now, not now that they 
were at Woodwold and Peony was the princess. Forgive me, he said. Forgive 
me.
Dont be stupid, said Rosie; if you dont get up at once I shall pull your 
ears. Hard. Thats better. Look, doesnt it makewhat youre doingeasier that 
Rowland isis tied to Peony, not to me?
Ikor rubbed his sleek and hairless head, as if checking that his ears remained 
unpulled. Perhaps it does. Perhaps it does. Its just that all of this all of 
this is wrong.
Rosie smiled a little. Im glad you think so, too, she said, daring him to 
protest that the wrongness that troubled him was not the same as that which 
troubled her. But he knew Rosie a little by now, and did not rise to the bait. 
Yes, she went on, like nobbling a horse, so he will lose a race he should 
have won; or possibly to put the buyer off, because youve decided you want to 
keep him.
Ikor gave her what Rosie called his not-the-princess look. We want very much 
toerput this buyer off.
We shall, said Rosie, trying to be encouraging. We shall because we must. And 
Im very stubborn, you know. But the not the-princess look metamorphosed into 
another look, one that she liked much less, and might have called the 
yes-the-princess look, except that she didnt want to call it anything. She 
looked thoughtfully at Ikors ears.
Rosie had been sitting in the window embrasure in their bedroom during that 
conversation with Ikor, while Rowland was visiting his supposed betrothed in the 
tower parlour. The duty or the honour of chaperonage was left to Lady 
Prendergast. Mostly Rosie was alone during Rowlands visits, listening to the 
murmur of voices through the wall. And what she mostly did was think of Narl. 
She had never told Peony her feelings about Narl, even before Ikor had come; it 
was the first secret she had ever had from her. She did not weepshe had not 
wept since Ikors first evening at Foggy Bottombut when she remembered Narl her 
dry eyes burned, and her eyelids seemed to blink open and closed in hinged 
sections, like shutters. Narl had not come to Woodwold once in all the time the 
princess had been there; any smiths business had to be taken to him at the 
Foggy Bottom forge. Even Lord Prens own personal request could not bring him. 
People shook their heads, but those who knew him were not surprised; Narl would 
hate the commotion that hung round everything to do with the princess, and the 
commotion began at Woodwolds gates.
Rosie had not seen him since the day of the storm. Her last words to him had 
been Oh, bother, its sheeting as she prepared to run across the square to 
home and supper; she had not even said good-bye. And the last day and a half at 
what she still thought of as her home had been busy, horribly, chaotically busy. 
But he had not tried to see her either. Or Peony.
Rosie felt sometimes that her entire experience of Woodwold was contained in her 
favourite window-seat, with the friendly spider in the corner. She sat there so 
often: when Rowland and Peony were together, in the middle of the night when the 
dreams were particularly bad and Rosie feared to wake Peony with her thrashings 
and mumblings, when the two of them were allowed an interval of quiet before the 
next meeting with the most recently arrived courtiers (the trickle rising to a 
deluge as the princess birthday approached, till even Woodwold grew nearly 
full), the next dinner party, the next fitting of the princess ball gown. It 
was, perhaps, the only place in Woodwold where she could draw herself together 
and remember herself, think of herself, as Rosie; it was therefore the only time 
she felt quite real.
The people round the princess and her lady cossetted them as best they could; 
they were often sent back up to their tower for a rest (one of the Prendergast 
daughters, who tended to forget to be daunted by royalty, said that if they 
didnt spend half their lives climbing all those stairs they probably wouldnt 
be so tired in the first place), but neither of them had any gift for ladylike 
resting. Peony sewed, asking for anything that needed hemming or mending to be 
sent up to her; there was outrage at this request at first, but, as Peony 
explained, she had been a country girl all her life, and she had learnt to like 
having something to do with her hands; and (untruthfully) that she did not care 
for the fussy work of embroidery.
And so it was arranged, with Lady Pren, in distress, patting her collarbones 
with rapid little blows like a birds wings fanning, and, when this was not 
enough to relieve her feelings, twisting her necklaces till Peony gently took 
her hands in her own, and said, Dear Lady Pren (no one, to Rosies knowledge, 
had ever called either the lord or the lady Pren to their faces, although 
everyone in the Gig used the nickname out of their hearing), you will do this 
to please me, will you not? And Lady Pren would.
Peony was good at moments like that. Under Peonys gentle despotism, the 
Prendergasts housekeeper forebore to cast herself as the victim in a melodrama 
over the fact that it was impossible to keep the princess rooms dust-free (and, 
even more important, did not take it out on her housemaids). The horribly snooty 
majordomo smiled when he saw her, and, after the first sennight, did so even 
before Peony smiled at him. The nasty old earl from Scarent, who had obviously 
come early for the princess birthday so that he could work up a really thorough 
dislike of her first, had been won round in a few days. And the Prendergasts 
first grandson, who was three years old and a monster, could be wheedled into 
good humour with the same tricks Peony had used on Katrionas children and all 
her little babymagic boarders.
So Peony sewed, when they were in their bedroom alone together and it was not 
time to sleep (or to pretend to). At first Rosie sat with her hands pressed 
between her knees as if they might do something awful if she released them, even 
in the absence of embroidery silk. But one day when she was feeling as if she 
might burst from her own idleness, Barder arrived with a large lumpy parcel 
which upon opening was half a dozen knobs of good cured wood perfectly suited to 
the whittling of spindle ends.
It wasnt me, he said. Ive been thinking you have enough on your plate. Narl 
sent them. He said youd be getting bored. Barder accompanied Katriona to 
Woodwold when he could, to see how youre getting on. We dont grow accustomed 
to your being gone from us, love, and nor do the littles, and specially not your 
creatures.
Rosie sighed. There were many worsts about life at Woodwold; one of them was 
that it was, somehow, harder to talk to animals from the princess tower than it 
had ever been from the wheelwrights yard or the smiths forge. Almost everyone 
in the animal world that Rosie knew was now strangely inarticulate, and 
creatures she had not met before were even worse. She also had the uncanny sense 
that everyone was deeply preoccupied with something else, so preoccupied that 
this was at least part explanation for why she found it difficult to have a 
conversation with them. It was the sort of preoccupation she was accustomed to 
when there were new babies at home; but she had always before known when it was 
that, and besides, for most everybody, it was the wrong time of year. But no one 
would tell her what it was about, and grew even more inarticulate if she 
inquired.
There was the additional fact that the housekeeper had hysterics any time she 
found dog hair on the cushions or cat hair on the coverlet or the odd pinfeather 
on the carpet in their bedroom or parlour.
Years ago Katriona had invented a charm that made animal hair leap off fabric as 
if stung and stick to the charm-bearers brush, but Rosie couldnt ask her to 
make one now.
I can tell Fwab from any other chaffinch, however far away he sits, for the 
drooping of him; and Flinx is hardly half the cat he was, Barder continued.
Flinx? said Rosie, astonished. Idve thought hed be glad to be shut of me.
You know cats better than that, said Katriona.
Well said Rosie. Flinx was so, you know, consistent.
Consistency is the first thing you should be suspicious of in a cat, said 
Katriona, and was rewarded with one of Rosies now-rare smiles, and felt her own 
face creak with weariness and worry as she smiled in response.
Fwab had tried to fly up to their tower window, and had succeeded, once or 
twice, but had had to admit that the protective spells were like a very bad 
headwind, and after the first week he did not try again. Rosie missed Fwab and 
Zogdob and Spearand Flinxnearly as much as she missed Narl; and perhaps Peony 
guessed this, for it was Peony, in the first days of their imprisonment, who had 
insisted on a tour through the stables every morning after breakfast. The Master 
of the Horse, although far more hesitantly and deferentially than before, still 
occasionally asked Rosie questions about this or that horses mood or health, 
and she would have welcomed more such questions, but he did not seem to believe 
her when she told him this. But she did stop to rest her head against the head 
or shoulder of Gorse and of Fast every day. Gorse did not speak to her again as 
he had spoken the night that Ikor had come, but she felt a great warm solid 
understanding strength radiating from him, and she found herself relying on that 
minute every day when she stood next to him and felt it.
Fast showed her horse-pictures of vicious-faced women with teeth like wolves and 
claws like taralians falling under the trampling hoofs of valiant steeds who 
looked a lot like Fast, and whuffled the drooly remains of his breakfast down 
her lady-in-waiting frocks.
How is Narl? Rosie said, looking down, fondling a burl.
Barder gave a short laugh. Who knows? Hes still smithing. I hadnt realised 
that hed got chatty with you around, Rosie, till youre no longer around and 
hes stopped. I dont think he says a word from one end of a sennight to the 
other; theres a joke that he wont take a strangers horse because hed have to 
tell em what the fee is. He paused. Last time I spoke to himI mean last time 
he spoke to mewas to ask if I had any burls to spare, that I should bring you a 
few to keep your hands busy.
   
The weeks crawled by. Astonishing numbers of sheets had been hemmed, or taken 
ends-to-middles and resewn; table linens had never been in such order since the 
Prendergasts had first swept the reeds off the floors and bought plates instead 
of trenchers and began using table linen. And a great many tiny rents and 
puckers and misdone previous patches in all the Prendergast daughters wardrobes 
had been mended, because Peony had become friends with Callin, the Prendergast 
daughter who had made the remark about the number of stairs to the tower.
You would think that the princess would have more to do than anyone; and yet 
all it is is waiting and waiting, said Rosie. She was down to her last spindle 
end. This one was her favourite. She had recognised it at once, as she rubbed 
her fingers over each of them in turn, deciding which one to do first; and so 
she had saved it till last.
But the spindle end, her best spindle end, was not going well. It was not that 
Rosies knife slipped, nor that she could not see what her line was; but that 
the line, once seen, was not what it should be; and she kept turning the wood 
over in her hands, looking for the real way in to the spindle end she was sure 
she saw there. To give herself more time to think she had already finished the 
spindle itself; in her frustration she had cut it almost too thinalmost thinner 
than the finger of a three-monthold baby. Delicately she touched the tip of it 
with her forefinger. Nothing happened.
Rosie held the half-shaped wood in her hands for a moment and then looked up, 
across to Peony still bent over her needle, and let her eyes drift out of focus, 
trying to see the real princess. She hung between them murkily, not there but 
not quite not-there; and then Rosie picked up her knife again and began to chip 
at a fresh surface. This would be the princess own spindle end. It would be an 
oval human face with a wide forehead and a round chin, like both Rosies and 
Peonys, and curling hair, longer than Rosies but shorter than Peonys, and a 
faintly smiling mouth wider than Peonys but narrower than Rosies, a nose less 
delicate than Peonys but less blocky than Rosies.
The princess face had seemed to leap out of the wood at her, once she had seen 
her, and she had found it difficult to tear herself away from it, as if making 
it was important, and not merely a way of getting through some empty hours.
   
She turned away from the window now, and the comfortless, catless view, and 
picked up that last spindle end. It was too dark to see it, and Rosie did not 
wish to light a lamp; there would be lit lamps enough tomorrow night, during the 
ball, and she wanted to remember the darkness. She wanted to remember herself 
standing in quiet darkness, alone, with nothing but her thoughts for company, 
and the soft sound of Peonys sleeping breath.
The spindle end felt heavy, cupped in her hands; her thumbs found the wide-open, 
long-lashed eyes, the gentle rise of the nose, the smiling mouth, the tiny 
ridged roughness of the coiling hair. She had only just finished it that 
afternoon; every time she had looked at it, there had been one more detail to 
put right, and one more and one more. It had drawn her on till she had done all 
she knew or could guess to do; and she thought, This is the spindle end I would 
have given Peony when she came back from her season in Smoke River. I wonder 
what I would have told her it was?
Whatever happened, tomorrow night, her world would be changed utterly and 
forever. During these last three months at any moment, she almost felt, she 
might still have thrown off the frocks she had now to wear as the princess 
lady-in-waiting, and run back to Foggy Bottom, and begged Narl to take her back. 
That she knew this was an illusion didnt make it any less alluring, because at 
some level it was still a tiny bit trueand her bound and caged will yearned at 
the crack between those bars that would not let it free. These three months were 
merely preparation, however tense and troubling; tomorrow was the day when the 
irrevocable change came. Tomorrow. The princess birthday. Her birthday.
She knew what was supposed to happen. There would bedespite all the protective 
spells to the contrarya spinning wheel and a sharp spindle end that the 
princess would be impelled to touch; but it would be Peony, as the princess, 
folded in spells and counterspells, who would touch it, either because the curse 
was tricked into recognizing her as the princess, or because Sigil and Ikor and 
Aunt and Katrionas conscious interference, buttressed and bolstered by the 
belief of everyone around them, would make it so.
But she would not die, because she was not the princess, and the curse, at the 
moment of consummation, would reject her, as the wrong end of a magnet tosses 
away iron filings. But the magic would by then have gone too far to turn back, 
like a bottle falling off the edge of a mantelpiece; and Peony would fall into 
an enchanted sleep, and every guardian enchantment of every fairy and every 
magician presentand there would be many present-would be wrapped round her at 
once, to hold her safe.
Magic gone wrong produces a perilous uproar, a perilous and unpredictable 
uproar, the greater for the greater magic. The only thing they could well guess 
about this uproar was that it would be powerful, as Pernicias spell was 
powerful; powerful and wicked and still deadly dangerous, not least because all 
the fairies and magicians who would be there for the party could not be told 
what they were really doing. They would believe it was the princess whose 
enchanted sleep they were watching over. It would be up to Aunt and Ikor, and 
Sigil because Rosie would be flung, in the recoil of magic gone 
wrongsomewhere; and Katriona was to go with her.
There would be much magic to counteract, to defy or deflect, and Rosie would not 
be able to do it. Katrionas part was to see that Rosie arrived at the final 
confrontationwhatever it was. But it was all horribly, incomprehensibly 
dangerous. Aunt and Ikor might have managed to lie to her about just how much 
they could not do and could not control; but one look at Katrionas face told 
Rosie the truth.
Rosie recalled some of the tales and ballads Barder had taught her: the hopeless 
causes, the outnumbered gallantry, the one-faint-chance against despair. She 
thought of her favourite stories: the magician Merlin, sired by a dragon, 
creating a great circle of standing stones to hold the light of midsummer to 
protect the ordinary people he loved against the wild magic of the strong young 
land they lived in; the harpist who loved his singing wife so much that he 
followed her to the land of the dead where between them they persuaded the god 
of that place to give her back, and when they died together, many years later, 
they were a legend more for their continued devotion to each other than the 
adventure of their youth; many of the tales of Damar against the North, 
especially of Harimad-sol at the Madamer Gate, and the holding of the way at 
Ullen. And she remembered King Harald of this, her own country, against the 
firewyrmsand her own progenitrix against Pernicia, although no one knew much 
about that tale. This was another of those occasions, and she hoped that someone 
would be telling this story, too, some day, as the one faint chance that 
succeeded.
It was the best they could do. It was the only chance they had.
At dinner in the Great Hall, where all dinners had been held since the arrival 
of the princess, Rosies consciousness flew up into the rafters to talk to the 
merrel. At first they could not make each other out through the great noise of 
many people eating and drinking and talking together, and through the many 
penetrating and single-minded thoughts of dogs and mice intent on anything that 
fell under the tables and off platters, and of cats trying to decide between 
nice fresh mice and unpredictable but always interesting human leavings. (The 
dogs kept Woodwold free of rats andusuallysquirrels and the occasional 
venturesome weasel, but mice were below their notice.) But Rosie and the merrel 
had persisted, or Rosie had, feeling almost as if the merrel were lifting her 
up, as if she did not merely sit but flew over the heads of the peopleabove the 
roof of the Great Hall, above the thick fogs of Gig winter and damp clouds of 
magic dust, to where the sun shone However it was, they learnt to talk to each 
other, and Rosie mostly chose the merrels company, except when someone, 
disturbed or intrigued by the intense, in-turned look on Rosies face, shook her 
shoulder or her elbow until she returned to her place at the table and answered 
whatever question had been put to her in a human voice. I was just thinking, 
was all she usually said, and a small admiring rumor began to circulate about 
the princess lady-in-waiting, that the girl who had once been a horse-leech had 
become a philosopher. The merrel, who after so many years of living above the 
Great Hall with nothing to do but think and listen, assisted in recent years by 
conversations with Rosie, had learnt human language almost as well as another 
human. It was the merrel who told her about the rumour. Under other 
circumstances Rosie would have found this funny.
I was just thinking, she said to herself now, in the darkness of the night 
before her twenty-first birthday. Once upon a time I walked where I wanted, and 
talked to whom I wanted, and now all I do is sit and think as if I were chained 
by my ankle to a rafter. I dont suppose Narl will even come to the ball. Why 
should he?
Rosie could feel the mesh of thickening spells round her now, sticky as cobweb; 
the touch of it made her shiver as she moved, and in the corners of her eyes she 
could see it trailing behind her, like threads of dust shaken from an old 
curtain. The silent spider in the corner of her window had not come into the 
centre of her web and swung back and forth in a friendly fashion tonight; she 
huddled in her corner as if her own web imprisoned her.
It had been several weeks now that Rosie and Peony had breathed in exact unison. 
Rosies breath caught in her throat often when Peony was with Rowland, but Peony 
had stopped letting herself weepas at first she often had, with the bedroom 
door shut safely behind her, after saying a smiling farewell to Rowland and 
thanking Lady Pren for her attendancewhen she realised that Rosie had to weep, 
too. The only time she and Peony could breathe to their own rhythm, these last 
few weeks, was when they slept. Rosie knew this from the many dark hours she sat 
awake in the window embrasure, listening to the slower sound of Peonys 
sleeping.
   
The entire Gig had been invited to the ball, and nearly everyone would come, 
except perhaps solitary blacksmiths. There were pavilions going up in the park, 
between the iron gates and the Great Hall, so that all those who came could be 
accommodated; and the great central doors to the Hall, which had not been used 
in over a century, had been unlockedand unstuckand would be left open that 
night; and a promise had been made, although no one knew who by, that the 
princess and her parents would walk the full length of the way between the gate 
and the Great Hall several times that night, so that anyone who wished to 
seeand even speakto them would have their opportunity.
The princess and her parents. My parents, thought Rosie. She had never said the 
words aloud, my parents, after she had learnt that they were the king and queen. 
This was nothing to do with the care of the conspirators about what words they 
used; the ban began much deeper than that. It began where the echoes had come 
from during the weeks before Katrionas wedding, the echoes that said she was 
not who she believed she was. But that was when she had first understood that 
she would grow upthat she was already no longer a child. She had thought since 
thentill Ikor camethat the echoes had only spoken about the loss of childhood, 
that inevitable loss. She had never guessed they were telling her she would lose 
everything. Even the embroidery spell, she had believed, would finally have a 
simple explanationas simple an explanation as fairy business ever had. She had 
thought of the merrel, and the embroidery spell had become small and ridiculous; 
now she thought of the merrel and wondered how it bore the years.
Katriona had told her, quietly, during the last day in Foggy Bottom, of how 
Katriona, when Rosie was very young, had told the queen tales of her daughter, 
and how the queen had sent her away, and the words she had used when she did so. 
My mother, thought Rosie, deeply troubled; for it was Katriona and Aunt whom 
Rosie loved; and yet, to her own dismay, she found she wanted to meet her 
mother Ikor had told her that they dared not strain the imposture by the 
presence of the princess family till the very last; and so Rosie had pushed all 
questions about her parents to the bottom of the list of things to worry about, 
and she had been grateful for the excuse.
That excuse, like all other excuses, ended tomorrow.
Rosie felt her breathing falter and change, and knew that Peony had woken up. In 
a moment she had crept into the window embrasure next to Rosie, and they stared 
out at the darkness, which was no longer so dark. The dawn of the princess 
one-and-twentieth birthday was breaking over the distant forest, and picking out 
the sweep of roofs and parkland below them that was Woodwold; far off, to their 
right, was a misty silver glitter of the river.



Chapter 18
 ^  
The morning began as every other morning at Woodwold had begun for the princess 
and her lady-in-waiting. They took turns in the bathroom and the steaming 
cauldron of the bath; and then they fled into the dressing room where each 
helped the other with her laces and ribbons. Rosie, as a point of pride, had 
learnt to perform her ladys-maid tasks as neatly as any princess could 
askalthough she muttered to herself while she did them.
The maid who brought them their breakfast looked as if she had already been up 
and busy several long hours. She hardly lingered to look reverently at Peonyas 
the maids who brought them breakfast always didand asked almost perfunctorily 
how the princess had slept. Rosie and Peony could feel the stir and bustle and 
excitement below them, even though in the magic-defended rooms set aside for the 
princess, they could not hear it. Rosie half wished they could just stay where 
they were until well maybe if they stayed here the spinning wheel with the 
deadly spindle would appear here, and they could at least do whatever they had 
to do in private.
But she knew this wasnt possible; and she knew as well that she would not be 
able to stay in two small rooms, however comfortable, all day, all this 
particular day, without going mad before noon. She sighed, and Peony sighed, 
too.
There was a discreet knock on the door; their escort downstairs to the public 
rooms had arrived. These were guards, a magician or two, and six or eight or it 
might have been ten ladies-in-waiting. The ladies-in-waiting had rushed on to 
Woodwold from wherever they lived as soon as their fortunate preferment had been 
made known to them. Most of them would have cultivated Rosie as the known best 
friend of the princess, except that Rosie was half afraid of them, partly 
because they wore all their flounces and under-petticoats so easily, and partly 
because she couldnt manage to get their names straight: they seemed all to be 
called things like Claralinda and Dulcibella and Sacharissa. Even Peony had a 
little trouble finding things to say to them; not a one of them had ever 
baby-sat or collected eggs or carried water from the town well for a season 
after something disgusting drowned in their own.
Today at last the king and queen and the three princes would arrive. Their 
outriders were blowing in already, declaring they were only a few hours away. 
The first of these came and flung himself at Peonys feet, looking up at her 
hungrily in a way that had become very familiar in the last three months. Peony 
always glanced down, or away from that look; Rosie, because she was not the 
object of it, could watch her fill: her fill of knowing that she could not be 
the princess, she could not be, she didnt care who her parents were, where 
Katriona had found her twenty-one years ago, what Ikor said.
And today was the day she had used, for the last three months, as the excuse for 
not having to think about that yet.
After today, it would not matter what she thought.
If she was still alive to think anything.
After the man left, Peony and Rosie stared at each other. The meeting he 
proclaimed was the meeting they both dreaded most, even more than the prospect 
of Pernicias spinning wheel with its wicked spindle, perhaps because Pernicia 
was unimaginable, while the king and queen were people, were the princess 
mother and father, were the mother and father of a daughter they had not seen 
since she was three months old, over twenty years ago.
Everyone else was thinking about that, too, and staring at Peony.
II wonder what the princes will be like? quavered Peony, to say something, to 
acknowledge what was in everyones minds, but unable to bring herself to mention 
the king or the queen.
Little brothers! said Callin, who had two little brothers of her own. She made 
her way through the flock of Claralindas and Dulcibellas, and now took Rosie and 
Peony by the arm. She was nearest in age to them of any of the Prendergasts, due 
to celebrate her own twenty-first birthday in six months, when she would be 
married to one of her fathers liegemen. She looked sharply at them both, 
dispersed the ladies-in-waiting with a few brisk words that several of them 
would have liked to defy but did not quite dare (it would be different after 
this evening, when the princess had been properly reinstalled among her family, 
and the airs of the daughters of rustic lordships could be safely dispensed 
with), and then sent a boy off with a message to her betrothed that he was 
needed urgently, and, still holding the princess and her first lady-in-waiting 
by one arm each, marched them off for a walk in the park.
When her young man caught up with them, white faced and babbling 
protestationsthe princess was not allowed to put her nose out the front door 
without a distinguished and extensive retinueCallin put her own nose in the air 
and ignored him. And because everyone was concentrating so mightily on the 
immediate business of the king and queens arrival and the ball that evening, 
the little party reached the orchard without anyone challenging them.
It was Rosie who suggested they walk toward the great iron gates. She said they 
would turn round well before they came to the wall; and Callins young man, 
nearly in a trance of despair, fatalistically agreed. Callin, having got her own 
way, was trying to cheer her young man up by whispering things in his ear; Rosie 
tucked her hand under Peonys arm, trying to ignore the fact that this was as 
much for her own balance as for mutual comfort. She wondered if Peony felt the 
queer erratic pull, too, or whether it was something to do with how the magic 
tugged at her, Rosie, who should have been the princess, and wasnt, or because 
she was anyway. It was a sensation she had felt often in the last three months, 
but not one she had felt outdoors and in daylight before; it was something that 
often accompanied her late-night watches in the window seat, a sort of prowling 
thing, there and gone and there again, restless and inquisitive. She half 
imagined a corporeal body for it: a tatterdemalion, shambling and shaggy, dumb 
but dogged. Its presence today should have unsettled her more, but being under a 
blue sky with birds singing in the trees of the park (and the occasional glimpse 
of hopeful park deer, alerted by the tents that something probably involving 
interesting human food was happening soon), lifted her spirits despite 
everything.
And that was how it was they met the royal party riding in through the gates, 
while a frantic cry had gone up behind them indoors at Woodwold, while they had 
been wandering in the park: Where is the princess? They are comingthey have 
passed the gateswhere is the princess?
Rosie saw her parents at once, although they were not immediately different from 
those riding round them; everyone wore plain travelling clothes, and everyone 
sat their horses as if sitting their horses was what they had chiefly been doing 
for many weeks. Perhaps the king and queen rode in the centre, and perhaps those 
who rode immediately next to them had a look, while not aggressively watchful, 
somehow high-strung, alert, guardlike; and then Rosie saw the three littler 
figures on their horses just behind their parents, and knew they were the 
princes.
The queen saw the party on foot first, though they were far enough off the drive 
to have been missed by the messengers. Nor should they have been immediately 
recognisable as anyone but a little group of young Prendergasts or courtiers and 
their friends, although it was true that one young woman was rather more grandly 
dressed than the other three. But the queen urged her horse forward, through the 
encircling convoy, before anyone had time to react: they were looking for 
threats from without, not rebellion from within.
The guard pulled their horses to a halt, and then other horses ran into them, 
and the youngest prince almost fell off his pony, and the queen by then had 
flung herself off her own horse and was running toward them. Rosie didnt know 
if Peony had said it aloud or not: I cantI cant; but she felt her, both rigid 
and trembling, under her arm, as she had been on the night that Ikor had first 
come to Foggy Bottom.
Callin and her young man moved a little away from the other two. Rosie knew that 
she should have moved away, too, but she could not leave Peony to face this 
alone; she was half holding her up as it was. The unstable drag of the magic 
further confused her; she told herself that no one would be looking at the 
lady-in-waiting while the princess and her mother met for the first time in 
twenty-one years, and that it didnt matter what she did or didnt do. But as 
the royal group had approached them she could feel the added protection that all 
those magicians and fairies had thrown round the royal family, and the sense of 
it was as if she were being rolled up in a carpet.
Time, in this strange space they were in, Rosie and Peony and the approaching 
queen, seemed to pause. The milling horses and gesticulating people were a 
tableau; even the birds had fallen quiet. The queens eyes were on Peony, and 
Rosies eyes were on the queen, so she saw the expression on her mothers face 
falter, although her foot stepping forward was still poised to strike the 
ground. And then the queens gaze moved to Rosie.
Time began again. Between one step and another, one eye blink, while the small 
uproar of the queens horse thrusting its way out of its party was still going 
on and before the king and several of the guard had turned their horses to 
follow, before the queens freed horse had finished shaking itself and put its 
head down to graze, a long look passed between Rosie and her mother; and Rosie 
suddenly thought: She knows. How can she know? But she does know. The queen gave 
her the tiniest of smiles, the tiniest acknowledgement, and Rosie, in that 
moment, saw a great love and a yearning just as great, but long endured and once 
again deferred.
The queen turned to Peony, and Peony, as if sleepwalking, moved into the queens 
outstretched arms. Its all right, were the first words Rosie heard her mother 
speak; its all right. Peony stiffened in her arms, and looked into her face, 
and perhaps what she saw there told her what the queens look had already told 
Rosie, for she heaved a great sigh (Rosies breath hurled itself in and out of 
her breast in echo) and returned the queens embrace, just as if everything was 
and would be all right.
It was, perhaps, again something to do with the magic that was drawing them all 
toward what would happen some time that day, some time that night, when the ball 
to celebrate the princess twenty-first birthday was at its height. Peony seemed 
to draw strength into herself after that first meeting with the queen, and she 
was as royal as any princess had ever been for the rest of the day. She seemed 
to know instinctively how to speak and what to do, and Rosie could see, through 
a fog that seemed to be thickening about herself, that almost everyone loved her 
immediately, even her eldest brother, who would not be kingeven her youngest 
brother, rather against his will, who was used to being the centre of attention, 
and wasnt best pleased at being displaced.
As lady-in-waiting Rosie heard a few of the whispered asides from the 
Prendergasts folk, about how kind and charming and wise Peony was, how despite 
the tensions and fears of the last three months she had grown no less kind or 
charming or wise; if anything, more, as if what she had been all along was 
merely being allowed to come to the surface at last.
She will make us a great queen, the murmurs went.
Rosie was growing dizzy. She put her hand behind her, to find a chair to steady 
herself against. It was some time in the afternoon, she thought, looking at the 
sunlight slanting in through the windows of the Great Hall; somehow she could 
not remember much very distinctly since the royal party had arrived. Its just 
the noise and confusion, Rosie said to herself. Even the merrel had withdrawn 
from her. But as she felt for a chair, or a table, or any steady, unmagical 
piece of furniture to grip, she felt someone take her arm, and she blinked her 
eyes hard till she could focus them: Ikor.
She hadnt let herself noticeor perhaps he had thrown some glamour over himself 
which today he had discardedhow haggard he had become; his skin was as grey as 
charcoal, and his cheeks were hollow; his purple-shadowed eyes seemed to stare 
at her from a great distance, but the look in them was as sharp as ever.
Pardon me, said Rosie faintly. Am I too far away from Peony? She turned her 
head to look; but Ikor shook his head, and muttered a few words at her. The fog 
cleared a little; she could stand up again, but she could feel it waiting to 
re-engulf her, and she knew that whatever held it off now would not hold it 
long.
Ikor nodded and moved away from her. Rosie lost him for a moment or two, and 
then someone moved, and she saw him bending over Peony, whispering a few words 
in her ear; Peony smiled and nodded, courteous and agreeable as ever; and Ikor 
then left the Hall. But not long after, Peony put a hand to her forehead; 
recovered herself; lolled back in her chair; recovered herself not quite so 
quickly and then her favourite lady-in-waiting was at her side, asking her what 
she could do for her, and the king was saying that it was not at all surprising 
that this was all a little too much, and that she should go upstairs and rest 
until the evening; and he drew her to him tenderly and kissed her forehead. The 
queen kissed her, too, but again the queens eyes strayed to the lady-in-waiting 
who hovered at the princess elbow, ready to assist her upstairs.
They did not go alone, of course, and Rosie fought the returning fog, so that 
she could be the one that Peony leaned on; and when they finally entered their 
room, she made her voice strong enough to dismiss everyone else, saying that she 
would look after Peony herself. Everyone left, although Rosie knew there would 
be more than the usual number of soldiers and magicians posted outside their 
door. She wondered if any of them knew why they were there, or if they believed 
they were only doing honour to the princess, who would be crowned heir by the 
king this evening. She thought of Eskwa over the lintel, and for the first time 
she was grateful for his presence. Eskwa both binds and cuts; if you have need 
of either, he will answer to your hand. Supposing she could make her hand work 
to grasp; supposing she knew what to do with a sabre, even one heavy and 
self-willed with magic. She was just beginning to unlace Peonys skirt, so she 
could lie down, when she felt her fingers growing clumsy from the numbing, 
stifling fog; and then she felt Peony turning round and catching her, Rosie, and 
giving her a shoulder to lean on as she drew her to the bed.
Im perfectly all right, said Peony. Wellperhaps not perfectly. This is a 
terrible day, and I wish it were over. But Ikor told me you had to get away, and 
so I pretended to be fainting. I was not sorry for the excuse. Well both lie 
down, in case anyone comes to check on us, but if you need anything, ask me. Im 
right here. She gave a dry little laugh. Im right here, just as I have been, 
these last three months. Oh, Rosie, it is a terrible day, but think of it, 
tonight it will be over. It will all, all, be over.
Yes, whispered Rosie from the fog, knowing that it would not be, not for her. 
There were nasty little hairy things nibbling at the edges of the fog and 
squeaking. They were a little like rats, but their bodies were snakier.
Peony took her hands. You and Kat and Aunt and Ikor and Sigil must win. You 
must.
Rosie looked up at Peonys loving, anxious, hopeful face, and said, Of course 
we must. Of course. And the princess first royal decree will be a dowry to the 
Foggy Bottom wainwrights niece, so she can marry the son of the prince of 
Erlion. She fell asleep so quickly she did not see the expression on Peonys 
face.
   
She woke knowing that someone was sitting in a chair next to her bed; knowing 
who it was before she opened her eyes. Kat, she said, almost falling out of 
bed in her haste to put her arms round her. Kat, I havent seen you in 
forever.
I know, dear, I havent liked it either. But both Aunt and Ikor thought it for 
the best. We couldnt risk my binding to you confusing or lessening the 
connection between you and Peony as we came near this day andandthis evening. 
If weve got the bond between you and Peony wrong, nothing else matters.
We breathe together, said Rosie. And if we stand next to each other we only 
cast one shadow. A few weeks ago we had to start being careful not to walk in 
meadowsaway from trees or something tallwhen the sun is low, for fear someone 
would notice. The fog was much thinner than it had been that afternoon; this 
must be from Katrionas presence. But it meant she could see only too clearly 
the marks of strain in Kats face, as harsh as they were on Ikors.
Katriona patted her hand. Itll be over soon now.
Tonight, said Rosie. Tonight. She closed her eyes. She could still see the 
hairy, snaky things, but she could not hear them squeaking.
She opened her eyes again.
I dont like this fog round you, Rosie, said Katriona.
Its better now, said Rosie. It was bad earlier, when we came upstairs.
Its better because Im holding it offas Ikor did. But if theres a fog, I 
should need to be holding it off both of you, not one of youespecially not you, 
Rosie. She paused, and then said, in a tone she tried hard to make light, I 
brought you something. I dont really know why. It just seemed like a good idea, 
in the middle of all our strict plotting and planning, to allow a small harmless 
whim; and I remembered what you told me afterward about wishing youd had it the 
night Jem was born. And she held out the shiny-nosed gargoyle spindle end.
Rosie took it and held it a moment cupped in her hands, and then tucked the 
spindle between her knees, and rubbed her thumbs over the little things cheeks, 
its slightly protruberant teeth and eyes, and finally its shiny nose. For a 
moment she was in the kitchen of the wheelwrights house in Foggy Bottomfor a 
moment she was home.
And then she was back in the princess tower room at Woodwold on the night of 
the princess twenty-first birthday. She was silent a moment longer, staring at 
the familiar, friendly, ugly, spindles-end face, and then she said: The queen 
knows. I dont know why, but she looked at us, and she knew. She hesitated, and 
then added: It was right after that that the fog began.
Katriona shivered. Thats probably my fault, she said. I told youwhen you 
were little, it hurt me to think about the queen, so I And if she remembers of 
course she remembers the stories dont match. I told her her daughter lived 
with me and my aunt. We knew that I mustnt meet the queen now, but Its going 
wrong. Its already going wrong. Oh, why does compassion weaken us?
It doesnt really, said Rosie, not because she had any idea about it, but 
because she refused to let it be true. It doesnt really. Somewhere where it 
all balances outdont the philosophers have a name for it, the perfect place, 
the place where the answers live?if we could go there, you could see it 
doesnt. It only looks, a little bit, like it does, from here, like an ant at 
the foot of an oak tree. He doesnt have a clue that its a tree; its the 
beginning of the wall round the world, to him. And besidesdoesnt Aunt keep 
saying that mistakes made in good faith are less likely to catch you out?
But then Peony slipped through the door, and Rosie fell silent. Peony sat on the 
bed next to Rosie and squeezed her hand. They sat for a moment in silence, and 
then there was a tap on the door. Rosie sat up hastily, pretending that she had 
not been asleep till a few minutes before, and Peony said, Come in.
Kings, queens, princes, Lord and Lady Prendergasts, and, oh, hundreds of 
peoples compliments, Princess, said one of the Claralindas or Dulcibellas or 
Sacharissas, and its time to dress for the ball.



Chapter 19
 ^  
Katriona had a grand dress to wear, too, emerald and sage green, and she liked 
it almost as little as Rosie liked hers, which was grey and silver and twinkly, 
and far too like the gown she had found herself in on the night that Ikor had 
told her her name, and she had wanted to run away. But this wasnt anything she 
could explain to the royal dressmakers, who were very proud of their work.
Several of the Claralindas shook the green dress out carefully from the bundle 
Katriona had brought it in and oohed and aahed, admiring, if a little 
dumbfounded. (Some of the Claralindas who had been at Woodwold the longest were 
beginning to get used to the surprising things the yokels could do. Make ball 
gowns, for example. The Prendergasts had bought out Turangas entire stock of 
fine cloth and leather and thread and trimmings, and made it available to any 
Gig resident who wanted it. The local plain tailors and seamstresses, accustomed 
to the needs of ordinary Gig life and work, would never quite recover from the 
fevered glory of those few months of sewing for the princess ball.) Hroslinga 
did most of it, said Katriona; there was a look on her face Rosie couldnt 
read, and, amid the Claralindas, couldnt ask. She seems to think she owes our 
family some tremendous debt. But indeed I havent had time to do it myself, and 
holding it together with magic seemed like a bad idea under the circumstances.
Barder would be on his way as soon as he finished taking the children to the 
pub, where they would sleep upstairs with Floras two, and Cairngorm would look 
after themFlora and her husband were going to the ball. Therell be a few 
people wholl want a quiet drink at the pub, said Cairngorm, instead of a 
princess and a lot of noise; and there should be someone here to give it to 
them. She had granted Bol, the usual barkeep, the night off; in his quiet, 
methodical way he was looking forward to the noise and the princess, even though 
she was only Peony, whom hed known from a baby. Dessy, on the other hand, had 
been useless for weeks, dreaming of the great party, and incapable of talking 
about anything else. (Jem and Gilly had some idea they were missing something, 
but they did not mourn the ball once Barder had explained they would have had to 
go dressed in good clothes, and stayed clean and tidy for several hours.) 
Katriona didnt mention Narl; the fact that she didnt seemed to Rosie to be the 
answer to the question she didnt want to ask.
One of the Claralindas was combing Rosies hair, making tiny sighs of 
exasperation. Look, said Rosie. It is short, there isnt anything to do with 
it, so why dont you give it up and go join the others?
Rosie ran her hands through her hair once or twice (pulling out and glaring at a 
jewelled clasp the Claralinda had resourcefully managed to find enough hair to 
hold in place), and went over to her window embrasure for one last look at the 
landscape before it disappeared in the darkness of the night of her twenty-first 
birthday.
The spider crept slowly to the centre of the web, moving its legs one at a time, 
seemingly with enormous effort, as if it were very tired; but once arrived, it 
gave a gallant little swing like a salute. In its weariness it seemed like 
another one of the conspirators; if spiders had faces, no doubt this ones would 
be haggard and hollow-eyed.
Rosie thought that with the enormous dislocations of this birthday was one tiny 
one: that it was a day earlier than all her other birthdays they had welcomed in 
all the other years. It is the princess birthday, she thought, not mine. My 
birthday is tomorrow. Her fingers strayed to a pocket hidden in the sweep of her 
ball-gown skirt, and found the gargoyles nose.
Princess, murmured the windowsill. Rosie, whispered the thickness of the wall. 
Some great diffuse understanding seemed to flow down, like a cloud from a 
mountaintop, or up, like mist from a bog; some tremendous effort of insight 
struggled to gather itself together into a definable shape. It could not quite 
find itself words, but Rosie knew what it searched for: Soon. Immediately. 
Tonight. Now.
She suddenly knelt and flung back the lid of the wooden step that let you mount 
to the stone seat, and gave you somewhere to put your feet while you sat there. 
Inside were the spindle ends she had carved in the last weeks, and on the top 
was the one she wanted, the one of the princess, the one of herselfandPeony as 
one face, one human face smiling quietly to itself over some secret. She held it 
cupped in her hand for a moment, and then waited for a pause in the bustle 
around Peony.
Put it in your pocket, she said. Theyve left you a pocket, havent they? 
Its probably silly of me, but Kat just gave me our old spindle end, you 
remember, the gargoyle, and it feels like a little bit of good luck, and I 
thought you should have one, too. Im sorry its only new.
Ive always wanted you to make me a spindle end, Rosie, said Peony; Ive had 
this fancy I might finally learn to spin, if you did, but it seemed too silly to 
ask; and after II tried to teach you to embroider, I didnt dare. She tried to 
smile. II guess I wont have time to start practising tonight
There was another tap on the door, and Aunt walked in, dazzling in dark red and 
gold, which set off her white hair, and with a gold chain round her neck, which 
was a present from the queen; she was carrying another similar one for Katriona. 
The four of them stood looking at one another, princess, her best friend from 
her country childhood, and the friends aunt and cousin who were important 
fairies in spite of where they lived, and tonight looked it; and the Claralindas 
fell silent. Aunt opened the door again and curtsied, and Peony, her cheeks 
bright from having Aunt curtsy to her, raised her chin and swept out, followed 
by Rosie, Katriona, and then Aunt herself, and last the subdued Claralindas.
The guards upon the stairs stood to attention, and at the foot of the princess 
tower were various other courtiers, and more ladies-in-waiting, bright as 
butterflies, both gay and solemn at being chosen to be in the princess train on 
this night of all nights; and as the princess went lightly and gracefully 
downstairs she had a smile and a wave or a word for everyone who peeped out of a 
side corridor at her (including the Prendergasts eldest grandson, who should 
have been in bed, and his perspiring nanny). Six footmen and twelve buglers 
announced her arrival in the Great Hall; but the princess drew all eyes by the 
simple fact of who she was, and that she was lovely and brave and clear minded, 
and her people had fallen in love with her; and many ordinary citizens at the 
ball that evening took private vows with themselves to protect her with their 
own lives, if it came to that; though there was nothing to protect her from, any 
more. That was all over; that was all in the past.
The Great Hall, busier in the last three months than it had been in centuries, 
had become more splendid every day as more visitors came with gifts for the 
princess, all of which Lady Prendergast scrupulously displayed in the public 
rooms. Peony had refused to wear any of the jewelry, and, after attempting to 
remonstrate with her, Lady Pren had decided that the many soldiers sent to 
Woodwold out of respect for the presence of the princess could perform a useful 
function (as opposed to eating their heads off and flirting with the younger and 
prettier maidservants, which seemed to be their chief occupations) and guard the 
necklaces and earrings and brooches and bracelets that she hung on the walls 
like tapestries. Even so, the Halls decorations for the princess ball were a 
revelation. The Hall seemed almost small, for the number of people and objects 
it now contained; and yet it also seemed bigger than it ever had, and, as Rosie 
made her entrance behind Peonys shoulder, the opposite wallabove which the 
merrel sat concealedwas too far to see, as if it lay in another country. If 
Woodwold trembled underfoot, it was only the weight of many feet; and if its 
walls whispered Rosie, no one heard.
For the first few hours of the ball, Rosie felt more or less herselfas much as 
she had ever felt herself as the princess lady-in-waiting. Surely it wasnt 
surprising to feel a little dazed and isolated at your first royal ball, 
especially when you were pretending that it wasnt in your honour when it was, 
and when you were one of only half a dozen people out of hundreds who knew that 
there was someone lurking in the shadows somewhere waiting to kill you. She 
watched the people watching Peony and saw in many of their eyes that private vow 
they had sworn, and wondered if any of them had any inkling of the darkness 
round them, round the princess birthday ball. She spoke to the Master of the 
Horse, whose face shone with dedication to his future sovereign; she spoke to 
Lady Prendergast, who could hardly take her eyes off her protge. She spoke to 
Callin, who said, in her forthright way, Horrid for her, everybody gloating 
over her like this. I think Ill go push that icky little mans face inthe 
icky little man was the Duke of Iraminons ambassador. Rosie watched, amused, as 
Callin sidled up to the ambassador, and, looking at him through her eyelashes, 
asked him some question he was obviously only too willing to answer at 
lengthsecuring Peonys escape.
While she was watching, Rowland came up to her and spoke her name. She had to 
prevent herself from starting away from him, and she knew, when she met his 
eyes, that she hadnt quite succeeded.
She smiled at him, a little tentatively; her mouth didnt want to turn upward. 
She knew he was both aware of and hurt by her avoidance of himshe had said 
barely three words together to him in the last three monthsbut then he didnt 
know the truth of their situation.
Rosie, he said, and then, in a rush, as if he had meant to say something else 
entirely, can we not be friends? I must value aa relationship between us, 
because you are Peothe princess friend; but beyond that II like you. Once II 
thought you liked me. I have not forgotten that it was you who taught me the 
names of the Foggy Bottom dogs, especially the medium-sized brown ones that all 
look alike, and to recognise birds from the songs they sing. I miss our days 
together at the smiths.
Rosies eyes filled with tears before she could stop them. Oh! said Rowland, 
horrified, groping for his handkerchief, I beg your pardon! Rosie remembered 
just in time not to blot her eyes on her sleeve, and fumbled for her own 
handkerchief, rolling the little gargoyle in her pocket as she did so. She blew 
her nose on her own but accepted and used Rowlands to mop her face, as a kind 
of answer to his question, because she couldnt think what to say to him. 
Presumably he would know soon enough, and then perhaps he would understand why 
she had avoided him.
But she had not answered his question, and he hesitated to put it again. He took 
his slightly damp handkerchief back, and folded it slowly, as if each corner 
squaring with the other corners was crucially important, while he tried to think 
of something else to say to her. Narl sends his best wishes, he offered at 
last.
Rosie grunted, a Narl-like grunt. She could think of few things less likely than 
Narl sending anyone his best wishes; and as far as she knew, Rowland was now 
spending most of his time at Woodwold.
He had asked and been granted a place in the rota of the princess guard. But 
his remark did confirm her guess that Narl would not come to the ball. She had 
known he wouldnt, but her heart nonetheless sank further.
Rowland still showed no sign of leaving her, and the crush of people was willing 
to let them alone for a little while; it seemed fitting that the man the 
princess loved and the woman who was the princess best friend should have a 
word or two to say quietly to each other. Rosie hugged to her the thought of the 
princess first royal command. With a dowry such as the princess might bestow on 
her best friend, would the prince of Erlion allow his heir to marry a 
wainwrights niece? But even if she had known the answer was yes, this could not 
comfort her much. Ikor was quite capable of lying about the dissolution of the 
bond made by the Erlion heirs vowor at least of refusing to do it, even if it 
were possible, if his magic or his understanding of his sovereigns subjects 
told him that it would be better for the country, and the countrys head of 
state, if it remained intact. What will you do, she said at last, if you 
cannot marry Peony?
I dont know, he said, the words spaced out one from another. I know I must 
think of this. The peoplethe princess people look at us and smile and want it 
to be a happy ending. The story is a very satisfactory one, is it not? My 
childhood vow, and then falling in love with a girl I meet at a country smiths, 
when I, too, am in disguise, and she turns out to be the princess.
But it is not a story, with the happy ending already written and waiting for us 
to turn the pages. The people I knowit seems to me they believe that the 
refusal to announce our betrothal is some kind of whim, to make the suspense 
more exciting. I know it is not. IkorIkor told me very little, only that there 
is no betrothal, andhe could not hide from me that there is something else to 
tell; and I look in Peonys face, and I know there is something she is not 
telling me something that hurts hersomething that hurts us. I know there is 
something she is not telling me as clearly as I know she loves me. II spend my 
duty hours wondering what it is, while I walk up and down, or check that the 
emeralds or the rubies or the amethysts are still hanging where they were a 
quarter hour ago. What I find myself wondering about most often is the cursethe 
curse that we are supposed to believe has failed. I would like to believe that 
it has failed, quietly, with no sign of her who cast it, despite the fact that 
the entire country has lived under the shadow of that curse for twenty years.
It is not only Peonys face that tells me there is something I do not know. It 
is Ikors face, Ikor who came here first and arranged us all into this new 
order, this new story. Do you know that Ikor would not meet my eyes when he told 
me there was no betrothal? Ikor is not a man who does not meet the eyes of those 
he speaks to. And there is something in your Aunts face, and your cousin 
Katrionas, and in yours, too, Rosie. There is a great and terrible weight upon 
all of you. This is what I fearthis is what I think: that the curse has not 
failed. Perhaps that is what the ball is for: to make most of the people 
believe, so that so that what?
He paused. They were both looking at Peony, who was now talking to Terberus. 
They were both fair and graceful, with quick, attractive smiles, and Terberus 
was only middling tall. They could be brother and sister, thought Rosie. She 
remembered something else that Katriona had told her on the last day in Foggy 
Bottom: how a glamour worked least well over the people who had the most 
connections with the truth. Love was a very strong connection.
Rosie, said Rowland. Im not asking you to tell me what it is, because Peony 
would have told me if it would not do some harm for me to hear it. Butdo you 
know what I do not know?
Rosie looked at him. Yes, she said. I do know. And so I know why she cannot 
tell you.
She saw that, however much he thought he had accepted the existence of that 
hidden thing, the confirmation of it was a blow to him; and she was sorry for 
this, sorry for having dealt him such a blow on top of the last three months of 
denying their friendship.
The few of them who kneweven if Rowland didnt quite know what he knewshould 
be able to stick together.
Perhaps it was the strain of knowing that whatever would happen would happen 
tonight, perhaps it was the magic-fog muddling her thinking, perhaps it was the 
hopelessness of her own love making her foolish, but she added impetuously: But 
I think I can tell you that it meansit means Peony will not die tonight, 
whatever Pernicia does. As she realised what she had said, she saw a little 
flicker of understanding run across Rowlands facean understanding too near the 
truth. He had no guess that Peony was not the princess, but he glimpsed a reason 
why two young women, one of them dreadfully cursed, might be bound so closely 
together as to confuse the curse into choosing the wrong one
Rosie admired him for his immediate look of horror and dismay at the same time 
she was appalled at the slip she had made. No, no, she said hastily. Its not 
what you But at that moment Lady Pren decided that the two of them had talked 
only to each other long enough, and, important guests that they were, they had 
to spread themselves more liberally among the others.
Rosie found the young lord Lady Pren bestowed her upon rather hard going (as 
doubtless he found her). Perhaps as a result of her conversation with Rowland, 
she felt the fog pressing round her again, and the passage of time began to 
confuse and disorient her, as if she were standing precariously on the limb of a 
tree and time was the wind now lashing its branches. She came to herself 
standing aloneshe didnt remember the young lord leavingbut there was a 
fleethound head suddenly under her hand, and so she stroked it, while 
itHroc-looked up at her and sent loving thoughts.
She looked down and saw that there was quite a little party of hounds following 
herand getting under peoples feet. Lord Pren allowed his favourite dogs 
indoors (as well as the ladies lapdogs, which rarely, Throstle excepted, went 
outside), but under most conditions they stayed out of the humans way for fear 
of being banished to the kennels after all.
If you want to hang around someone, you should go hang around Peony. Shes the 
princess here.
No, said Hroc. She isnt.
Rosie sighedand caught a quick look from Peony, as ever not far away, feeling 
the sigh, and wondering if there were anything wrong she should pay attention 
to. Rosie shook her head, and returned her attention to Hroc.
Animals knew what they had to know about magic, that it was liable to turn them 
into brambles or thunderclouds at any moment and, if they were lucky, back 
again; but it was always there, like thickets and weather, and, like thickets 
and weather, to be borne as stoically as possible. Domestic animals (and the 
brighter or more inquisitive wild ones) knew that humans meddled in it, but then 
houses and barns and preserved foods over the winter were another sort of 
meddling, and on the whole domestic animals (and a few wild ones) approved of 
houses and barns and preserved foods. Coming up with ideas like houses and barns 
and preserved foods and then building or storing them (and, unlike squirrels, 
finding them again) was the sort of thing humans did, but there were limits. A 
fire in the fireplace was lovely, but it didnt change the fact that there was a 
snowstorm outside. The idea of what Rosie and the other conspirators were doing 
was, in animal terms, like trying to convince a snowstorm to fall on one house 
instead of the one next door.
Hroc had been there that first evening in Foggy Bottom, when Ikor had told them 
what they were going to do, when the necessity of some scheme against Pernicia 
was as plain to Hroc and the others as a flung rock in the ribseven if the 
manner of it seemed like one of those strange human designs that get you 
ultimately into more trouble than they get you out of. But Hroc had shrugged a 
dog-shrug, as most of the other animals had shrugged their kinds of shrugs. 
Human business was human business, with which they would not interfere; and 
there were other matters to attend to. Rosie was still wondering about those 
other matters, about whether the sense of preoccupation she felt in her animal 
friends was something more ominous than that they had little to say to a woman 
who was spending all her time indoors, playing at being a lady-in-waiting, and 
doing no useful work. The thought that it was only this, that they had nothing 
to say to her any more, was so bitter that it was hard for her not to want the 
preoccupation to go ahead and be something ominous.
But the last thing the conspirators needed right now was Rosies friends making 
it obvious that Rosie seemed ill and distracted on the princess birthday.
Well, so pretend she is the princess, said Rosie, and Hroc gave her a weary 
look. Pretend was one of those human words. The only equivalents, and they were 
not helpful ones, were the deception of the hiding predator, and the 
playing-to-learn-skills that all animal children did to a greater or lesser 
extent. Hroc knew perfectly well what pretend meant when Rosie said it to him; 
he just believed it to be piffle, as if she had told him grass was pink and 
water was not for drinking.
She looked into his patient, intelligent eyes and thought, with a sudden bubble 
of panic: This isnt just a loophole, a gap for a nimble enemy archer to shoot 
through; this is an entire wall that isnt there: that the animals know. That 
theyre waiting for something to happensomething besides the euphoric 
celebration of the princess one-and-twentieth birthday. And that the something 
would happen to Rosie.
Why hadnt Aunt and Katriona seen! Never mind Ikor, who had a tendency to see 
only what he was looking for. And she felt the deep subterranean grumble of 
Woodwold agreeing with her, and knew, then, that some of why Woodwold had lain 
so wakeful these last three months was because of the perilously incompatible 
difference in the stories it heard through the footfalls of those who went loose 
upon the earth.
However deadly a mistake they had made, it was too late to change it now.
Hroc, sensing her distress, dug his nose into her leg a little harder. At least 
tell the others to go away, she said. I do not want attention called to me this 
way.
The other dogs stretched or shook themselves and began to wander away as if they 
had never been clustered round Rosie in the first place. And you say you do not 
believe in pretend, said Rosie, and Hroc smiled a dog-smile, with his eyes and 
ears.
The fog was returning in earnest. Rosie saw the king place the crown of 
inheritance on Peonys head, and the kings bishop bless her; heard the first 
official cheers led by her brothers; and she saw that the queen kept her eyes 
too carefully on Peony, and did not once look at Rosie, though she was always 
near at hand, and whom everyone else, in the knowledge that she was the 
princess best friend, made a point of smiling at and speaking a word to. It was 
noted that the princess best friend was pale and preoccupied (and that one of 
Lord Prens fleethounds was shadowing her as if waiting to be a sort of 
self-motile sofa, should she need to sit down suddenly: the courtiers by now all 
knew about her talking to animals), but then who could blame her? My lord 
Rowland was almost as distracted, but he had his noble upbringing to fall back 
on, and he could (as the saying went) make conversation with an enchanted 
chamber pot.
My lady Rosie was only a village girl after all. How lucky they were that the 
princess, although she, too, had been raised as a village girl, was so poised 
and gay on this splendid and historic occasion, and effortlessly seemed to take 
up her proper position.
Rosie heard the long speech the kings bishop made, and could hear by the way 
his voice soared and fell, and hastened forward and drew back to mark each word, 
that it was a speech full of erudition and noble sentiments, but she understood 
nothing of it. She made herself watch, and so noticed the Gigs Chief Priest 
looking both sulky and gratified as a member of the kings bishops train, and 
the Foggy Bottom priestling looking thrilled and daunted (and almost 
unrecognisable in a shiny new hood) several tiers back in the same train. When, 
after the bishop, Lord Prendergast stood up and gave a much shorter speech, she 
only saw that he was smiling as he spoke. She must have lost a few moments, 
because a plate loaded with food was suddenly lying before her, and she 
discovered that she was sitting at a grand table with Katriona on one side and 
Barder beyond her, and Callin on Rosies other side, and the princess other 
ladies beyond. There was a reaccumulating drift of hounds and a spaniel or two 
over her feet and under and behind her chair, and Throstle, who had made a study 
of this kind of behaviour so he could perform it so charmingly that even people 
who didnt like dogs failed to protest, trotted along the table among the 
goblets and platters and epergnes, and jumped into Rosies lap. Throstle adored 
Rosie, who had rescued him in the last three months from a life of uninterrupted 
lapdoggery by bringing him on her stable rounds every morning, telling Lady Pren 
it was therapeutic, which was true enough. (The new system had almost broken 
down after Throstle tackled a rat bigger than he was; he had it by the neck in 
the prescribed terrier manner, but it was going to beat him to death before it 
died. Fortunately Milo, Hrocs brother and best friend, had been there to finish 
it off.)
Peony sat between the king and the queen, with the princes on either side of 
them; and the youngest prince, who was the farthest away from her, on his elder 
brothers right hand, kept slipping out of his chair to stand by hers, holding 
on to the back of it and half climbing it, as boys, even princes, will do, as he 
spoke to her.
Rosie put her hand in her pocket, and touched the round butt of the spindle end, 
seeking the face of the little gargoyle, her finger finding its nose by the 
silkiness of the tiny well-polished slope; and the fog, while no lighter, for a 
time seemed a little easier to bear, although she had no appetite for supper. 
She looked round the table for other familiar faces, and caught Rowland watching 
her worriedly, and she did not have the strength to smile at him. She lookednot 
at, but round the queen, hoping for some glimpse of Sigil, who must, surely, 
have arrived in or with or somehow simultaneous to the royal train, even if she 
did not wish to attend the ball, and once or twice she thought she saw a small 
drab person bending near the queen as no servant but only a beloved friend could 
do; but Rosie could never see her clearly.
After dinner the dancing began, but Rosie did not dance. She would not have 
dared, because dancing was one of the name-day fairy gifts; but she had been 
able to say, truthfully, and with most of the Gig as witnesses, that she had 
never danced. Ikor claimed to have tried to teach her, and that even magic was 
in this case unavailing.
(If there had been any jokes about clodhoppers behind her back, Rosie had never 
heard them. She was, although she was unaware of it, an imposing figure, not 
only on account of her height and the princess fondness for her.) Fortunately 
Peony danced as well as if she were enchanted, and Rosie guessed which fairy had 
been the giver of that particular bounty by a look of such maudlin fatuity on 
her face that it caught even Rosies cloudy eye. All the godmothers were, of 
course, present; and if one or two of them had some impression that their gifts 
had not gone quite as they had expected, they were too public-spirited to mope.
Katriona sat with her on a padded bench against the wall, and Rosie sent most of 
the dogs away again when they tried to follow her. Katriona held her hand as if 
feeling her pulse for fever, which perhaps she was; and Rosie leaned back 
against Woodwolds wall and half thought she felt it twitch. Through the fog she 
thought, I am still waiting to go home. I am not waiting for my birthday to be 
over so I can goso that I can go to the royal city and become a princess, 
andand let Peony be herself again; I am waiting for a few months of sham to be 
over so I can go home, and live in the wheelwrights house, and work as a 
horse-leech. She made an effort to keep her head up, not only so that she might 
be seen as sitting with dignity, instead of lolling feebly, but because looking 
down at her own fine skirts made her dizzy, as if the twinkly grey were a series 
of whirlpools any one of which she might fall into and drown.
The fog seemed to giggle. The hairy rat-snake things were back, and she thought 
maybe the giggling came from them. They didnt seem to have any eyesor, for 
that matter, mouthsjust furry, unpleasantly sinuous bodies, and rather a lot of 
small pattering feet. Yes, she could definitely hear someone laughingshe opened 
her heavy eyes, not having realised they were closed, and looked at the dancers. 
She had trouble focussing her eyes on all the bright moving figures, but a 
couple near her turned and she saw Peony in Rowlands arms; and then the 
laughter in her ears grew louder. Who was laughing? She shook her head, which 
only made it throb.
What is it? said Katriona; but Rosies lips refused to open, her jaws were 
clamped together. Slowly she stood up, and Katriona with her, still holding her 
hand. Now the fog seemed to be becoming visible in the Great Hall; there was a 
greyish sort of shadow cast by nothing in particular, hovering near the far end 
of the Hall, across the long room from where she now stood, near to where the 
merrel sat hidden among the rafters. The laughter seemed to come from that 
direction. Rosie was curious; she would go nearer, and look. It was good to feel 
as if she wanted to do somethinganythingin the middle of this horrible sick 
foggy inertia.
She tried to pull her hand out of Katrionasshe didnt need Katrionabut 
Katriona wouldnt let go. Very well, she would have to come, too. Rosie was now 
moving inexorably toward the strange greyish-black shadow that had no reason to 
hover where it did, still hearingfollowingthe laughter. It was odd that no one 
else seemed to hear it. She noticed several people looking at her as she made 
her single-minded way through the dancers, dragging poor stubborn Katriona 
behind her. But why was no one looking toward the end of the Hall, no one 
saying, Who is that laughing? Perhaps because the laughter was for her, Rosie. 
Perhapssince she had heard it first when she was thinking about going 
homeperhaps it was going to tell her how to go home, how she could give up this 
dreadful princess business, and go home, and be Rosie again.
She had to walk slowly because she still felt light-headed and not quite steady, 
and because Katriona was gripping her hand so tightly, and because Hroc was 
pressed against her other side, almost as if he wished to prevent her from 
walking the way she was going. She thought some of the other dogs were coming 
with them; at least one of them, probably Sunflower, kept getting between her 
legs, getting its paws caught in the fancy lace of her underskirt. They must 
look like one of those childrens games, where you have to go somewhere while 
you all touch each other. But they wouldnt stop her. As soon as she knew what 
the laugher knew, everything would be all right.
As she neared the shadow, she saw that the dancing had stopped; they were all 
facing the bodiless shadow. Oh, so they did see it. The music had also stopped, 
or at least she could no longer hear it through the laughter. It was so loud now 
Rosies ears were ringing with it; nonetheless she heard some commotion behind 
her, someone speaking: No, no, let me go, you dont understand. It sounded like 
Peonys voice.
The shadow was no longer bodiless. At first it was only as if a purple stain ran 
down it, as if some shaft of light had touched it from an unusual angle and 
produced this effect; but then the purple and the black and the grey began to 
wind themselves together and become a human shape. The human shape became a 
woman, tall and beautiful and terrible, as tall as Rosie, and her 
black-and-purple-and-cerise cloak fell round her in dangerous, shining folds.
Well, my dear, said the tall woman to Rosie, who was still moving like a 
sleepwalker toward her. We meet at last. We did not meet before, did we? I may 
have seen a hand or a curlyour hair is remarkably curly, is it not?above the 
sides of your crib on your name-day, but I do not feel that was a proper 
meeting, crudely barred as I was from coming close enough to look you in the 
face. Well! So this is what the princess looks likea tall rawboned gawk. I 
always did think your mother was common. The boys take after their father. It is 
just as well that one of them will be kingif there is any kingdom left for 
them. And she laughed.
It was taking Rosie an astonishing length of time merely to cross a few spans of 
floor. She thought it had something to do with Katriona, and she tried to turn 
her head and frown at her, but she could not; she could only go on staring at 
the tall woman in front of her. Very well; she did want to stare at her; she was 
fascinating. She was not politecalling Rosie a gawkbut it was the truth. It 
was obvious this woman would have all the answers. Rosie wanted to talk to her. 
She wanted to ask her how she could go home again.
In the corners of her eyes she could see various soldiers and magicians and 
fairies moving in a strange, constrained way. They were trying to make the tall 
woman go away, thought Rosie wisely, she is spoiling the party, and they dont 
want her answers. Well, I do.
If she could have spoken aloud, she would have told Katriona to let go of her; 
the hand Kat was holding was numb, it was very unpleasant, it felt as if it no 
longer belonged to her. Even the dogs were trying to push her away from the tall 
woman. But Rosie wanted to talk to the tall woman and, it seemed, the tall woman 
wanted to talk to Rosie.
The tall woman moved a little to one side, never taking her eyes off Rosie. 
Beside her stood a spinning wheel. Rosie blinked, startled and distracted. A 
spinning wheel of all things! And in that moment of distraction Rosie half felt 
someone tear themselves loose from the binding Rosie was half aware the tall 
woman had laid on every person in the room, and run forward; but whoever it was, 
they stumbled and stopped, ran and staggered, as if the way forward was very 
difficult. Rosie felt a sort of sympathy for them, trammelled as she was herself 
by Katriona and the dogs.
Yes, a spinning wheel, the tall woman said. If she noticed someone trying to 
run toward her, she gave no sign. A homely thing, is it not? Out of place in a 
grand room such as this one, in the middle of a grand ball. But I wanted a 
homely thing. You are a homely thing yourself, arent you, my dear? And I wanted 
you to feel comfortableas you are not comfortable in your present surroundings, 
are you? Such a pity, about your upbringing. The worst of your drawbacks might 
have been tempered with the right upbringing. Even your mother might have passed 
on to youcertain domestic virtues.
Come, my dear. Come and spin. Forgive me if I dont demonstrate. Its such an 
unassuming skill, it has slipped my mind. Indeed, you can show me. I shall find 
it very interesting. And then I shall owe you a favourand you have a question 
to ask me, do you not? Come and spin, my dear, and then I will answer any 
question you care to put.
Rosie was very close to the woman and the spinning wheel now. She couldnt at 
the moment remember if she knew how to spinshe couldnt remember having been 
taught, she couldnt seem to remember the feeling of the wool turning in her 
hands, the hypnotic, endless roll of the wheel going nowhere, the spindle 
filling up with threadbut she had a queer desire to lay her hands on this 
wheel, as if she knew exactly what to do with itor perhaps she was eager to try 
because she wanted so badly to ask the tall woman her question about how she 
could go home again.
She wanted to reach out her hand, but that was the hand Katriona clung to, and 
she could not get it free, so she went to stretch out her other hand, and found 
that she was still holding the little gargoyle spindles end. Her eyes went to 
the spindle on the tall womans wheel, and she frowned in puzzlement; it was 
strangely elongated and sharp, sharp as a poniard at its tip, nothing like the 
thick, round tipped spindles she had always been used to. What a very strange 
shape for a spindle!
She remembered now that she did not know how to spin. Katriona had said that she 
didnt need to know, that Rosie could do other things she and Aunt could not, 
but Rosie had guessed this meant she was sure to be as cack-handed at spinning 
as she was at sewing, and Katriona was trying to save her the humiliation. She 
felt humiliated now, remembering. And then she remembered offering to loan the 
gargoyle spindle end to Peony, to help her spinning, and Peony saying that if it 
was a charm, it belonged to their family, and it might have its feelings hurt or 
its usefulness spoilt if it were loaned away.
Rosie needed a charm now so that she could spin something for the tall woman, 
and then the tall woman would answer her question.
Slowly she drew the gargoyle out, and held it before her. If-if you dont 
mind, she said, and her voice sounded thick and hollow in her ears, I would 
rather use my own spindle; Ive never seen one like yours, and Im sure I shant 
be able to use it
The rage and hatred in the womans face was so vivid and potent and suddenly 
there that Rosie took an involuntary step backward, tripping over a dog as she 
did so; and the break in her concentration was much sharper and more complete 
this time. Pernicia! Rosie thought suddenly. Dear fate, this is Pernicia! And 
here I am wanting to ask her how to go home again!
But Rosie had been spelled very powerfully, and she could not run away nor shake 
herself free. She could feel the fog squeezing her, and the rat-snakes wriggled 
and chittered. But her hands, for a moment, were her own, and she squeezed 
Katrionas hand as the hand holding the gargoyle pressed it to her breast like a 
shield; and then the running, reeling footsteps she had heard off and on during 
Pernicias speech were directly behind her, and as Pernicias eyes turned 
briefly to this unwanted distraction, Peony half-ran past her, precarious as a 
drunk woman, her hand outstretched to grasp the dagger like spindle
and Pernicia opened her mouth, and swept up her arms, to perform a curse that 
would blast Peony into dust, and hurl Rosie forward despite Katriona and the 
entire complement of Lord Prens kennels, to impale herself on the spike as if 
it were the spear it looked like
when from over Pernicias head a great white bulk moved, spreading its huge 
wings and giving the wild berserker shriek of the hunting merrel, which chills 
the blood of the oldest huntsmen, who know that it is too wise and too wary to 
stoop on a human being
and Pernicia, not having noticed the merrel, or perhaps not knowing that the 
creature who made that noise will not attack a human being, or that this one was 
chained on a short chain strong enough to hold it, faltered for just an instant
and Peony touched the point of the spindle, uttering a tiny cry as it pierced 
her forefinger, and the first bright drop of blood spilled out, and Peony 
lurched first to her knees, grasping at the frame of the wheel, and leaving a 
smear of blood as she fell to the floor
and then there was a great roaring, and the floor seemed to heave under Rosies 
feet, and she could feel neither the gargoyle in one hand nor Katrionas hand in 
the other, nor all the dogs wound round her legs
And then she knew no more.



Part Five



Chapter 20
 ^  
She was still breathing with Peony.
Well, that was a good sign; it meant both of them were still alive.
But it certainly wasnt her own lungs that were pumping her breath in and out, 
and this made her, distantly, vaguely, a little apprehensive.
Shed never felt quite so inert before, breathing with Peony. Perhaps she was 
just very tired. She was very tired. She lay enjoying the luxury of not even 
having to do her own breathing for a minute or two.
She couldnt just now remember why she was so tired. She tried to cast her mind 
back, but it seemed as inert as the rest of her. This last season had been 
busier in the Gig than usual, it was true, because some kind of odd magical 
trouble had been making mischief for everyone everyone especially at Foggy 
Bottom Her memory made an incomplete lurch and recoil that juddered through her 
physical body. Almost she began breathing for herself againalmost she thought 
she heard a ragged, desperate voice mutter, Come on, Rosiebut then she 
flopped back into the queer passivity that held her. But she half remembered 
that it was early spring, not midwinter, that she had lost three months somehow
Breathing with Peony?
She gasped, and it was her own gasp, and with it she realised that there were 
fingers pinching her nose, and a mouth over her mouth, forcing air down her 
throat and then backing off to let her exhale; again; and again; and again; and 
that this had been going on for some time. When she gasped, the fingers 
slackened, and she heard a hoarse voice say, Rosie?
It was dark, or perhaps her eyes were too listless to see as her lungs had been 
too listless to breathe. She nonetheless sensed the solid bulk of the speakers 
body bending over her, and lips just brushed her cheek when they spoke her name. 
She would have liked to answershe would have liked to say, Who are you?but 
she could not. She went on breathing, jerkily, as if learning a new skill; and 
the arm that slid itself under her shoulders and raised her to a sitting 
position seemed a familiar arm, as the hair that tickled her cheek seemed 
familiar hair, and the smell of the breath and the skin of her rescuer was a 
familiar smell. Not Katriona. Not Aunt. Not Barder.
Not Peony.
Narl.
Narl? she said in amazement; or she thought she said it, but her voice was 
little more responsive than her eyes or her heavy limbs.
She could feel him looking aroundperhaps the darkness was not so dark to 
himfeel his alertness, his watchfulness, as he knelt beside her with his arm 
round her shoulders. She could not remember.
Those missing three months; wearing dresses; breathing with Peony
Ikor. Woodwold. The princess birthday party.
Pernicia.
A little mew of fear escaped her, and she shivered, despite the unmerited bliss 
of Narls arms round her. He put his lips to her ear and said, We are all right 
for a little while. Well need to move soon, but right now you go on remembering 
how to breathe for yourself. I can carry you awhile if it comes to that. 
Although neither of us would enjoy it muchthere was a ghost of a laughand 
before that, we have to have decided where were going.
It took her several more breaths to knit together enough strength to ask a 
question: Where are we?
Were still in the Great Hall. Youre where you fell after you asked to use 
your own spindlethe ghost of the laugh againand Peony and the merrel 
interfered just in time.
What are you doing here?
There was a pause so brief Rosie wasnt sure there had been a pause at all. 
Watching out for my horse-leech, of course. My business has been a lot duller, 
these last three months.
Rosie remembered Barder saying, The joke is that Narl wont take a strangers 
horse, because hed have to tell em what the fee is.
I didnt see you, she said.
No.
A typical Narl answer. Rosie knew herself to be smiling, and felt a little 
better. She could almost stand up. Not quite.
Why is it so dark?
The lights all blew outand the firesafter Peony touched the spindle and the 
floor leaped up. Itll be dawn soon.
The floor leaped?
Yes. It seemed to want to be rid of Pernicia.
At least it seemed quiet and floor like now. Rosie concentrated on breathing 
again, waiting for dawn, and trying to force some vigour back into her limbs. 
She could feel her hands and forearms lying over her lap, limp as sleeping 
puppies; and her feet flopped at the ends of her legs, as if they had no idea 
what they were for. She could hear no sound but her own breathing, and Narls, 
and a faint purring, echoing noise itself rather like breathing, which seemed to 
come from all round them. She almost thought she imagined it. Then she thought 
she didnt. She considered the rustly silence.
Wherewhere is everyone else? she said at last, fearfully.
Oh, theyre here too, he said matter-of-factly. Theyre just all asleep.
Asleep? said Rosie. Like I was asleep?
Theyre breathing, he said.
Sleep is the sister to death. Is Peony breathing?
This time there was definitely a silence before he answered.
Rosie, II dont know. Pernicia grabbed her as the floor curled up round 
herround Pernicia, and then threw her as a hand might throw a ball. She took 
Peony with her. Then the doors slammed shut and everything went dark.
Rosie put her hands over her face, and leaned against Narls shoulder, and one 
arm curved round her and the other hand stroked a gentle path from the crown of 
her head to her shoulder blades, again and then again. She thought wretchedly of 
the many nights shed lain awake thinking of just such tenderness and such an 
embrace, and now, when it cameRosie, love, said Narl. Were going after her. 
Just wait for it to get a little light, so we can see what were doing.
Rosie blearily opened her eyes, and peered over Narls shoulder. Were not solid 
black shapes beginning to differentiate themselves from the grey of what was 
merely air?
As if in answer to her thought, Narl said, There should be more light; I can 
feel that the suns over the horizon.
Rosies eyes were idly focussed on a bit of darkness that had gone a strangely 
ragged grey. She supposed she must be looking at a tapestry on a wall with a 
curiously contrasty and dramatic pattern; funny that she couldnt remember any 
such; but it might have been something new, from the arrival of the royal party. 
Or could some splash of Pernicias magic have washed up a wall and changed the 
colours of a tapestry?
Rosie blinked, and frowned. Narl was facing the wrong direction.
Narllook over here.
Narl cautiously let her go, and turned round. She propped herself on her hands 
and resisted the impulse to collapse full-length on the floor again. They both 
looked farther along the wall she was facing, and found more large ragged grey 
rectangles at regular intervals. Narl slowly climbed to his feet, and leaned 
down and pulled Rosie to hers; and she found that she could stand.
Still slowly, Narl steadying her, they moved among the huddled dark shapes that 
Rosie could half recognise as human bodies, a glint or sheen giving away that 
they were all dressed in their finest party clothes. It was an eerie landscape, 
something out of a fairy tale; magic was never as comprehensive as this, not in 
real life.
The grey rectangles were windows, and the reason the morning light could not get 
through was because of the thick tangle of thorny branches growing just outside 
them. Narl had designed all, and made many, of the window catches for the glass 
panes at Woodwold, and he pulled open the nearest casement without hesitation, 
and warily put his hand through it. Theyre wild roses, he said, sounding as 
bewildered as Rosie had ever heard him. Briar rosesa great hedge of them, as 
if theyd grown here for two hundred years.
Woodwold, said Rosie, thinking of the conscious, listening presence of the 
house during the last three months, suspicious of what it did not understandand 
it understood very little about most of the creatures that went loose upon the 
earthbut loyal to its family, short-lived and precariously footed though its 
members were, and steadfast in their defence. She remembered it murmuring, 
Rosie.
Woodwold is protecting us.
Narl stood a moment longer, staring out at the wild impassible weave of rose 
stems, many of them as thick as his wrists, the thorns bigger than a 
fleethounds fangs. Woodwold is protecting the sleep of its people, he said at 
last. But also keeping us imprisoned. We must go after Pernicia, not only for 
Peonys sake, but, I guess, if any of these people is to wake up again.
Us? said Rosie. He had said that once before. Her heart rose and sank 
simultaneously, leaving her feeling rather dizzy; but that might have been only 
the remains of the fog that had held her last nightif it was last nightand the 
magical, poisoned sleep. Katriona. Is Kat asleep, too? Kat was supposed to 
come with me. Kat was supposed to keep me alive long enough to
She turned away from the supporting wall, took a tentative step away from it and 
Narl, and found that her body was mostly back in her control again. She was also 
beginning to remember more about the end of the ball. If she had woken up where 
she had fallen, then Katriona should be there, too
She was. Rosie saw the sparkle of her overskirt first, the deep emerald that set 
off her dark hair so well; an inquisitive ray of sunlight had made its way 
through the rose stems and had found the green and decided to play with it, 
sliding down the hollows and twinkling off the gentle rise and fall of 
Katrionas side. Rosie knelt beside her. Her face looked peaceful, and her 
breathing was the slow light snore Rosie remembered from the cottage, when the 
three of them shared a bedroom. One of Lord Prens hounds had his head 
comfortably pillowed on the skirt round her feet: the animals were asleep, too. 
Rosie took Katrionas shoulder and shook it gently. Kat, she said. Katriona. 
Katriona didnt stir.
Rosie. Narl, standing behind her. I dont
No, said Rosie, and one tear slid down her face. You were supposed to come 
with me, she thought. You promised. Narlwhy arent you asleep?
She heard him shift, as if uneasily, but his voice, when it came, was cool and 
neutral. Ive a bit ofcold iron, that was given me, long ago. I welded it into 
my smiths chain when I made the chain. Its some protection against some 
things. The sleeps hers, but Woodwold interrupted before she finished the job, 
I reckon. You could say she didnt have time to notice me.
He wasnt lying, but he wasnt telling her the truth either. She turned round to 
look at him. He wouldnt meet her gaze, but looked instead across the twilit 
landscape of the room, the series of hummocks of all those sleeping bodies, the 
sharp angular peaks of furniture, the sparks of glancing sunlight.
She followed his gaze, and then couldnt; it was too eerie, toospectral.
The rustle of breathing could have been the whispering of restless ghosts. She 
looked back at Katriona, lying sleeping with a half smile on her face. She 
touched her cheek, knowing she would not awaken, still half hoping she would. 
She thought of Aunt, somewhere in the Great Hall, and of Ikor, and of all the 
royal magicians and fairieseven Sigillying asleep, the most powerful magic 
wielders in the kingdom; all asleep, except for Narl. And herself, having 
breathed Narls breath.
Narl, she said. Tell me the truth. The rest of it, I mean.
Narl sank down beside her, and, to her amazement, reached for one of her hands 
and began to play with the fingers. This was an utterly un-Narl-like gesture. 
Im a fairy, he said at last. Didnt you know?
Didnt she know? Iof course I didnt know. You cant be a fairy, Rosie said. 
Youre a smith.
Another silence. It happens occasionally. You know the stories.
Theyre all from centuries ago!
It doesnt happen very often.
Rosie, overwhelmed, fell silent. She took her hand away from him and wrapped 
both arms round her knees and put her head on them. She tried to find something 
to think about that was still itself, after the last three months, after last 
night, after Narls revelation. Oh, Gorse, she thought. You were wrong. Im not 
who I amnor is anyone elseand besides, theyre all asleep. She wanted to 
laugh, but she thought if once she started, she wouldnt be able to stop.
There are a lot of fairies asleep in this hall, she said. Why not you?
I dont know.
When it became obvious that he was not going to say any more, Rosie said with 
asperity: This is going to be a long conversation. Why did you think I should 
know you are a fairy?
The animals know.
Rosie digested this. It was true that the animals would know, but it was also 
true that it was not the sort of thing they would pass on without an animal sort 
of reason. They might have told her if she had asked, but it wasnt anything it 
would ever have occurred to her to ask. Which meant that Narl couldnt talk to 
animals himself, or hed know all that. She flushed, and scowledit would have 
been too humiliating if he hadnt needed her to translate when hed asked her 
to.
He was watching her closely, and saw the scowl. Rosie, Im sorry. Ive never 
told anyonenot since I left home, and that was a long time ago. I barely 
remember it myself, most of the time.
Rosie shook her head, still scowling. Why not? Youre obviouslywell, you must 
be pretty good, and she gestured at their surroundings.
Narl grimaced. Im a seer.
Oh. Seers were notoriously unreliable. Although they usually told wonderful 
storiesmany of them earned their livings as bards.
It figured that Narl hardly spoke at all. And was a blacksmith.
Butwont working with iron all the time give you rheumatism?
Narl sighed. No. Its in my family.
Whats in your family, said Rosie, holding on to her temper.
Fairy smiths. Those old stories are mostly about my family.
Rosie stared. The stories about fairy smiths tended to be about eight-foot 
giants laying out taralians with back-handed blows from the hafts of their axes, 
or hammering all night to shoe the horses of the kings cavalry so they could 
trot across the flooded river on top of the water and meet with a very surprised 
invading army on the other side And then there was that story of the 
Prendergast seer who had decided where Woodwold would be built.
Thatbit of cold iron, said Rosie. Where does it come from?
Narl pulled at the short chain round his neck, finding the link he wanted by 
feel. It was nothing to look at. The rest of the chain was a proper forged 
chain; what he held now between thumb and forefinger was a little irregular knob 
of iron, some broken-off, discarded bit, too small to bother salvaging for 
another purpose. It came from round here, said Narl. Somewhere. About forty 
great-grandfathers ago, Lord Pren and I are cousins.
Is that why you came here?
Narl shook his head. No. He hesitated, and added, But then Rowland didnt 
come here looking for the princess either.
What if? No. Narl had been in Foggy Bottom long before Katriona came home from 
the princess name-day with a baby. But how much can a seer see? She thought of 
some of the stories the seer-bards told: by that standard, a lot. How much does 
a seer see in a true vision, supposing he knows hes having one? Enough to know 
that to save a princessto save a kingdomsomeones fortieth-great-grandson 
needed to be in the Great Hall someone was founding, eleven hundred years later?
Does Lord Pren know?
No. But I think Woodwold does. I think it recognises this, and he touched the 
small iron nub on his chain with a finger.
He took a deep breath, like a man nerving himself for a singlehanded rush at a 
massed enemy, and plunged into speech. Rosie Im not a very good fairy. Im a 
much better smith. Youd have been better offmuch, much better offwith Kat. Or 
Aunt. Or even Ikor. The problem with Ikor is that he saw you, Rosie, as the 
reflection. The princess is the solid one, for him. So he never understood 
Rosie.
Rosie stared at him. So far as she knew he had never met Ikor, let alone heard 
him talk about the princess, let alone seen them together, let alone Narl how 
did you know that Peony that Ithat I am the princess?
He spoke as if he were now in the midst of battle, and his every word was an 
arrow that flew at him. Ive always known. I knew there was something about you 
that first day you walked into the forgeknee-high to the horse I was shoeing 
and more chatter than a squirrel. Seers see, you know, and even bad ones learn 
when theyre seeing right even though they mostly see wrong. Andthings are 
true, in a smiths yard. Its like there were two of youthe solid one that 
talked all the time and loved horses and all the other beasts, and a sort of 
radiance, that followed you, human shaped, like a shadow, only rainbow coloured, 
which did everything you did. I dont know when I understood what it meant. By 
the time I knew I already had knownhe made Rosies gesture of frustration at 
that point, running his hand through his hair. It was like finally having a 
name for a bird or a flower you see every day or every season. Rosie. Princess. 
He paused for a moment and added, Ththe princessness of you only shone out 
like that at the forge. I looked. Thats why I never said anything to Aunt or 
Kat about it. All I did waserI arranged it that my forge is unusually prone to 
disturbing the vision of other fairies with rainbows and foxfire. Even Nurgle 
sees them when she brings the laundry. Anyone who saw you trailing your radiance 
would think it was that. Thats something a seer can do: give other people 
visions as false as his own. He paused again and then said heavily: I will 
help you the best I can, you see, but it wont be a very good best.
Rosie shook her head. Thats not how the stories go. Fairy smiths are always 
terribly powerful.
Those are fairy tales, said Narl. Im real.
Just like me, said Rosie sadly. Im real, too. I just dont know, real what.
Narl made a gesture toward her, hastily cut off, that Rosie couldnt identify. 
She unclasped her hands, straightened her legs out, and looked at her crumpled, 
dusty, once-fine skirts. If were going to gowherever were going to go, I 
need some other clothes, she said. She looked across the long stretch of floor 
to the stairs, and shivered.
Ill come with you, said Narl.
The journey to the princess tower was made without incident, though it was not 
pleasant. The corridors were all too long and too dark and too silent, and Rosie 
was still suffering the aftereffects of her poisoned sleep, and felt cold and 
strengthless. The last long flight of stairs was very long indeed, and without 
Narls hand under her arm, half lifting her up each riser, she thought she might 
have sat down at its foot and never moved again.
Even the princess tower room was dark with the stark coils of late-winter rose 
stems wrapped round its windows, and the fire asleep in the hearth. Rosie 
staggered feebly to her window seat and pulled herself up the step to look out. 
Narl, she said.
Narl had remained by the door, looking up, perhaps at Eskwa, still hanging over 
the lintel. He joined her and together they peered through the thorny barricade 
to a great opaque weave of grey rose stems stretching away from them, swelling 
and falling over the invisible walls and roofs of Woodwold. It was a bleak 
landscape, as alien and frightening as the Great Hall and its sleepers, and far 
more unfamiliar, for every landmark, every familiar roof line, had disappeared, 
and a cold hard grey light lay over everything like a sheen of water. Ive 
looked out this window several times a day every day for three months, she 
said, shoving gingerly at a hindering rose stem, a mere thumbs breadth in 
diameter, in the hopes of improving her view, and I cant even tell you what 
were looking at. Could it be a heavy dew that made the light glare so? I 
cant see anything but the rose stems, can you? I cant even see where the park 
begins. Its almost as if were floating in a cloud, or an island in a bog.
I hope not, said Narl.
The spiderweb hung empty in the corner of the window frame.
Rosie looked at it intently, willing herself to find one tiny bobble at some 
gossamer crossroad which was a tightly curled, sleeping spider, but she could 
not find one. What is it? said Narl.
Nothing, muttered Rosie. I cant find the spider. Shes been here right 
alongsince we came here three months ago.
Maybe she decided to go downstairs and see the ball, said Narl.
I hope she started in time to find a good window frame first, said Rosie.
She climbed down from the window seat and rummaged among the boxes under her 
side of the bed. She had forbidden the maids to touch her old clothing, but 
after the first week she hadnt checked; looking at her beloved boots and 
trousers and the leather waistcoat darkened by the damp affections of hundreds 
of horses and scratched by the enthusiasm of many small and medium-sized clawed 
feet, only made her more miserable. She held her breath as she tipped the lid 
back Yes, there they were, folded far more neatly than she had left them. She 
had so longed for the opportunitythe excuseto put them back on She pulled the 
things out and began to dress. She noticed that everything (except the 
waistcoat, which was beyond recovery) had been beautifully cleaned before it had 
been stowed away, and this only made her more wretched. Last she rescued her 
spindle end from the pocket of her ball gown, and slipped it into her trousers. 
She muttered, Lets go in a muffled voice, and kept her eyes resolutely on 
Narls feet as he turned away from the window to join her again.
She felt a slight resistance as she stepped across the threshold into the hall, 
as if the air had gathered itself together and pushed back at her. She paused 
and looked up, as Narl had looked up.
It was dark in the hall, and darker still above the door; but Eskwa glittered in 
the darkness. Eskwa both binds and cuts. If you have need of either, he will 
answer to your hand. She could barely reach the lower edge of the blade, even 
standing on tiptoe; she would need a stool or something to stand on, to unhook 
it from whatever held it. But as she thought to go in search of the stool, the 
sabre came softly away from the wall and slid into her hands. She stood staring 
at it; swords and sabres were outside her practical experience. It will do as a 
lamp, she said, turning the blade a little as one might turn a faceted gem in 
candlelight, even if I dont know anything else to do with it. Do you?
Narl shook his head. I have no warrior training. And it is your hand it came 
to.
No one awake, their footsteps seemed to say to her as they descended again. She 
had loosened her belt and cautiously tucked Eskwa through it, and the blade laid 
a little track of light in front of their feet. No one awake. No one awake. No 
one awake but Narl and me. No one awake. Down they went, down and down, as they 
had gone up, with no other sound but their footsteps, until they heard the soft 
tidal sound of hundreds of people breathing in their sleep as they turned onto 
the final flight of stairs.
They paused at the foot of those last stairs. To their right ran a corridor and 
a series of smaller parlours Lady Pren had set up as places where weary and 
overwhelmed party-goers might retreat; by the faint moan of breathing, some 
people had. To the left were the series of corridors that led at last to the 
kitchens and cellars. Rosie dreaded reentering the Hall, but that was where the 
main doors were.
I suppose we should try the front doors first? It doesnt seem very likely, but 
it who knows what the rules are in a fairy tale?
Narl nodded, and they made their way as quickly as possible across the floor, 
Rosie half trying not to look at any of the figures she scuttled round, half 
hoping to see Aunt, or Barder, or even Ikor or Rowland. Or Sigil. She did see 
Lord Prendergast, inelegantly sprawled, one leg somehow thrown over the body of 
someone who could only be one of the royal magicians, and an important one, too, 
by the jewels at his breast, and the beribboned gold chain in his hair.
One of the ribbons had fallen into his open mouth, and he made a slight gagging 
noise as he breathed. Rosie stopped and brushed it clear.
Their path did not take them near the dais where the king and queen had still 
been standing when Pernicia appeared; Rosie would have avoided it even if that 
had been the shortest way.
Despite icy-dank early-spring draughts (and a collision of incompatible 
smoke-suppressing spells that caused great ashy belches from one of the enormous 
fireplaces) the huge central doors of the Hall had been left open since the 
official beginning of the ball, so that people could come and go as they 
pleased, including members of the royal family walking out to the tents in the 
park. (Ikor had hated this, but agreed that it was the sort of thing the 
princess they had created would do.) The big doors, which opened outwards, were 
now closed; slammed shut, Rosie wondered, by the force of an explosion of rose 
stems? The doors might now as well have been walls; they barely creaked when 
Narl and Rosie pushed unhopefully against them. There was a small door cut out 
of one of the big ones, which opened inwards, and it still opened, but outside 
the rose stems were so thick not even sunlight could break through. Rosie looked 
at Eskwa, as if the sabre might tell her what to do, but it said nothing; and 
she did not wish to try Ikors blade against Woodwolds defence. It wasnt till 
then that one more implication of the breathing silence came to her: Woodwold 
itself was asleep. There were no whispers of Rosie. The doors were sealed 
against them as well as against Pernicia. No one awake.
As Rosie turned away from the doors, she saw something in the corner of her eye, 
and saw Narls head begin to turn just as she snapped her own round. Movement.
Someone was staggering to his feet. Not two feet, but four. Hroc. And then 
Sunflower, the spaniel bitch. Then a lower, lurching, drunken shadow: Flinx.
Flinx! said Rosie. What are you doing here? Did you come with Kat? Oh, Im so 
glad to see you!
But Flinx sat down at some distance from Rosie, with his back to her, and tried 
to wash a front paw; and promptly fell over. He hissed, furiously, and his hair 
bushed out; but that didnt work right either, and some of his hair stood on end 
and some didnt, giving him a look both rakish and clownish. He hated it, and 
hissed again, ears flat back and eyes like midsummer bonfires.
Flinx, Im sorry, said Rosie. Id stroke you, but youd only bite me, 
wouldnt you? In the temper youre in. And if you missed, youd only be 
angrier. She spoke aloud, for she knew her words were more for her comfort than 
for Flinxs; but she knew, by the angle of his back-turning, that he was 
listening to her, and that her placatory tone would be registered.
Several more sighthounds had woken up: Milo, and Tash, and Froo. Tash had lain 
by Rosies chair every evening since she had come to Woodwold and, when the 
draughts were bad, across her feet. Froo was a romantic, and loved Rosie because 
she was the princess; he reminded her a little of Ikor.
And Spear: she hadnt known Spear had come to the ball, nor how he might have 
done so; he did not stray far from his pub any more. He appeared out of the 
darkness in the back of the Hall, his wiry half-long coat, dark during Rosies 
childhood, now almost as white as the merrel. He placed each foot with utter 
deliberation. He of them all walked the most steadily, as if he were habituated 
to overseeing mere physical unreliabilities, and the aftereffects of poisoned 
sleep were no worse than the standard infirmities of old age.
He came straight up to Rosie and with no apparent hesitation, reared himself (a 
little stiffly) on his hind legs and put his front paws on her shoulders, which 
had been his standard greeting since she was ten years old and strong enough to 
bear his weight. He did this with no other human; but then no other human had 
taken her first steps clinging to his tail.
When he dropped back to the floor again, Rosie saw one more approaching shadow 
over his shoulder. This one was very small and low to the floorless than half 
the size of Flinx. Throstle.
Throstle was moving slowly, but he did not stagger. He walked up to Rosie and 
put his head on her foot. He weighed so little she wouldnt have known it was 
there if he hadnt caught her eye first; but he hadnt been a sleeve dog most of 
his life without learning a good deal about how to make his presence felt, even 
among people who couldnt talk to him as Rosie could.
She and Narl and their ragged, wombly, teetery crew stood still in the middle of 
the scene of desolation and tried to think about what came next. The dogs, 
without seeming to organise themselves, had meandered round till they were all 
facing more or less in the same direction. There was a tiny bump against Rosies 
ankle, a meek plucking at the floppy top edge of her boot, and she leaned down 
(carefully, on account of Eskwa) to scoop up Throstle: and discovered two mice 
looking at her beseechingly. Us too, they said. Uss tooo.
Their silent voices were familiar. Youre from Foggy Bottom, said Rosie. How did 
you get here? Where are your brothers and sisters and cousins?
They are still in Foggy Bottom, they replied. We came in youryour box. (There 
was at this point a vivid mouse-eye view of the inside of a box full of 
not-very-well-packed bits and pieces moving at speed on the back of a coach.) 
When you came here.
Why?
To be near you, Princess, they said, surprised that so obvious an answer needed 
to be supplied. We all wanted to come. But we thought it would not do you a 
service with the humans here if there were suddenly many more of us in this 
other place. So we chose.
Throstle wagged his tail. Oh well, said Rosie, if theyre friends of yours. I 
wonder if Lady Pren knows? And she dropped Throstle into her biggest pocket, 
offered the palm of her hand to the mice, and, when they had ticklingly climbed 
onto it, dropped them on top of Throstle.
Flinx had already set out, toward the stairs at the back of the Great Hall, 
making a determined, if still slightly unsteady, way through the sleepers. That 
way? said Rosie.
I dont know any reason why not, Narl said.
Flinx led the procession through the corridors away from the formal parlours, 
and down wide, worn stairs into the kitchens, where the fire slept with the 
cooks and the men and the maid and the spit boy. And the cat. Flinx looked at 
the sleeping kitchen cat with disdain.
Rosie paused long enough to shift the spit boy, who, if the fire woke up before 
he did, was going to be himself roasted, as Narl saved the cook from drowning 
slowly in her bowl of batter. I dont suppose we dare touch any of the food? 
said Rosie; Narl shook his head. Then they went on.
Flinx led them steadily, walking more strongly, and Spear walked beside him 
through the kitchens. But as they went down another flight of stairs, they 
descended into darkness, darkness so heavy that Eskwa faded to a ghostly 
crescent shape, and cast no light. There would have been torches on the walls, 
but they had no fire to kindle them with. Oh, but began Rosie.
Narl, a step below her, reached up and took her hand. I can lead you through 
the dark, he said. This dark, anyway. She curled her fingers round his wide 
palm and followed. The animals all moved together, close enough to touch their 
neighbours, so as not to lose each other. Just before the darkness became 
absolute, Hroc dropped back from Spears heels to insinuate his head under her 
other hand. They reached the bottom of the stairs and went on. The flooring was 
rough stone, and Rosie picked up her feet like a carriage pony. Her nose and 
ears and skin could sense the openings of other passages; she wondered if Flinx 
and Spear were still at the head of the procession, and if Narl was following 
them.
She felt, strangely, perfectly safe, her feet taking slow, careful, blind steps 
into the dark of an unknown tunnel underground. She felt wistful about all the 
other underground ways she would have liked to learn more about. Here were the 
roots of Woodwold, here were the first founding places; she might have been able 
to hear to hear some buried, secret language telling her what she needed to 
know, some old but mortal trick she might use against Pernicia, some trick so 
ancient Pernicia would have forgotten it: some trick Narls forebear might have 
left for their aid, eleven hundred years ago.
By now the pitchy blackness was thick and tangible enough to prove a fifth 
element, unjustly omitted from the usual list: not air or water, not earth or 
fire, but dark. She stopped, and listened, and her companions stopped, too, and, 
with the sharpening of the other senses blindness provokes, she could feel them 
turning their heads, searching for what had disturbed her.
But all was silence. Woodwold was asleep, too; down here Rosie was sure she 
could have heard what she had had only echoes of in the walls upstairs. Pernicia 
had sent even Woodwold to sleep. But Narl was awake, and had woken her. And Hroc 
was awake, and Milo and Tash and Froo, and Flinx and Spear, and Sunflower and 
Throstle and two mice from Foggy Bottom. And what about the rose hedge?
She stood a minute longer, listening, waiting; the others stood patiently, for 
she was their princess.
The dogs picked it up first, of course; she felt the ears pricking, the 
headsand the hacklesrising; and she could feel the buzz of an inaudible growl 
through the top of Hrocs head. Then she and Narl, too, could hear the soft 
pat-pat of small feet in the silence of the corridor.
Fox. Even human noses can recognise that smell. It stopped at some little 
distance from them, and said, I have come to be near the princess. Will you let 
me pass?
The dogs made no move as it approached, neither making way for it nor barring 
it. Rosie felt soft padded forefeet touch her knee, and a cold nose her wrist. 
Zel, she said. You jumped into Peonys arms, that night. Ikor looked at you and 
But where have you come from?
I dont know, he said. I have just woken up. It was dark. And then I heard your 
company. May I come with you?
Yes, said Rosie, but do you know where we are going?
Pernicia, sighed all the silent dog-voices around them. Pernicia.
Zel was silent for a moment, and then he said, I am here. I will come.
They went on, and then the dark began to grow a little less, and Rosie could see 
dog-heads and dog-backs, and then a smaller puff of darkness became Flinx, still 
in the lead; and then there were stairs again, and they went up. The smell told 
them where they were before they reached ground level: the smell of very well 
kept horses, and of the bins of corn in the storage room the stairs led to.
The long stable was in twilight, rose stems growing over the windows.
The door to the courtyard at the end of the central corridor stood open, but 
there was little more light through it; although the immediate way was 
unblocked, there were thorny branches hanging down from the lintel and curling 
round the side posts, and a tangly greeny-grey of hedge not far beyond.
The horses, too, were asleep, and grooms lay in the aisles, some of them fallen 
down on the harness or horse rugs they were carrying.
Rosie looked anxiously at the row of pitchforks hanging on the wall, but the 
only one missing was found slid harmlessly from the lax hand that had held it.
All the horses were asleep. She had no reason to expect otherwise. Nor had she 
led the little party here; Flinx had, or Spear, or Narl. Perhaps this was merely 
the shortest way back to the surface from the kitchen cellars. Perhaps they 
would have to go back down into the darkness and try the other tunnels. Try them 
for what? A way out? She doubted that Woodwolds underground maze ran any 
farther than Woodwolds hedge of briar roses.
There was a quick scrambling noise not far from them, and then a long elegant 
blood-bay head with straw in its forelock was thrust out over a half door: Fast. 
Rosie broke into a runthus finding out she could again do soto open his door, 
and put her arms round his neck; and then they went to find Gorse. He had just 
finished opening his own door when they came to him: A useful skill, he said, 
but one I have been careful not to overuse for fear of someone finding out I can 
do it. That is how I came to you that night, a season ago.
And Fast?
A prance from Fast: not a very good one, for the sleep still lay on him, but 
neither of the horses seemed as sick from it as those who had fallen in the Hall 
had been.
Fast merely jumped his fence. He is young, and impetuous, and he loves you, 
Princess.
Fast bit her shoulder, lovingly, and not very hard, but Rosie looked at her 
friends in the striped twilight and thought: one reluctant princess who is 
really a horse-leech, two horses, a few hounds, a spaniel, a very small terrier, 
a fox, two mice, and a cat. And a fairy smith who says hes better at smithing. 
And we are seeking to confront a wicked fairy who is planning to destroy our 
entire country, and the only people who might help us are asleep. I suppose it 
is a confrontation we want. I dont know. This was what Katriona was supposed to 
do. Oh dear. I dont suppose theres any point in finding our way to the dairies 
or the poultry houses, and picking up a cow and a few chickens. I wonder what 
happened to Pernicias spindle whenwhen Woodwold threw her out of the Hall? 
Without her conscious volition, Rosies hand felt for the friendly wooden 
spindle end in her pocket.
She looked at Narl and saw he knew the shape of her thoughts.
Do you have any idea what we do now?
Narl shook his head. After a moments silence he said: Im afraid its your 
call. In spite of the iron Im carrying, the pressure of the magic here is 
making me stupid. Of the magics. Thats part of the problem. They strain against 
each other like the parts of a badly made tool youre being forced to useyou 
dont know which bit is going to fly to pieces first but you know something 
will. I should be able to give you a little warning if the balances shift 
dangerously, but thats about all. I told you you would have been better off 
with Kat. But there must be some way out even if I cant think of it.
Magic cant do everything.
Right, thought Rosie. It can only kill you or ruin your life or destroy 
everything that means anything to you. Fine.
It took them the rest of what might have been the morning, although the light 
did not change as on an ordinary day, to test the immediate boundaries of the 
briar hedge. Neither Narl nor Rosie believed there would be a way through, but, 
like trying the front doors in the Great Hall first, the venture had to be made. 
They asked the horses to stay where they were, just outside the stable doors, 
where there was a little rose-roofed clearing about the size of the Foggy Bottom 
wrights yard; the other, smaller, animals, and the two humans, pursued the 
inner circumference of the hedge.
There was indeed no way through. There were places a thin determined body could 
slide carefully along for some little distance when it was between some wall of 
Woodwold and the hedge, the ancient and pitted stone facing of Woodwold was only 
slightly less cruel to human skin and clothing than the thorns of wild rosesbut 
these never led anywhere. Even the mice said they could find no path that lasted 
more than a few dozen mouse-lengths. Theres a stretchy feeling about this 
hedge, said Hroc. Like a leash made of green leather. Theres a give to it that 
makes you think its not serious, but it wont let you go very far. Its there 
to hold you in.
Several times Rosie tried to speak to Woodwold, but there was never any answer. 
She might, in the tension and anxiety of present circumstances, have begun to 
believe that she had never heard Woodwold saying Rosie. Princess, never felt the 
eerie awareness of the house watching her; but the quality of Woodwolds silence 
now was not that of something that does not speak but of something that has been 
shut away, trapped, barricaded. Rosie stared at the impassible hedge and thought 
of herself during the last three months.
Then she thought: I wonder what a bird might find, flying above thisprison? 
Perhaps there is some answer in the fact that we have seen no birds. She sighed. 
It was beginning to be difficult to ignore how hungry she was, and thirsty; they 
would not be able to go very much longer without risking a drink of water. Her 
eyes went longingly to the water butt outside the stable door.
She tried to remember some of Aunt and Katrionas conversations about spell 
breaking. This didnt come up very often in a place like the Gig, but it did 
occasionally. Never attack a spell head-on, Aunt had said. Thats where its 
strongest. You need to sniff out where the weak places are. All spells have 
them; its just a matter of finding them and, of course, being able to use 
them. If a spell has been very powerfully made, the likes of you or I wont be 
able to.
Magic cant do everything. Think! We cannot get out through the doorsthe house 
doors, nor the stable doors. We cannot get through the hedge. The tunnels again? 
I dont think sonone of those other passages felt moremorePernicia must want 
to find me; she must know shes been cheated. She must knowbecause Peony must 
be still alive. Rosies thought faltered here. Peony is still alive, and we must 
find her. Pernicianever mind Pernicia now.
But she flung the sleep over us as Woodwold threw up the hedge.
Were deadlocked.
Magic cant do everything.
I wonder what a bird might find.
We havent tried up yet.
She looked at the low snaggy ceiling, at the cracks of glarey grey light; and 
then she looked down at Eskwa. Eskwa both binds and cuts. She did not want to 
cut Woodwolds guard of roses; but could a gardener not bind back stems that 
were growing where she did not want them? She looked at the massive, formidable 
weave above and round her and shook her head; but she laid her hand on Eskwa 
nonetheless and felt it once again slide into her hand.
Bind, she said to it. Can you bind back a space for us to look through?
She held the blade over her head, so the tip of it slipped through the twining 
branches, and she felt it quiver, like a hunting dog on point. And there was a 
creaking noise, and a scraping, grinding noise, and the rose branches shook; and 
then there was a tiny hole, just over Rosies head, and it grew, the branches 
now writhing back like snakes, curling up on themselves like rope. Eskwa drew 
her on, tugging at her hand, its blade pressing against the hedge like a hand 
drawing back a fold of cloth. Rosie began to walk round in an ever increasing 
circle as the space she had asked for grew larger and larger; till the courtyard 
in front of the stables was almost completely clear
And then Eskwa faltered, wavering in her hand, its tip falling from the circle 
of the hedge; and she saw that its blade was almost entirely eaten away, the 
crescent of it now barely wider than a tapestry needle. In astonishment she 
looked again at the pulled-back rose stems and saw that they were, indeed, 
bound, by a fine gleaming network of silver like a spiderweb. Oh, said Rosie. 
Oh. Thank you. Im sorry. II think I needed to ask. I didnt know what else to 
do. II hope Ikor can make you fat again. She stroked a gentle finger down the 
back of the long curved tapestry needle that had been a sabre, and then she went 
into the stables and hung it in the scabbard loop of Gorses parade saddle, 
which was the most honourable place she could think of for it.
And then she came back out to the courtyard again and stared at the sky, as 
everyone else was doing already; as everyone else had been doing since the gap 
first opened. There was a high thin cloud cover that seemed only to intensify 
the glare as it hid the position of the sun; and the sky itself was a funny 
colour, almost violet. Up is still up, she thought. And I dont know what we 
might do for a ladder.
She felt small padded feet at her knee again, and Zels nose in her hand. She 
looked down at him, and he raised his nose, telling her to where to look; and 
then Narls hand was over her shoulder, pointing at a particular bit of sky, a 
particular odd swirl of cloud, an angular swirl, rather like a tall narrow 
castle with too few windows standing in a wide barren landscape. The funny 
colour was very noticeable just there, as if this were the place where the 
violet-lavender-purple-was leaking through to taint the sky.
Even if youre right, said Rosie, Even if youre all right, and frankly, I 
dont believe that evenerthe person we have to find can have conquered the 
sky, how would we get there?
Jump, said Fast.
Rosie stared at the castle, which looked more and more like a castle the more 
she stared at it. She was beginning to get a crick in her neck. The hole works 
both ways, she thought. We might be able to get out. Or Pernicia might be able 
to get in. But said Rosie.
I dont think that is the sky, you know, said Narl.
Yes, said Rosie. Itit feels like that to me, too. Im not even a fairy, and 
it makes me feel stupid, and as if everything is about to come to bits.
She thought for a moment, but there wasnt much to think about. Where would she 
rather meet Pernicia? Here? Or somewhere else? Not here. Not with Katriona and 
Aunt and Barder and the queen and the king and the princes and the Prendergasts 
and Ikor and I suppose Sigil asleep and unrousable, protected only by a few 
thorns. Fast says we can jump, Rosie said.
Thats as likely as anything, replied Narl.
The best jumpers will jump, said Fast. Thats Corse and me and the hounds. The 
others must ride. The cat has to go in a sack. Cats always use their claws, even 
when they promise not to.
I will jump, said Flinx with scorn. I jump better than any huge ugly beast with 
bones that are too long and whiskers that are too short and hard flatfeet.
Narl was absentmindedly rubbing at a rose scratch on his cheek. Wait a minute. 
We are all tired, hungry and thirsty. Tired and hungry we can go on with a 
little longer, but I think we have to try the water in the water butt before 
weertry anything else.
We dont dare, said Rosie. If we fall asleep theres no one left to
Spear said, I will drink the water. I am too old to jump and too big to ride. If 
it sends me to sleepwell, at least I will no longer be thirsty.
Spear, began Rosie, distressed.
He was already walking toward the water butt. And, he added with the 
dispassionate tranquillity animals assumed so easily and human egotism found 
almost impossible to bear, if I am asleep, I will not have to see you leaving me 
behind.
Everyone watched as Spear reared up and put his forefeet on the rim of the water 
butt, bent his long neck and drank. The sound of his lapping in that silent 
courtyard was as loud as thunder. He had a long satisfying drink, and the 
watchers all jealously swallowed dryness and tried not to stare too fiercely for 
signs of drowsiness as he dropped to all fours again. He sat down, had a 
scratch, yawned
Everyone held their breath.
finished yawning. Stared back.
One minute, two minutes. Three minutes. How long do we have to wait? thought 
Rosie. Four minutes. Five.
I believe, said Spear, that this water is just water.
There was a general rush for the water butt. Rosie found the grooms cup for 
herself and NarlNo drooling, said Rosie, shoving Fasts nose aside just in 
time. Flinx paused in his dainty sipping to give Fast a glare worthy of the 
Prendergast majordomo facing a footman who has just dropped a tureen.
Then they organised themselves to leap into the sky.
Gorse took Narl and Zel; the houndsall but Spearranged on either side of 
Gorse, waiting for Rosie. Rosie knelt down in front of Spear, and put her hands 
on his narrow shoulders. He licked her nose. It is all right, he said. I will 
wait for you.
We will be back soon, said Rosie, knowing that this was the sort of useless, 
pretending thing that humans said; but Spear had pity on her and said only, Yes.
Rosie stood up, turning away from her old friend; gently patted the pocket that 
again contained Throstle and two mice; she could feel them trembling. She patted 
the pocket with the spindle end to give herself courage, and then looked at 
Fast. I dont know how to ride, she said.
I know, said Fast. Hold on to my mane, and let Sunflower sit within your arms. 
You may fall off on landing but you mustnt fall on takeoff.
Narl looked perfectly at ease on Gorses back; Rosie, trying to figure out how 
to scramble up on Fasts, wondered how he got there. The bigger, more muscular 
horse perfectly suited the bigger, burlier rider; Zels nose over Narls arm and 
brush under it slightly spoiled the effect, but they looked as if they might be 
off one of the tapestries in Woodwolds Great Hall, illustrating the noble deeds 
of Prendergasts through the ages. It only then occurred to Rosie that Narllike 
everyone present last nightwas dressed in fine clothes (if by now a little the 
worse for wear and thorn rents). She didnt know he had any fine clothes. She 
hadnt noticed before, she thought, because he looked so comfortable in 
themrather as he looked on Gorses backunlike herself, who in three months of 
wearing ladies clothes hadnt once felt at ease in them. Oh well, she thought. 
Who cares? But she did care. Narls clothing, black and brown and grey and 
mostly of leather, fitted him too well to be borrowed; on the proud golden 
Gorse, he could have been anyone. Only the smiths chain gave him away.
She thought of Peony, who always looked graceful and serene and unwrinkled, and 
considered, for about the space of an inhale but before the exhale, if she could 
possibly learn to hate her friend; and decided she could not. I wonder if Narl 
is hoping that if he rescues Peony She spent a moment trying to imagine Narl as 
the romantic lover, kneeling at his beloveds side, taking her hand reverently 
in his and covering it with kisses To her own dismay, she started to laugh.
Narl turned his head at once, amusement bright in his eyes. Its harder on a 
slab-sided beanpole like the one you drew, he said, thinking that she was 
laughing at her attempts to climb astride; but theres a barrel just there, 
which is what I used. You dont think Im one of these crack jockeys that vault 
from the ground, do you?
Fast followed her and stood quietly as she eased herself on. Fine. Now let your 
legs hang down as straight as theyll go, and get your seat bones out of my 
spine. Rosie hastily shifted her weight forward, and beckoned to Sunflower, who 
bounced from barrel to Rosies lap with too much enthusiasm and nearly hurtled 
off the other side as consequence.
She overheard a quick consultation between the two horses, flickflick-flick, of 
bunched muscles and aiming; they werent bothering to lay it out for any human 
that might be listening in. Flinx was ignoring them all, but Hroc added 
something that had to do with the shorter legs and lighter weight of the 
houndssince there wasnt actually much vocabulary, in the human sense of the 
term, in beast-speech, cross-species communication, so long as the topic was 
mutual, was feasible if a bit rough-and then they lined up, facing in the same 
direction, looking at the castle above the briar hedge. Fast gave a sort of 
wriggling sway, like a cat readying himself to pounce, and Rosie felt his hind 
end sink as he gathered himself together. She grabbed as much of his mane as she 
could round Sunflower, and tried to squeeze her legs in the little hollows 
behind the swell of his shoulders: and then he sprang into the air.



Chapter 21
 ^  
They were flying like birds. The great thrust of the horses hindquarters was 
long since spent, but something drew them on, faster and faster, as if they were 
sliding down a slope, except they were far from the ground, and going upand 
uphigher and higher, and the air was thin and icy cold. Butwere they going up? 
There was something wrong with Rosies sense of direction, and the world, or the 
sky, or both, were spinning round her.
She closed her eyes, but that was worse, so she opened them again, opened them 
to see the purple-stained castle clearly in front of them. They seemed to be 
hurtling toward it No, she said, or gasped; this isnt right; too soon, not 
now. And she threw herself off Fasts back, Sunflower leaping clear, and hit 
the groundsome groundwith a bone-jarring smack, not daring to roll on account 
of the little creatures in one pocket and the hard knob of the spindle end in 
another. The wind was knocked out of her and she lay dazed for a moment, unable 
to get up.
Everyone else struck the earth just beyond her. Fast lost his own balance and 
fell; Gorse staggered and lurched and remained upright, while Narl half 
slithered and was half thrown off his back, Zel also leaping clear; most of the 
hounds did somersaults. Rosie didnt see Flinx land, and only saw him a minute 
or so later, nonchalantly walking toward the rest of them, but he was wearing 
several small heathery-looking twigs behind one ear and a long dust-smudge down 
one flank. Zel was the only one who seemed never to have lost his poise; 
Sunflower had none to lose. She sat down next to the half stunned Rosie and 
licked her face. Throstle and the two mice crept out of Rosies pocket and lay 
panting as she was still trying to pummel air back into her own abused lungs. 
Flinx sat down and began to wash.
Rosie shook her head, and levered herself upright. Fast was walking toward her, 
a little stiffly. Anyone hurt? she said. Fast tossed his head. No, said Gorse. 
Only a little rubbed backward.
They were standing at a kind of boundary between a scraggy sort of wood behind 
them and an almost-barren landscape with a little low scrub before them. There 
were standing stones scattered about, strange unwelcoming shapes at strange 
menacing angles.
The castle itself rose from the scrubland like the biggest standing stone of 
all.
It was twilight, but of dawn or sunset or something else they could not tell; 
the low lavender-grey clouds hid the motion of the sun here, too. It was a 
heavy, drab sort of light that did not feel like any sort of daylight any of 
them were accustomed toworse than the glarey grey light of the briar-shrouded 
Woodwoldand instinctively they drew closer together.
Rosie looked first at the wood behind them, wondering if it had any relation to 
the briar hedge round Woodwold. These were trees, not rose stems, even if they 
were no sort of tree she knew, and she thought they were not friendly; they 
seemed a kind of vegetable version of the heavy, unnatural light. She could 
sense nothing beyond them, neither building nor hill. She looked at the darkness 
among the trees and was sure it was not unoccupied, and that they were being 
watched, although she could see nothing, and the only rustles she could hear 
could be explained by the roaming breeze round them.
Narl said softly, This place issticky with magic. I can almost feel it on my 
skin, like blown sand, and it coats your tongue when you open your mouth. I 
think no Foggy Bottom housekeepers charm could shift it. Its why neither the 
light nor the ground-nor those trees-look or feel right. You know we are being 
watched from the wood?
Rosie nodded.
They stood, huddled together, a little longer. Rosie turned away from her 
contemplation of the low ominous wood and stared at the tall malevolent castle. 
When she looked over her shoulder, she saw the first eyes, blinking at her from 
the shadows; they, too, were violet-grey.
She did not attempt to speak to their owner.
Come on, then, she said in a voice she was pleased to find steady. We have an 
appointment elsewhere.
She stepped forward, Narl beside her, and the animals followed. She had taken 
three or four steps when she knew she had crossed some boundary; as her leading 
foot took her weight, the foot tingled, and briefly the sky, or the castle, or 
whatever bit of midair Rosie had been looking at, gave a great writhe, and 
became Pernicias face; she was smiling. And then the smile was only a gaunt 
wisp of cloud, and Rosies other foot moved itself forward and planted itself on 
the ground, and it tingled, too, although Pernicia did not reappear. Rosie felt 
Throstle and the mice rearranging themselves as if the pocket had grown suddenly 
smaller.
Narl said nothing, but as the animals crossed the boundary, the horses snorted 
and bobbed their heads, Flinx hissed, and there was a faint grunt from Narl a 
step or two later as Zel landed on his shoulders, scrabbled briefly, and then 
bestowed himself round his neck like a collar. Sunflower made a little yip; the 
hounds were silent, but suddenly there was a dog head under Rosies hand again, 
and she was glad enough to bury her cold fingers in the longer fur on the back 
of Hrocs neck.
She thought the journey across the barren land could not have taken very long, 
for she seemed no hungrier at the end of it than she had been at the beginning, 
and, now that she was no longer thirsty, she was beginning to count everything 
in terms of her hunger; or perhaps she was now so hungry she would not feel any 
hungrier. The light had not changed either, growing neither brighter nor darker, 
but she felt that the light in this place was an even worse indication of the 
passage of time than her stomach. It had nonetheless felt like a long journey, 
and dread of the ending will often make a journey short.
But here they were.
There was a moat round the castle, but there was no water in it. Standing beside 
it, looking down, Rosie thought it was hard to see just what was in it; it 
seemed to be a long way down, and werent those rocks? of some kind? Something 
greyish-brownish purplish and lumpy, something that cast some kind of shadow; 
but they were weirdly blurred somehow, and werent they moving?
I would not look into the moat any more, said Narl in the same gentle voice he 
had used earlier, but Rosie jerked her eyes up as if he had shouted at her.
They turned away to walk round the moat and the castle; but the strange, 
pushed-pulled, unbalanced, something-just-behind-you 
thats-always-moved-when-you-turn-to-look feeling was suddenly very much worse, 
and they were all tripping and stumbling, although the ground was not that 
rough, and jerking their heads round to look at things that werent there. The 
horses blew repeatedly through their nostrils, raspy, rolling, I-dont-like-this 
snorts, and the dogs made little grunting noises that were neither barks nor 
growls. Sunflower and Tash, the youngest of the hounds, forgot themselves so 
much as to whine, but everyone else pretended not to notice.
Flinx rematerialised from the outskirts of the company and began winding himself 
round Rosies ankles. His fur was full of sparks, and they bit painfully through 
Rosies trousers, which then clung to her legs and chafed. What do you want, 
Rosie said, too tired and hungry and worried and impatient to bother remembering 
that this is a bad question to ask anyone, and worse yet to ask a cat.
Flinx stopped dead, so that Rosie nearly tripped over him, and Hroc gave a 
little woof of annoyance. Flinx ignored the dog, but gave Rosie a resentful 
look. Rosie pressed the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose, as if trying 
to push undesirable thoughts further in. Im sorry, she said to Flinx. I have 
never been any good atAt random, she said, The sky is very violet today, isnt 
it?
Her impression was that Flinx was more amused than mollified, but he stopped 
rubbing against her legs, and trotted beside her for a time. Rosie could feel 
him thinking, but he was silent for long enough that she had the opportunity to 
notice that he was the only one of all of them who was not blundering over his 
own feet. She felt him notice her noticingthere was a certain sense of at 
last about itand then he said: The things that arent there are not there in 
different ways Some of them are almost there and some of them are nearly 
not-there.
She could feel that Flinx was making a supreme effort to communicate plainly, 
but she could think of nothing to say in return but thank you.
I think, said Narl, that something is changing.
Rosie could feel something pushing against her left side, something lumpy, as if 
a bag full of rocks were being driven into her; but there was nothing there, 
though she had to lean forcibly against it to avoid being shoved into Gorse. 
Gorse himself was walking diagonally, as if something were pushing at his left 
hip; and Froo was bent in a half circle, as if a very narrow something were 
bearing against the midpoint of her right side. None of them, except Flinx, was 
walking normally. At Narls words they came to a ragged halt. Flinx sat down and 
began unconcernedly to fluff up his tail.
Flinx says that the-the things that arent here arent here in different ways, 
she said.
Narl said slowly, Yes. This seems to be aneither here nor there sort of place. 
And the things here are neither here nor there either.
Only they dont seem toupset Flinxs sense of balance, said Rosie.
Perhaps cats are neither here nor there all the time, said Narl, and Flinx, 
picking up the gist of this through Rosie, gave Narl a thoughtful look before 
returning to his tail.
But he paused again mid-fluff to stare searchingly at a particular portion of 
blank air. Rosie, nervously, looked where he was looking, and, more or less 
reluctantly, so, too, did everyone else.
Rosie couldnt decide if it was more as if an invisible door opened and let them 
out, or whether they merely formed themselves out of nothing. Whatever they 
were, they made you sick to look at them; not sick because of their 
horribleness, but sick like a person who doesnt like heights looking down a 
very long way. Looking at them made you dizzy and gave you a headache, and you 
suddenly felt you no longer knew which way was up and which down, and you wanted 
something to hold on to, except that there wasnt anything to hold on to, except 
each other, and that wasnt any good because all the rest of you felt exactly 
the same.
Except Flinx. Rosie dragged her blurred, aching eyes away from themwhatever 
they wereand looked at Flinx. Flinx was still sitting, but sitting to 
attention, watching the things come (if come was quite the right word) closer, 
for closer they undoubtedly were; and when they came right up to them Flinx 
said suddenly: Tell that foot-hammerer to mind his other makings. He says he 
bends air as he bends iron; let him do it now.
And then he leaped to his feet and all his hair stood on end, so he was a 
super-Flinx, large as a wildcat, and he screamed, the several octave range of a 
cat about to plunge into a cat fight, and then he shot off toward the 
upside-down-making things that approached them.
He says he bends air? What? There were often cats at the forge, Rosie 
remembered, perched here and there, staring at nothing; but cats stare at 
nothing wherever they are. Thats something a seer can do: give other people 
visions as false as his own. Narl, Rosie said with difficulty. Can youcan 
you makecan you make lots of Flinxes?
Narl stared at her. She could see by the tension in him that he was feeling the 
same strains she was; but she was not as strong as he, and while he clasped his 
hands together till his arms strained at his sleeves, her right arm was being 
dragged upward into the vacant air while her left hand was trying to crawl up 
her spine. Back in the Hall, she said, you said about seers
Understanding leaped into Narls eyes, and he glanced toward the approaching 
things, and at Flinx, still yelling and streaking back and forth under the bits 
of them that seemed to touch the ground, which should have been feet but 
werentthe bits above what should have been feet extended a great way up and 
sidewaysand Rosie, following his look, had a brief, wild impression that they 
were tripping over him, or maybe that they were turning to give chase, as if in 
the place they came from they were a sort of dog, and recognised, even in this 
place, which must have seemed very queer to them, a thing like a cat, meant to 
be chased. But there was only one of him, and no sane cat would attack a pack of 
dogs; these things were closing round him
And then there were a dozen Flinxes, twenty, twice twenty, all of them spitting 
and squalling, all of them with their hair standing on end, all of them shooting 
back and forth among the dizzying things, and the things were now making noises 
of their own, rather like wind keening under eaves, and the fact that the things 
now seemed to have a great many more sticking-down bits, as if theyd grown a 
great many more legs, gave an impression rather like a dogs hackles rising in 
reverse. The by-now-several-times-twenty Flinxes stopped hurtling back and forth 
through the crowd of the things (Rosie wondered how all the false Flinxes 
managed not to run into each other, and thought perhaps they simply ran through 
one another), and took off in several-times-twenty directions, and the things 
all scattered and went after them.
The landscape was empty again, and the little company all stood up straight and 
sighed, and relaxed. The strange grapplings that had seized them were gone. And 
here was Flinx, looking pleased with himself, having returned from nowhere 
anyone saw him returning from, giving a last lick to a nicely smoothed-down 
tail.
They had come a little farther from the castle during the confrontation with the 
unbalancing things, and now they looked round to reorient themselves. The castle 
had, somehow, got behind them. As Rosie turned to find it again, she heard 
Sunflower whine: not a miserable whine this time, but a small intrigued 
considering whine.
These things looked rather more human: upright, swinging what might be arms, 
walking with two legs; although what they walked on and from where was a little 
obscure, since they seemed to be walking out through the doorless wall of the 
castle, and across the moat on a level with the ground, although there was 
nothing there for them to walk on. They stalked across the invisible bridge, and 
as they came to the rough tussocky ground beyond it they spread out, so that the 
rank of them coming toward Rosie and her friends was twenty or thirty bodies 
wide. Faceless bodies; they had head shapes at the top of their body shapes, but 
there was no glint of eyes, no irregular shadows from the hollows and 
protrusions of other features.
Sunflower began to bark and leap, rushing back and forth in front of her 
companions, wagging her tail feverishly, sometimes curling herself up into a 
circle and spinning round and round in place, uttering little cries, half 
whimper, half yelp, which was all what she did any time there were visitors at 
Woodwold and she was neither out hunting (when she was the model of a sober, 
dedicated retrieving dog, and never made a gesture or a sound without direction 
from her huntsman) nor locked up somewhere. She obeyed about half the 
Prendergasts; if any visitor were so unlucky as to meet her with only one of the 
other Prendergasts in attendance, they were on their own to face the barrage.
These are mine, she said to Rosie. Tell the fairy. And she galloped off toward 
them.
Rosie didnt have to tell Narl; there were a hundred Sunflowers before shed 
gone more than a few bounds; two hundred before she arrived at the marching 
first row of things. The Sunflowers leaped on the things, striking them in what 
might have been their groins and their stomachs. The ones she knocked down 
immediately she began to lick furiously, especially around the face regions; and 
convincing looking arms rose up to try to fend her off. But she was an old hand 
at this game, and she knew how not to be fended. Those things that had not 
immediately been knocked down, she circled round behind and flung herself at 
backs of knees, smalls of backs; more of them fell down, and she began to lick 
them, too. They didnt like being licked; they thrashed and wriggled, and made 
snatches at the Sunflowers which were never where they had been when the 
snatches began; and tripped up those few of their fellows that some Sunflower or 
other hadnt already managed to hurl down.
There were, by now, more Sunflowers than there were things, and the Sunflowers 
not occupied in licking amused themselves instead by running across the supine 
(or occasionally prone, in which case the attending Sunflowers rootled 
relentlessly about the head to get at where the face should be) bodies of the 
things, landing heavily and taking off again with a great deal of thwacking and 
scrabbling.
The things seemed to be growing thinner, as if the false Sunflowers were licking 
the magic away, and that magic was all there was of them.
Quite suddenly the Sunflowers standing on the bodies of their victims started 
thumping abruptly to the ground as the things disappeared.
The false Sunflowers began to disappear, too. There were six left when the last 
thing flicked out of existence; and then there was only one Sunflower. She 
looked round to check that her duty was done (for a moment Rosie could see the 
faithful, thorough hunting dog in her expression), and she came trotting back 
toward Rosie, grinning hugely, with her tongue lolling out of her mouth.
She permitted herself to be patted and praised, leaning against Rosies and then 
Narls knees. The big hounds all looked deeply embarrassed; they had spent their 
lives looking the other way from Sunflowers excesses, unable to understand how 
she could be the same dog they knew out in the field, attending to business. She 
looked round at them with a glint in her eye, knowing full well what they were 
thinking. Then she sighed, stood up, and shook herself: and looked over at 
Flinx, who was looking at her.
Flinx stood up and wandered, as if carelessly, and thinking of something else, 
in the general direction of Sunflower, who stood still, watching, her tail a 
little raised. He paused and looked round, as if suddenly aware that he was, by 
some strange chance, very near to Sunflower; and then he walked the last few 
steps toward her and raised his face. She lowered hers, and they touched noses. 
Not bad, said Flinx. Not bad at all. Sunflowers tail gave a slow, majestic wag.
Well, said Rosie, and patted Narls shoulder as she had just been patting 
Sunflowers. Are you all right? Erthank you.
Narl shook his head, and his other hand reached for Rosies patting hand, and 
held it. Rosie he began, and stopped. Rosie, whatever happens and stopped 
again. He smiled at her, a funny, half-sad smile (Ironface! Smiling! Rosie heard 
the animals murmuring round her; the Block, cracking, from Flinx), and said, 
Im too tired and stupid to put it into words, and if I werent so tired and 
stupid I wouldnt be trying. Dont thank me. Itsits an honour to serve you, 
Princess.
Dont call me Princess! shouted Rosie, snatching her hand away, feeling as if 
hed struck her across the face.
Im sorry, he said wearily; but wed better get used to it, hadnt we? He 
turned away, and began to walk slowly back toward the castle.
After a moment she followed him, and the animals closed up round them, and soon 
they were walking side by side, but neither of them spoke.
When they arrived at the edge of the moat again, they found their own footprints 
in a patch of rough sand, setting out in the other direction; they had come all 
the way round, and, except for the not door and not-bridge that Sunflowers 
things had used, they had seen nothing resembling a way in.
Somewhere, Rosie thought, Pernicia is waiting. Is she watching us? Has she known 
of us since the moment Eskwa opened the rose hedge?
Is she scornful? Is sheworried? Are we not what she expected?
Is Peony still alive?
Rosies mind bucked away from that last thought, and instead she said to herself 
crossly, But Pernicia should want to see us. And Rosie wrapped that thought 
round with an irrational irritation similar to what she would have felt if she 
had turned up at someones farm to look at a horse and found no horse and no one 
home. She should want to see us.
She should want to finish what she started.
Rosies irritation drained away, and she was standing in the middle of nowhere 
with a few friends round her, and the little wind that blew past her smelled of 
dust and emptiness.
How do you build a bridge out of nothing and unlock a door you cant find?
All that was around them was dirt and sand and stones. And the things at the 
bottom of the moat that werent stones. She took the gargoyle spindle end out of 
her pocket and looked at it. She was thinking about the twentieth fairy gift at 
her name-day, the one just before Pernicia had come, the one that had given 
Pernicia the shape of her curse. Katriona had told her about that, too, the last 
day in Foggy Bottom.
You could spin thread till you had enough to make rope; you could make a bridge 
out of rope. If I only had something to spin with, she said, and ran her other 
hand through her hair in her characteristic gesture of discontent or dismay.
Much too short, said Narl. Try mine. He plucked a hair from his head and 
held it out to her.
Rosie hesitated. She remembered what had happened with Peonys bit of cloth and 
embroidery silk. But to spin something they might all walk on, even from a fairy 
gift especially since she didnt know how to spin; she only knew what it looked 
like, from watching Kat and Aunt. She held the spindle in one hand, as if 
telling herself, or Narls single black hair, or the magic-sticky air, what she 
wanted, and then she gave the hair a twist, as if it were fluff from a sheep she 
wished to mould into thread; and she closed her eyes.
Immediately she felt somethingsomethingcoiling and looping and winding through 
her fingers, and she felt the spindle end spinning and spinning and spinning 
till her fingers were hot with friction, and heavy curls of something were 
falling down her arm, and piling up at her feet, and at last she felt the 
spindle being snatched out of her hand, and Narls voice, almost laughing, in 
her ear: Enough! Enough! Imagine if Id given you two hairs!
Cautiously she opened her eyes. Around them in great silky waves lay the 
something. Black it was, as black and glossy as Narls hair, and it shimmered in 
the sullen light as if it were breathing. She picked up the end of it that still 
lay at her feet, and discovered a kind of supple rope, as big around as her two 
hands could grasp, but as light and flexible as Narls single hair had been.
Can we make this into aa bridge? she said.
I have a better idea, said Narl. I dont see a door, do you? And I bet the 
roofs no better. Lets squeeze her out. Shell know where the doors are in her 
own house. He handed her the emptied spindle end, and she automatically gave 
its nose a rub before she put it back in her pocket.
Squeeze ? said Rosie.
But Narl was already paying out arms lengths of the black rope, letting it coil 
up at his feet, then kneeling, and measuring it a second time, squinting up at 
the castle as he did so, muttering under his breath, Not as if the best eye in 
the world is going to give us much help here.
She felt tiredno, she felt exhaustedand dull, and could not imagine what he 
had in mind; and then he stood up, holding the rope in both hands, with the 
lengths he had measured between, and flung it
It seemed to blow up and away from them, like a single hair on a current of air 
so gentle you cannot feel it against your face. It spiralled for a while, and 
then it floated, and driftedand then it seemed to stop, seesawing, like a hair 
in a weakening draught; and Narl put his hands round his mouth and blew.
The high centre of it shot up, as if awakened from sleep, dragging its 
languorous loops behind it, and at the peak of the castle it drooped a little, 
hung, and then fell, over the roof of the castle, one end caught by the 
crenellations, the other sagging toward the moat But Narl was already running 
round the edge of the moat, shaking out the black rope behind him, and just 
before he disappeared round the far side of the castle, he took another handful 
of rope and gave it a yank and a flick, and Rosie saw the caught bit fly up in 
the air again, and then come softly down on the far side of the castle.
Narl hastily tied the loose end round his waist, and was pulling the other in as 
quickly as he could, backing toward Rosie as he did so. I dont think we want 
this to touch the bottom of the moat, he said, and handed her the long end, 
while he untied the other. Pull, he said. Rosie, bemused, pulled. What could a 
rope made of nothing and one human hair do against the walls of a castle?
She pulled. The rope seemed to clasp at her hands, as if it were a sentient 
member of the party, consciously trying to apply its own strength; she almost 
heard it trying to speak to her. If a house can speak, she thought wildly, why 
not a rope made of nothing? She took a better grip, scraped her boots in the 
ground a little, dug her heels in, and pulled.
There was now an odd sort of smoke, or fog, rising off the castle, or dripping 
down its sides, and a strange vertiginous gleam where the rope touched its 
walls, a quaking, precarious gleam that made no sense if you looked at it, made 
no sense in the same way the castle hanging in the sky over the briar hedge 
round Woodwold had made no sense, made no sense and made your head spin and your 
balance waver the way the upside-down things that had chased the Flinxes made no 
sense. The way the things in the bottom of the moat Dont look in the bottom of 
the moat, Rosie told herself. Dont look at the contact point between a rope 
that doesnt exist and a castle with no doors. Just pull. Pull.
She glanced over at Narl; his face was drawn into deep lines with the intensity 
of what he was doing, and she felt a tiny foolish stirring in her breast, a 
stirring of hope. If he thinks
She realised she was nearly tipping over backward; the rope was lengtheningor 
the castle wall was yielding to pressure. Sure it was: easy as squeezing whey 
from a stone, like the brave tailor in the story. In the story it was cheese, 
and he only said it was a stone. Dont look. Dont think. Just pull. She 
resolutely looked away from the castle and the moat, backed up a step, two 
steps, to keep the rope taut. The smoke, or whatever it was, was growing 
thicker; and it was enough like ordinary smoke that it made her eyes water, it 
caught in her throat and made her cough. Pull. She looked to her left: she could 
still see Narl through the increasing murk, but the animals, beyond him, were 
little more than huddled shapes.
You loathsome child, spat into her mind; she flinched, and might have slackened 
the rope, but the rope itself reached out and wrapped itself round her hands. 
She stood, wondering if she were trapped, seeing out of the corner of her eye 
Narl taking another step backward as he kept the tension on his end of the rope, 
feeling the pull on her own wrists, staring at her helpless hands, feeling the 
weight of the spindle end hanging in its pocket, tapping against her thigh. 
Rope? she said tentatively. The rope did not reply; but she no longer felt 
trapped, but embraced.
Look at me.
Rosie jerked, startled, grasping at the rope with her fingertips, looked up. 
Pernicia stood there, carrying something in her arms.
Someone. Peony.
You cannot have her, Rosie said without thinking, without thinking to whom or 
how she was speaking. You cannot have her.
Peony lay lightly in Pernicias arms, as if she weighed no more than a hollow 
doll. Perhaps Pernicia was very strong; perhaps the uncanny air of this place 
bore Peony up; perhaps the magic of the poisoned sleep also robbed her flesh of 
its living weight. That it was Peony herself and no false semblance Rosie was 
sure; she did not believe that even Pernicia could make so fine a replica of her 
friend that Rosie would not see through it at once. There was the faintest of 
frowns on Peonys face, as if she knew, somewhere in the back of her sleeping 
mind, that something was not quite right.
You cannot have her. Its me you want.
I want neither of you. But I will have both.
No. Not Peony. It is not her fault.
Her fault? Her fault? It is not her fault that she agreed to this shoddy 
despicable charade? It is not her fault that she seized my spindles end? But I 
do not care whether it is her fault or not, any more than I care that a stupid 
hulking girl was first-born to the king and queen twenty-one years ago rather 
than two hundred and one. I have been waiting my time, and it has come.
Her words rang or bellowed or crackled or reverberated strangely in Rosies 
head, or her ears. Rosie had never been quite sure how she spoke to animals, nor 
how they spoke to her, other than that something happened besides the ordinary 
sounds and gestures most people heard and saw animals make. And each animal had 
an idiom, a vernacular, a little different from every other animal; for some 
animals, like dogs, elaborate their speech with sneezes and barks and growls and 
tail waggings and ear flattenings and yawnings and pawings and bowings and many 
other sounds and gestures, while some animals, like most insects, had speech 
that was little more than a series of clicks and ticks in a kind of code Rosie 
happened to have the key to (mostly).
Pernicias speech seemed to be all of this, as if dogs and cats and cows and 
horses and hawks and beetles were all speaking the same things 
simultaneouslyexcept that they would not use the same signals, the same 
expressionsand although Pernicia stood silent and motionless with Peony in her 
arms. With the rough discordance that should not have been comprehensible but 
was, there was something else, and the something else was in the grey and purple 
fog that slid and swirled round the castle. Rosie swayed a little, and the rope, 
drawn close round her wrists and forearms, held her up.
Yes, I am speaking to you in that brute speech you favour. It suits you, said 
Pernicia. It suits you so much better than any human tongue. It suits who you 
have become, country maid, simpleton, beast-girl. Who you are. Because is not 
what you have become what you are best suited for? Have you not spent many hours 
wondering why you are as you are, why it fits you so well, these last three 
months, and why the last three months did not? For that alone it was worth 
waiting till your final birthday, thinking of you wondering. It took me but a 
moment, when I realised the truth, why you had remained hidden from me for so 
long, when I looked for you so eagerly. I had been looking for a princess.
Rosie shook her head numbly. It was true what Pernicia said, that Rosie was not 
a princess, but she knew that already. She knew that Pernicia said it to hurt 
her, but it did not hurt her; and she wondered if the only reason Pernicia chose 
to speak to her in this wayin this clumsy, cacaphonic beast-speechwas to 
humiliate her. Pernicia would not have thought to ask the animals where to find 
the princess, and they would not have told her had she asked; and as she had not 
thought to ask them, she had neither thought to punish them for their refusal. 
Pernicias words did not hurt Rosie, but fear of what she might dowas planning 
to doto Peony hurt her very much.
She could no longer see Narl, nor the animals, nor the castle; she was alone in 
the purple-grey murk with Pernicia, and Peonys life lay between them.
Come to me, said Pernicia, and her words yelped and roared and hissed and sang 
and clicked and tapped. Come to me. You want to save your friend; then come and 
try. You will not succeed; but I have had more bother over you than you are 
worth and perhaps watching you fail will be some recompense for my trouble. She 
bent swiftly, with little eddies of fog scuttling out of her way as she moved, 
and the long folds of the black-and-purple-and-cerise robe she wore rearranged 
themselves, and Rosie noticed there were long rents in them, as if, perhaps, 
they had been caught and torn by thorns. She laid Peony at her feet.
Peony sprawled, limp as a childs toy or a sleeping baby. Her hair was coming 
free of the crown of inheritance the king had placed on her head, and tumbling 
round her, and the superabundance of her princess ball-gown skirts made her 
look tiny among them. They seemed to froth over the edge of something into 
nothing, although Rosie could see neither the something nor the nothing, wrapped 
as both were in the muddy haze.
She remembered that she had been only a few steps from the lip of the moat when 
Pernicia had appeared, standing, apparently, on the naked air over the moat, 
emerging from the unbroken wall of the castle. Was the moat still there? Was the 
castle still there? But then none of this landscape existed as landscape should; 
they had come here from leaping into the sky. But if Pernicia had dissolved all 
of it into this thick, grimy fog, what was she, Rosie, standing on? And if the 
castle was no longer there, what was the rope that still held her pulling 
against?
Rosie shook her head; the fog in her mouth tasted foul. She tried to free 
herself from the rope, but it would not let her go. You dont exist, she 
thought. Go away. I have to try to reach Peony.
But it would not let her go. She stepped forward, and it writhed beneath her 
stepping foot. A loop felt its way round her like an arm round her shoulders. 
She could feel it round her ankles, leaving her just enough space to take small 
steps. It was strangely squashy to walk on, like a bog before you begin to sink; 
and she remembered the old bog-charm Aunt had wound round her long ago, and how 
much she had resented it. That had been before she was a princess, when she had 
understood her world, and been happy in it.
The rope still grasped her hands, but now it seemed to lead her on, as Rosie 
might have led a skittish horse. It held her steadily, gravely, confidently. She 
took another step forward, and anotherif the moat was still there, she was now 
over itbut walking was more difficult now, and her feet seemed to grope from 
one swaying, spongey, irregularly placed loop of rope to the next, sliding 
anxiously along, fearing that the in-between would not hold her securely enough, 
that her foot would slip over the edge into nowhere. She was panting for breath, 
and now she gripped the rope as strongly as it gripped her, leaning against it, 
feeling for its narrow yielding roundness against her feet, pressing its coils 
against her sides.
But she was still sinking, or perhaps she had not climbed high enough; when she 
neared Pernicia and Peony, her face was nearly level with Peonys as she lay at 
Pernicias feet. Rosie reached out with her rope-tangled hands to touch Peonys 
face, and heard Pernicia shout an AHH! that made whatever Rosie was standing on 
vibrate like a young tree in a strong wind; and then she stooped.
Pernicias stooping seemed to take a very long time, as if she were a merrel 
plummeting down upon its prey from half a league overhead, and Rosie watched 
those long-fingered hands reaching to seize her as she scrabbled Peony toward 
herPeony slid as if she were still lying on the polished wooden floor of 
Woodwolds Great Halland together Rosie and Peony fell backward into the pliant 
rope with Peony half on Rosies lap and half in her still-pinioned arms. With 
some part of her mind Rosie registered that Pernicias hands were covered with 
scratches, as if she had recently had to fight her way out of a briar. But she 
felt one of those hands brush her shoulder, and she cried out, for that fleeting 
touch felt like the slash of a knife, and she glanced toward it, expecting to 
see blood soaking through her sleeve; and then there was a rustle and a rush and 
a whispery, tickly blur, and Pernicia screamed, a hoarse, horrible scream, in 
rage and surprise, and threw herself backward; and there was a small terrier 
clamped to the hand that had just touched Rosie, and two mice dangling from her 
cheek and chin.
And then Rosie was falling, falling, clutching Peony as best she could, falling 
against the soft rope, as soft against her face as if she lay against Narls 
hair, and then she staggered, for the coils had given way to two human arms, and 
her feet had struck the ground. She twisted one ankle painfully, but the arms 
held her safe, her and Peony. Together they laid Peony gently on the ground, 
Rosie straightening up just in time not to be knocked onto her friends body by 
a horses foreleg banging into her side. The fog had thinned, now racing by her 
in streaks and tatters on the capricious gusts of wind that also clawed through 
her hair, and made the little huddle of animals and people all lurch against 
each other; but she could see very little, only more racing fog. And now here 
was Narl, offering to throw her up onto the back of the horse: Fast.
The castles gone, Narl said, raising his voice to be heard over the low evil 
howl of the wind. Your rope pulled the top off, and this wind is taking the 
rest. Im not sure what happens now, but it wont be friendly. Shell pull this 
wind to her soon and You must get away from here. If anyone can save you, Fast 
can, he said, but his words were almost blown away before she could hear them. 
He said something else: about the animals holding the way. Go on.
She wants both of us, shouted Rosie, leaning against Fast and grasping his 
mane against the increasing buffeting The wind was full of voices now, 
yammering and bellowing and clattering:
Were they all Pernicias voice?
Narl knelt and grasped her ankle and heaved, flinging her up Fasts side and 
down across his back with a jerk that hurt her hip joint. Cant you hear them 
on the wind? Its you theyre aftershes after. She only took Peony as a 
hostagebecause she missed you. Theyll follow you, and leave us, and I can just 
about make them think we arent here anyway. We all have to leave this 
placeits breaking up round us. Stay on the human road! Remember! Now go. Go!
She had just enough time to wind both hands in Fasts mane; as she laid herself 
as best she could along his back she felt the wild strength of him bound into 
his full speed within a few strides, the wind trying to peel her off his back 
like a knife pares an apple. All round them she heard the evil magic in 
Pernicias thwarted fury rising and rising to a pitch that might yet shatter the 
world.
Fast can save me? From what? For what?
For a little while she was wholly absorbed in the experience of Fasts running: 
the power, the terrifying power of it, the surge of the hindquarters, the 
stretch of the stride, the bunching together in preparation for the next surge, 
all compacted into a single motion and translated into the torrent of his speed. 
She had seen him run many times, for after her successful interference on the 
subject of his manners, she had been invited to watch him train; and, upon its 
being very obvious to the Master of the Horse how pleased he was to see her, she 
was also invited, as a kind of good-luck charm, to the occasional match-race 
that some other owners of some other horses misguidedly begged Lord Prendergast 
for. There was a flat clear stretch along the riverbank of about a league and a 
half that was used as a racecourse, for Lord Pren would not send Fast away to 
race elsewhere; he said he had no doubts about Fasts speed. And Fast was so 
clearly faster than any other horse he had ever run against that no other owner 
dared cry foul.
Rosie remembered standing beside Fast just before one of these contestsshe 
wasnt bothering to try to talk to him; his mind was full of spinning glittery 
fragments of running, wanting to run, waiting to run, being nothing but running 
with a bay coat stretched over itand looking up into his riders face, and 
seeing a curious expression of determination settle upon it as he picked up the 
reins: the look of a man who is about to jump over a precipice.
She hadnt understood it at the time. She understood it now.
But someonemany someoneswere running with them, even as Fast outstripped them. 
Dimly she could see sleek bodies beside them: other horses, dogs, wolves, foxes, 
wildcats, deer; Fast ran past all of these. She caught glimpses of slower 
animals: cows and sheep, bears and badgers, and of smaller animals, otters and 
martens and rabbits and hedgehogs and cats; and there were tiny streaks of 
motion she thought were mice and voles and squirrels. Overhead she could just 
make out the shapes of birds flying among the rags of cloud, and darting shapes 
that might be bats.
She thought they were all running and flying in the same direction, Fast driving 
among them like a ship through the sea, although she could be sure of very 
little, for the wind of Fasts speed whipped tears from her eyes. But as they 
ran she realised that those that ran with them were in fact opening and holding 
a way for them, and that beyond the animals that were her friends were other 
creatures that were not her friends, who would stop her if they could.
Rosie could see, now that she had guessed what to look for, the occasional 
wicked face, rough and square or delicate and oval, tall or short, human or half 
human or goblin or imp, peering at her through the ranks of her friends, 
reaching out hands or claws or thick twisting or biting magics, to grasp her as 
she ran by; but none of them could reach her.
Stay on the human road, Narl had said. They were running through desert places, 
like the land round the castle; and then they ran through trees, sometimes 
widely scattered, sometimes in groves; but always there was a clear way for Fast 
to go, clear and nearly straight, and his hoofs seemed barely to graze the 
ground before he hurtled forward in his next tremendous stride. Stay on the 
human road. She could not tell if they were on a road or not, only that the 
animals had chosen the way.
The fog cleared slowly and the light grew brighter, and the landscape grew 
slowly less flat. There was a piece of hill line she could see through Fasts 
streaming mane that looked familiar, and then they shot past a curious little 
basin of valley that teased at her memory till she remembered, and, remembering, 
understood: They had passed the northern boundary of the Gig from the wasteland 
where no one went. They were now running over the ground where King Harald had 
fought the fire-wyrms; the valley they had just passed was called the Dragons 
Bowl, caused by the fire-wyrms melting the landscape in rage when they could not 
defeat the king. She had not been here since she was small; Aunt used to collect 
bdeth near here, although in recent years she had stopped using it. The 
Dragons Bowl is too far to walk on these old bones, she said, when Rosie had 
once asked her; it had been a sennights journey for the three of them, during 
the autumn expedition to collect all the wild things Aunt and Katriona would 
spend the winter making up into charms or storing away for the next year.
Fast was still running as swiftly as the footing would allow him, but she could 
feel his lungs beginning to labour, and his neck and shoulders were wet with 
sweat. She did not know how long they had been running, but she was tired from 
hanging on, smooth as a good horses flat-out gallop was to sit over, and 
neither of them had had anything to eat in much too long. The way they were 
going was narrowing, too, and she could see more and more of those malign faces 
looking at her. Her friends were no longer running with them, but holding their 
line, struggling to hold their line, to hold Pernicias creatures back.
The first deviling that broke through Fast dodged round, scarcely breaking 
stride; but the second one was bigger, and the third was not alone, but stood 
against her with six friends. Fast gathered himself together and leaped over 
them; Rosie shot up his neck when they landed, but she stayed on. Where are we? 
she thought. Fasteven Fastcannot run the whole length of the Gig. But then 
where are we going? Has Pernicias host overrun the Gig? What is happening in 
Foggy Bottom, at Woodwold?
But Fast was running the length of the Gig. They were on a road she knew, the 
road from Mistweir to Waybreak.
The blood vessels stood out now on Fasts wet hide, and she could see the huge 
red hollows of his nostrils, and hear the saw of his breathing. She tried to 
call to him, Fast, Fast, slow down, slow down, do not kill yourself; but he did 
not answer her, not even with a flick of his laid-back ears. She thought, he is 
right, if they catch me it is all up for all of us; but what does he think I can 
do even if I get back to Woodwoldif Woodwold is where we are going. She took 
Peony because she knew if I lived I had to follow; but now
What is it Im supposed to do?
Ahead of them the line broke, and a scatter of deer, red and roe and fallow, 
scrambled dazedly across their path and a mob spread out before them. Fast was 
now running past Moonshadow; Rosie could see fields and rooftops, but she saw no 
human beings, and no animals but the ones that lined her way.
Fast faltered and then deliberately slowed, pulling himself together as if 
showing off for a mare, prancing, tail and crest high, toward the glowering 
creatures that blocked their way. Rosie half thought, half made herself believe 
that these creatures trod uneasily on the human road, that the roughness of 
their quick steps was not only due to their eagerness to seize her and pull Fast 
down.
One of the enemy made a feint toward her and Fast, and a little group of deer 
and sheep blocked it; Rosie saw a bear rise up behind them, and another of the 
invaders was snatched and thrown over the heads of his companions. Fast swerved 
to one side, and back, leaped over some heaving tangle on the ground, and Rosie, 
struggling to maintain her seat, did not notice in timesomeone, or something, 
had her leg, and was about to drag her to the ground.
Fast sat back on his haunches and swung round, but the goblin swung, too; Rosie 
beat ineffectually at its face, but it only sank its fingers more firmly into 
her flesh. If only she had some weaponwhere the cloth of her trouser leg was 
strained by the goblins grasp, the gargoyle spindle end drove painfully into 
her thigh. She worked her hand into her pocket and pulled it out, cracked it 
sharply across her attackers face, and felt the goblins hold loosen. Fast gave 
it an awkward punch with a hind foot, bending round and aiming as if he were 
planning to scratch his own shoulder, and it fell to the ground.
Fast straightened out with a jerk that almost finished unseating Rosie and shot 
off again, through the remains of the throng, and pressed on. Rosie didnt quite 
have the chance to stuff the spindle end back into her pocket, and tucked it 
into her waistcoat instead; old friend that it was, she spared a thought for the 
sound of that crack, and hoped it had been only the goblins skull.
Fasts hoofs no longer grazed the earth with every stride, but struck it hard 
and jarringly; but he was still running, and they appeared to have outrun 
Pernicias armyas well as their own friends. The little respite they had had 
outside Moonshadow had seemed to give him a second wind, and while he no longer 
ran lightly, he ran resolutely. Between her own and Fasts breathing and the 
wind in her ears Rosie could hear nothing else; it was a very silent and empty 
landscape they were running through, thundering through the square at Treelight 
and later across Smoke Rivers big common. Still she saw no people nor any 
animals; they saw no one, not even a butterfly.
And there was the briar hedge, climbing up over Woodwolds outer wall and 
spilling down the outside. They were thundering down upon it, on the main road 
from Smoke River, a wide and clear way: clear enough that Rosie could see the 
hedge from far away, see it grow ever closer and closer
They had not outrun all of Pernicias army. Some of it was waiting for them.
Those that stood against them stood quietly, watchfully: expectantly. They had 
known that what they waited for had to come to them at last. They had had no 
need to cry warningnot of one horse near foundering, and one weaponless 
riderthey had no need to do anything. What they waited for raced toward them, 
and would fall at their feet without their having to lift knife or stick or bare 
claw or fang. They stood with their backs against the briar hedge, many of them 
so knotted and twisted themselves that they were not immediately evident, 
especially not to eyes as weary as Rosies and Fasts.
But as Rosies eyes adjusted she saw how many of them there were: several ranks 
of them standing out from the wall. Silently. Patiently. Waiting.
She could feel Fasts uncertainty and alarm but she had no suggestions for him. 
He slowed nearly to a canter, looking right and left, as she was looking; but 
while those that waited for them were most thickly grouped just in front of 
Woodwolds gates, half invisible among the rose stems but marked by the road, 
where the road turned toward Foggy Bottom the way was blocked by tall armoured 
creatures, clanking as they moved, as they turned their heads to look at her. 
Rosie could not see if they wore their armour like humans, or if it grew from 
their flesh.
And then something hurtled past them, growling, and jumped at the faces of those 
standing in front of Woodwolds gates. Hroc. And behind him Milo and Tash and 
Froo, all of them red-eyed and streaked with foam from the speed and distance 
they had run, following Fast. Pernicias creatures gave way, a little, in 
surprise, and their stolid, irresistible, waiting strength was against them 
because the hounds were quick and agile; gaps appeared in the enemy line in 
front of the briar hedge. And Fast, who had come to a halt when the hounds shot 
by, leaped forward again, and Rosie found herself shouting at the top of her 
lungs, shouting, too, with her inner voice, half aware of the armoured creatures 
blocking the road to Foggy Bottom rolling forward to close in behind her, 
Woodwold! Woodwold! Let us in! And, as a token, she pulled the gargoyle 
spindle end from her waistcoat, and threw it into the heart of the hedge.
And the hedge pulled itself back, like two ladies drawing back their skirts, the 
stems wrinkling themselves away and then hoicking themselves upward, their tips 
rising higher yet above the walls and then diving down again to wind their way 
among the thick bony mat of branches already there. But the gates remained shut: 
all fifteen by twenty foot of them.
Fast was running again, the last few strides he had left in him to run, surging 
into his speed again with his neck-cracking starting bounds: Rosie saw, out of 
the corner of her eye, a chain with some horrible spiked sphere on the end of it 
whistle harmlessly past his hindquarters as the end of the armoured line drew 
close to them.
But if Narls gates did not open she and Fast would merely shatter themselves 
against the bars. The gates were too high to jump, and the bars were much too 
close together to squeeze between, even for a child. But Fast ran forward, ears 
pricked, committed to his decision, and much too near the end of his strength to 
have any left for a final tendon-snapping swerve to one side: and Rosie closed 
her eyes. Narl, she said, despairingly; but beast-speech could not carry as far 
as Narl was, wherever he was, nor was there anything he could do to cold wrought 
iron, even if he, who had no beast-speech, had heard her plea.
With her eyes closed, she saw the animals that made up the bars of the gate turn 
their heads to look at her, at her and Fast. She saw them leap to their feetthe 
lion shaking his flower mane, and the bear his flower ruff, the hare bounding 
upright and the snake writhing aside like another rose stem; and the ones first 
on their feet turned and pressed against the slower ones, the hedgehogs and the 
tortoises, the toads and the badgers, and cats picked up confused kittens and 
dogs sleepy fox cubs, and a centaur and a unicorn herded foals and fawns; and 
birds seized wiry vines and tender shoots in their beaks, and moles scrabbled 
and beavers paddled, as if cold iron were mere earth or water; and the central 
bars bowed aside.
Even so, Rosie felt iron bars scrape by her on either side, bruising her 
shoulders, painfully wiping her legs off Fasts sides and tossing her feet over 
his rump; and then Fast staggered forward as if released by a rope breaking, 
falling to his knees and then lurching to his feet again, and Rosie, looking 
down, saw chafe marks on his shoulders, and, looking behind, on the points of 
his hips. But they were through; and here the hounds were as well, Tash only a 
bit rumpled, Froo limping, Milo with a bleeding slash in his sideand Hroc with 
the gargoyle spindle end in his mouth, carrying it as gently as he might have 
carried a straying puppy.
There was a brief, terrible noise, like the noise someone might make if iron 
bars closed on them suddenly; and Rosie had to nerve herself to look round. 
Behind them the briar hedge rose, unbroken, the iron gates invisible among the 
rose stems.
Rosie, shaking in every limb, slid off Fast and stood beside him. He stood 
unsteadily himself, taking deep, deep breaths, heaving in far more air than one 
horse could possibly hold, the steam rising off him in clouds like a cauldron 
boiling. Fast, said Rosie. Fast! Listen to me. You must walk. Youve run too 
far, and all your muscles are going to seize up on you. Fast, can you hear me?
He said nothing, and he was by now shivering so hard she could not see if he 
made any gesture of agreement. But he raised one forefoot and dropped it like a 
stone, and then one hind foot; and then the other two, one after the other. 
Rosie grabbed a handful of mane and pulled; but Fast had stopped again, and his 
nose dropped till it nearly touched the ground, and there was a whine in his 
breathing she dreaded to hear.
Walk, damn you!
A tiny voice, so faint she almost didnt hear it: Cant.
Yes you bloody can! She thumped his shoulder with her fist, which was like 
thumping a block of meat on a slab, and then pinched the tender skin behind the 
elbow, and Fast twitched a little, and she saw his head begin to swing round and 
then back as he countermanded his instinct to bite the little stinging thing 
that was hurting him. He staggered forward again, stiff as an old cart horse, 
but he was walking.
She turned away from him to see to the hounds; all but Hroc were lying 
full-length on the ground, panting so heavily she thought they must be bruising 
themselves against the hard earth. Hroc was sprawled mostly upright, with the 
spindle end between his front paws; he flattened his ears when he saw Rosie turn 
toward him. Short way, said Hroc. We did not go by the human road. No one was 
after us.
Are you all right?
Yes, said Hroc. Milos is just a scratch. You see to Fast. I thought we would 
get here first.
Rosie would have laughed if she hadnt been so worried. She took up the spindle 
end again, rubbing the dirt from its grin before she put it back in her pocket; 
and then she went after Fast, who was still walking, feeling for the ground with 
each foot as if he had gone blind.
It was only then that she registered that the drive was clear of rose stems. The 
courtyard outside the stables had had no way out when she and Narl had stood 
there after the princess disastrous ballexcept the way Eskwa made. She looked 
at the sky: it was no longer grey-purple, but cloud-grey, drizzly Gig grey, 
ordinary grey. She couldnt feel very hopeful with poor Fast gasping and 
stumbling beside her, but when she put her hand on his shoulder for comfort she 
felt at least she had a little to give him. The dogs heaved themselves to their 
feet and followed.
It was a long walk, and an eerie one, for the tall curtain of rose stems still 
hung on either side of the drive, as if they were walking down a roofless 
tunnel; nor was there any sound but what they made themselves. Rosie tormented 
herself by pretending she could see through the woven roses enough to discern a 
tree or two that stood just by the drive, or one of the pavilions erected for 
the ball; but she did not really believe she saw anything but more rose stems.
By the time they could see the courtyard opening out at the end of the way (much 
to Rosies relief), while Fast was still taking small clumsy steps, he no longer 
stumbled, his nose had come a few inches up off the ground, and his breathing 
was no more than hoarse. When they came within sight of the stables, Rosie ran 
forward as quickly as she could, which wasnt very, looking despairingly at the 
liveried groom who still lay sprawled in sleep in the corridor just outside 
Fasts door, and pulled down the beautifully folded horse blanket that hung on 
it. Fast was nearly at the door when she met him with her armful. No, she said. 
You have to keep moving. Where was Spear?
She discovered she could take on yet one more worry: Had something happened to 
Spear? She threw the blanket over Fast and buckled it. The dogs all collapsed 
again. Spear?
And there he was, trotting stiffly toward her. Spearcan you keep Fast moving? 
Im sorry. He must walkso must the others, she added, looking round at heaps of 
panting dogs. But Fast specially. Tepid water, little and oftenbut he mustnt 
stop movingshe was chivvying him down the aisle and into the courtyard as she 
spokeSpear, can you do it?
The four-legged scourge of obstreperous human drunks gave the seventeen-hand 
horse and the way-worn Fleethounds a measuring glance and answered mildly, Of 
course I can do it.
Ill be back as soon as I can.
Rosie started off hurrying and then thought, Back soon? From what? What do I 
have to hurry toward?
She stopped on the far side of the courtyard, a few steps before she had to. 
Because while the drive was open, Woodwold was still swaddled in rose stems, 
just as she had left it. She looked up at the sky again, but drizzly Gig grey no 
longer comforted her. She listened to the silence, knowing what it meant; 
knowing what she would find when she went back into the Great Hall. I should be 
hurrying, she thought, for the danger is no less than it was; I have merely 
eluded it again, for the moment. But I do not know my course. I havent even 
rescued PeonyI dont know where she is, nor Narl and the others. Its all very 
well, what Hroc saidno one was after usbut Im now inside the briar hedge 
again, and theyre still out there, with Pernicias army, who will be a lot 
quicker to grab the next lot because the first ones got away.
What have I done, after all? she thought. What have I done? I suppose Pernicia 
will just come for me again; and I may have killed Fast. Maybe Narl can get 
Peony right away maybe if they go far enough, Peony will wake up then, at 
least, out of all of us, Narl and Peony
She sat slowly down at the edge of the courtyard, and wrapped her arms round her 
pulled-up knees, and rocked back and forth, her mind empty. She hardly noticed 
when two hounds came up to her and pressed themselves round her, rather as they 
had done at the princess ball, as if they were holding her together, as if they 
were aware that she needed holding together. Vaguely she felt Hroc licking one 
ear, and someone elseFroo, she thoughtlicking the other.
She was half asleep when the wordsif, after all, they were wordsentered her 
understanding. She could not say she heard them, for the taking in of meaning 
was as much deeper in and other-than-human than animal speech as animal speech 
was deeper in and other-than than human. It was as though meaning grew somewhere 
in the centre of her body, as if the marrow of her bones were talking to her.
She felt in her body that Pernicias castle was gone. She felt that there had 
been a hard place that hurt hershe could almost feel where it had been, low 
under her left ribsthat had disintegrated, fallen back to the earth it was made 
from; that the sun and the rain upon it would make good earth of it in time to 
come, not merely the crumbled remains of the castle as it was now, lying like a 
shattered vase upon a floor, still glinting with the paint the maker of it had 
laid upon it, a tint of dark magic. For now the important thing was that it was 
no longer a castle, could no longer be a castle; its maker would not put it 
together again. And Rosie had done this, Narl had done this, Flinx and Sunflower 
and Zel and Hroc and Throstle and all of them had done this. Weaker, Rosie 
thought, very dimly, for it was difficult, in this deep-in place, to put 
anything in human words. We have weakened her.
It was not everything, but it was something. They had, all of them together, 
done something.
She felt the effort round her, under her and over her, the effort to speak so 
that she could hear, and know that she was not alone with five hounds and a 
horse, willing and loyal though they were, little, flimsy, squashy creatures, 
almost as fragile and insubstantial as she was herself.
Woodwold. Woodwold was talking to her. Rosie. Princess. I am here, too. Woodwold 
was awake.
Slowly she uncurled herself, finding it strange that she could do so, that she 
appeared to be this light, airy, bendable creature; she weighed so little it 
seemed to her surprising that she did not float away like a leaf. How 
precarious, to stand on feet, to carry what substance one had in this scanty and 
attenuated manner
She shook herself and took a deep breath. Hroc and Froo came to their feet and 
looked at her expectantly. She turned to look toward where the Great Hall lay 
behind its embrace of rose stems, and then found her own feet and ordered them 
to take her there. She went unerringly to a certain snarly mess of rose stems, 
visibly no different from any other along the great hummocky hills of rose stems 
beneath which lay Woodwold, and prised them apart with her hands; and they 
permitted themselves to be prised.
She ducked, and stepped underneath, and began, carefully, to part those that now 
wound across her way; and they, too, permitted themselves to be moved aside. She 
caught herself on a thorn, once, and a drop of blood fell from the tip of her 
forefinger; and she held her breath, and thought of Peony, and then she put her 
hands out again to pull at the next layer of rose stems, and saw another drop of 
blood fall twinklingly from her finger and onto a hunched brown elbow of stem; 
and then she was through the next low, twisted arch, and reaching for the next 
beyond it.
She came after some little time to the old doors of the Great Hall, and here she 
stood on tiptoes and brushed at the stems that hung round it as if they were no 
more than cobwebs; and they broke and fell aside at her touch as if they were 
cobwebs indeed. The sunlight seemed to fall on her more strongly than it had 
before, and she turned round and saw behind her two hounds, and a great tall 
arch stretching through the rose hedge; and yet, as she had made her way through 
it, the partings she had made had only been enough to let her through if she 
crouched and held her arms close to her sides; and once Froo had yelped as, 
following her, he misjudged. She took a deep breath, and turned back to the 
doors, and flung them openthe old doors that had been opened for the first time 
in over a century for the princess one-and-twentieth birthday, and which had 
required four men on each to persuade themand the light rushed in to brighten 
as much of the floor as it could reach.
But most of the Great Hall was still dark from the gnarled rose stems over its 
windows. Thats the first thing, she thought. She went to the tall window 
nearest her, scrambled up to stand on its sill, fumbled with the latch, and put 
her hands through against the rose stems, pushing at them as if they were no 
more than an odd sort of curtain, but pushing gingerly, on account of the 
thorns; her finger still throbbed where she had caught it before. The thick 
branches creaked, and gave, and she pushed a little more vigorously, and they 
rustled as they parted, and the sunlight came in, and she noticed that it looked 
like sunlight, that it was no longer grey and gloomy, and when she peered up, 
the sky was blue, and the shreds of cloud that drifted across it were white. And 
when she looked again at the rose stems, she noticed that they were now covered 
with leaves, which was why they had rustled; but they had been bare and brown 
but minutes before.
She clambered down from the windowsill and went on to the next, and pushed back 
the suddenly green rose stems from that window, and then the next, and the next; 
and when she came to the last, she saw flower buds among the leaves, although 
the princess birthday was in early spring.
Only when there were no more windows to free from their blindfolds did she turn 
to look into the Hall.
It was almost worse, being able to see, because it emphasised how wrong what she 
saw was. She found Katriona at once, and knelt beside her again, stroked her 
hair. She was still breathing. She was still asleep.
The deep, bone-marrow knowledge stirred in her, and she knew that from this 
sleep, magical and malicious as it was, the sleepers would take no harm, unlike 
the sleepers found in the broken fastnesses, years ago, where the princess might 
have been. Woodwold could do this much for the little creatures that walked 
under its roofs; it had watched over other little creatures for hundreds of 
years, and it understood hurt and harm and the will to do evil. But it did not 
comprehend sleeping and waking any more than it comprehended walking and 
breathing; this was why (Rosie thought) Pernicias sleep had first confused it, 
but had failed to hold it.
Woodwold had done what it could. Now she must lead the way.
Rosie stood up, looking round her wildly. She was taking deep, involuntary 
breaths, and at first she thought she had made more of an effort climbing window 
frames than she had realised, and then she thought she must be fighting off some 
lingering odour of the sleep spell, and then she thought she was probably 
frightened; but as she sucked in the air and expelled it violently she knew that 
none of these things were the real reason she stood and panted: what she was was 
angry.
She couldnt ever remember being so angrynot even when she had knocked down the 
man who had been beating his horse instead of trying to free the trapped wheel 
of the cartnot even when she had found the whip scars, invisible under the 
sleek hair unless you were looking, on the colt who had been afraid of Narl 
because he had no beardnot even when she had first begun to realise what Ikors 
message meant to her, to Katriona and Aunt and Barderand Peony and Rowland and 
Narland Jem and Gilly and Gable, and Crantab and Hroslingaand all of the 
Gigthe whole countrynot even then. She was bursting with anger; her skull 
throbbed with it; her hands, hanging at her sides, felt hot and swollen with it.
Pernicia, she shouted. We have business, you and I.
There was a low laugh, and Rosie spun round, and saw Pernicia walking in through 
the open door of the Hall. How very sweet of you to be angry with me, she 
said. Such an invitation, anger. I might have been delayed a little longer, 
else. She was carrying a cane in her left hand, which Rosie had not seen 
before, and there were several red marks on her cheek, and she had her right 
hand tucked into her long dark-streaked robe with the thorn tears in it; and 
Rosies deep knowledge reminded her of the ruined castle, of what the 
destruction of that castle meant. We have weakened her.
I could almosteradopt you for that; the last one-and-twenty years have been 
difficult for me too, and I could use a good lieutenant. I have never had a good 
one.
Rosie made a spitting, inarticulate noise.
But it has gone too far for that now, has it not? That is almost a pity. One of 
us must die, you know; the magic will pull your whole dreary Gig apart else; I 
couldnt stop that now even if I wished to. Although I dont wish to, you know; 
I want it-and the country nice and whole. To do as I like with.
But I hadnt expected there to be two of you; my mistake. I almost wonder if it 
might be worth saving one of youdo I mean saving? Perhaps not quite as you 
would mean it. Butno. Im sure it has gone too far for that She raised the 
cane, waving it gently in the air like a fan, and then paused, and dropped its 
tip a handsbreadth or so
fairies didnt carry wands. Except in direst need.
as if to aim it like a weapon.
Magic cant do everything. Rosie hurled herself upon her, seizing her throat 
between her hands.



Chapter 22
 ^  
As the two of them struck the floor, Pernicia underneath, Woodwold cried out, a 
shriek of wood and iron and stone, a convulsion like an earthquake; and sleeping 
bodies slid across the heaving floor, rebounding off each other and off pieces 
of equally unsettled furniture, and there were muffled, confused cries, as of 
sleepers caught in a nightmare.
Rosie was dimly aware that something was going on round the two of them, but she 
had no consciousness to spare for thinking about it; her entire focus was in 
keeping her hands round Pernicias throat. She knew she had succeeded so far 
only because Pernicia had not imagined anyone attacking her directly, and had 
had no immediate ward against it; but Rosie could feel hundreds of tiny threads 
of magic, tickly and horrid like centipede legs, pulling at her fingers; and the 
cane, the wand, whatever it was, was beating at her back, and every time it hit 
her there was a nasty, miserable sensation like hitting your elbow on a door, 
and every time it was raised it left behind it a feeling like burning. She tried 
to hold in her mind that image of the castle she and Narl and the animals had 
pulled down; she tried to remember that they had weakened her; she told herself 
Pernicia hadnt turned her into a paving stone or an octopus yet; and as long as 
she had her hands locked where they were, she wasnt going to be able to prick 
her finger on a spindle
But Rosie would not last long in the strangling cloud of Pernicias magic. She 
could already no longer see what she held; sometimes it seemed to be a 
fire-wyrm, or a goblin, or a taralian; sometimes it was only a wild-faced woman 
with hatred in her black eyes as they stared into Rosies; and Rosie had only 
just enough strength left not to be drawn to return her gaze. Rosies back was 
on fire from the blows, and the numb, banged-elbow feeling was creeping slowly 
down her arms, and she would soon no longer be able to keep her fingers closed; 
and her hands furthermore seemed to be increasingly weighed down and muffled 
with something like slug slime and spider silk. She thought she heard voices, 
but she could not tell if they were animal or human, nor if they were speaking 
to her or to Pernicia. She thought she saw human figures moving, but her eyes 
seemed obscured, as if sticky webs were being woven across her face as well as 
round her hands, and these humans, if that was what they were, moved oddly, 
gropingly, uncertainly, as if they were not sure if they were awake or asleep 
and dreaming.
She thought she heard the clatter of iron-shod hoofs.
   
Gorse flung himself through the open door to the Great Hall as he had flung 
himself through the hole in the hedge and the just-horse-width bow in the iron 
bars in the gate that had greeted Narls great fiend-scattering shout as they 
had borne down upon that confused and unhappy army. The bars bounced off Narls 
knees with a sound like wet dough being slapped on a kneading board as Gorse 
leaped through, but Narl, Peony still in his arms, stayed on his back; perhaps 
the gate was growing accustomed to the work, or perhaps it recognised its maker, 
and stretched wider. Narl had followed the hounds, the short way, but he had 
knownor at least guessedthat Rosie and Fast had won their way through because 
as they neared Woodwold they met more and more unfriendly creatures, but which 
were less and less inclined to interfere with them, as if their commander had 
forgotten about them while greater matters pressed elsewhere.
Gorses iron shoes slipped on the dancing-floor, and he scrambled to keep his 
footing, and to prevent himself from stepping on any of the half-awake people 
who lay there, bewildered, and slow from a too-heavy sleep, unable to get out of 
his way; he gave a short, raspy neigh that in a human would have been oh no 
and he put his head right down, to see where he was sliding to, and his 
hindquarters down for balance. Both he and the humans were further dismayed and 
disoriented by the fact that the floor itself was moving, in abrupt little 
heaves and eddies like water striking rocks or discomfited by wind. One or two 
people had managed to climb to their feet, seeming to have difficulty deciding 
whether they needed worse to cling to some support or to clutch at their heads, 
as if the heads seemed riskily loose on the shoulders.
Rowland hauled himself upright by grasping a table edge, and then grappled his 
way from chair to chair to fall against Gorses shoulder; even half awake he had 
recognised the burden that Narl bore before him. Peony was still wholly asleep; 
she did not stir, while many round her were stirring. Narl slid off the sweating 
Gorse, and carried her to the nearest tablethe floor was now only making tiny 
tremours, like a horse shaking its skin free of a flyand laid her down gently. 
Rowland snatched two pillows off two chairs and placed them, clumsily, for his 
hands were still not quite his own, under her head.
Narl turned to the two struggling figures he knew to be Rosie and Pernicia, 
though he could see neither. Pernicias magic and Rosies fury wrapped them 
round, and he could not tell the one from the other, nor much more than make 
them out as two vaguely human shapes in the fiery turbulence of their battle. 
Fate and all the gods! he said silently to himself, too frantic to say anything 
aloud, incapable of coherent words, and sure as well that there was nothing he 
could say that would be of the slightest use, and so he need not try: Rosie! 
Could you not have waited till there was someone to help you? He knew that 
whatever was happening, Rosie had little time left; his only wonder was that her 
rage and despair had protected her this long.
Where was Katriona? Or Ikor? Or Aunt? He looked wildly round, and that was when 
he noticed that not everyone in the Hall was waking; no fairy nor magician was 
doing so, not only those of the Gig, but those of the royal party as well. 
Katriona herself lay nearly at his feet; he knelt down beside her. Woodwolds 
pain and distress had rolled her onto her back; her mouth was a little open and 
her face was drawn and unhappy, as if she were half remembering something 
important left undone. He touched her cheek, sending his thought toward her, 
wherever she might be, and knew at once he could not rouse her. He tried a 
moment or two longer, thinking to find at least a clue to what held her; but she 
was too far away, and he could feel that what stood watch over her would clutch 
at him, too, if he stayed, for he, too, was a fairy.
As it was, he was already half lost; he could feel the Great Hall round him, and 
the twitching floor under his knees; but he could not take his hand away from 
Katrionas face, and he could not stand up and turn round; there was a great 
cold weight on him, bearing him down. With a great effort he brought his other 
hand to the iron chain he wore round his neck, and seized the little ancient 
knob of it that he had welded there; and with the touch of it he could jerk his 
other hand back with a gasp.
It would need some great magic to rescue these sleepers. And all those who could 
wield it slept. Pernicia had planned well. If she won, there would be that many 
fewer real and potential rivals or enemies for her to dispose of; if she lost 
she still won, because this country would be uninhabitable without its fairies 
and magicians to negotiate the long tricky series of truces with its native 
magics. And three-quarters of the best fairies and magicians had been in Lord 
Prendergasts Great Hall for the princess one-and-twentieth birthday party.
He could not think of it now. He would think of it later. Now there was Rosie, 
gone into battle alone, a battle she must have known she would lose. Did she 
think he would not follow her, to the ends of the earth if necessary?
But then, what could he do against Pernicia?
He stood up again, hoping for inspiration, and did not see Zel trotting up 
behind him. Zel went round Narls ankles, and stood by Katriona, looking into 
her face. Narl took one step, two, three, toward the small, terrible whirlwind 
that contained Pernicia and Rosie; and as he walked away, Zel put his two front 
feet on Katrionas breast and said, Katriona, you must wake up and help us.
Narl knew nothing of that; his eye had been caught by a faint pale stir high 
over his head. He looked up, and the merrel was standing on its rafter, half 
spreading its wings; it looked down at him, and he felt it was trying to catch 
his eye.
The merrel. The merrel was awake.
Merrels have the best far-vision of any creature; a merrel can see a harvest 
mouse running up a stem and into its grass globe while the merrel hangs a half a 
league above the earth. Narl, who had no beast speech, could nonetheless hear it 
telling him, in the nearly human language it had learned over its long years of 
imprisonment above Lord Prendergasts Great Hall: I can see her. I can see your 
friend, your companion, your dear one, bound in a death embrace with the fairy 
who has sought her life for twenty-one years. I can see her.
The merrel sat high above the floor of the Hall, bound short by links of cold 
iron, which no magic can loose. Narl took a deep breath, and swept together all 
the magic that was in him, and held it, and looked at it, and then he brought 
the experience of all his years at the forge, working cold iron in fire and 
earth and air and water; and he seized the magic as if it were the raw material 
he was accustomed to, and bent it and shaped it, drawing it long and thin, 
setting a point and an edge to it; and the magic struggled like an angry colt, 
for he was not accustomed to shaping magic, and it is at best a much less 
obedient servant than is iron. No magic is willing to be handled as if it were 
some common, dull thing, inert but for the hands of its worker, and still less 
may it be easily forced to the will of, of all people, a smith; and, 
furthermore, into this magic he had to hammer some of his own being, some 
sympathetic tie to the qualities of iron, and this was worse yet, for it was 
like weaving fire and water together. The magic nearly escaped him many times, 
for it would have none of what he would have of it, and in the back of his mind 
he knew that what he strove for could not be done, by the laws of the world.
But he felt the thing in his hands become the weapon he needed, created perhaps 
more out of his own dire extremity than of anything else, and briefly he 
quailed, because he was not sure what it was he had made. But it was all he had, 
and he had no time to try anything else. And so he grasped it, aimed it, and 
flung it at the chain round the merrels ankle. He bit back a cry as it left his 
hands, for his magic-spear burned like the fire of his forge; and he was caught 
in a back-draught.
   
Katriona woke to the sound of the roof on Woodwolds Great Hall being ripped 
apart, and the scream of a hunting merrel. She looked up and saw the merrel that 
had lived in the rafters of Lord Prendergasts Hall for as many years as Rosie 
had been alive, beating its great wings, and flying up, up, out through the 
ragged, smoking hole in the roof, two or three broken links of the chain round 
its ankle glittering in the sunlight, the whiteness of its beating wings as 
dazzling as the sun itself. It flew up into the sky till it was lost in it.
Katriona looked round, trying to remember what was happening, wondering why 
everyone seemed to be lying or crawling about on the floor, wondering why she 
felt so sick and lost, feeling as if she had just been dragged a very long way 
through some thick, cold, horrid, slobbery material, that had blocked up her 
eyes so she could not see the way, and her nose and mouth so she could not 
breathe, and clung to her limbs so she could not move; she would be there still 
if it were not for whatever had so determinedly dragged her absentmindedly 
patting the young fox which was standing beside her, looking at her 
thoughtfully. It had called her by name and asked for her help, she suddenly 
recalledand as suddenly recalled a day almost twenty-one years before when 
another fox had asked if she would come to the rescue of a fox who called her by 
name. She had not heard a fox speak since Rosie was a baby.
She staggered to her feet. It occurred to her as quickly as it had occurred to 
Narl, though she could not yet put sense to it, that only the ordinary people 
were waking as she was waking, the fairies were all asleepasleepwhy were they 
asleep?and then she began to remember, as if it were all something she had 
dreamed, the night of the princess birthday party. Pernicia. Pernicia would be 
sure to lay her baleful sleep the heaviest on other fairiesKatriona could still 
taste the foul gumminess of it on her tongueon the magicians, on the royal 
family themselves, those who had hoped, had striven, to defy her.
But worse yet, Pernicia had torn Rosie away from her, Katriona; she had felt her 
hold loosen and break before the sleep, the awful sleep, struck her down. She 
remembered Peony struggling through the crowd toward the two tall women facing 
each other incongruously over a spinning wheelshe did not remember any more 
after that, only her knowledge that she had lost Rosie. How long had she been 
asleep? Where was Rosie?
She turned too quickly, still dizzy from sleep and waking, and almost fell. We 
have been to the castle, Rosie and I and the others, said the fox at her feet. 
We pulled the castle down.
Pulled the castle down? Unbidden Katrionas memory produced a picture of the 
barren plain and the standing stones and the unfriendly eyes and the castle, 
where she and Aunt and Barder had once briefly stood. Pulled it down? Hope 
surged through her and made her hands and feet tingle with warmth, and she felt 
healthy and strongand amazed, for she remembered the tales of the people who 
had woken out of Pernicias sleep at the broken fortresses. And perhaps it was 
because she was thinking of castles and fortresses, and that her feet were 
planted so firmly on Woodwolds bare floor that briefly the bone-marrow 
knowledge stirred in her, too, and she heard a voice that was no voice speaking 
at a pitch no human ear could imagine, and it said I am here. For Rosie. 
Princess. At that moment Katriona raised her eyes and saw the briar roses 
twining round the windows and hanging over the open doors and knew who it was 
who spoke to her. Thank you, she said, not knowing if it could hear her or not; 
not knowing if it could understand gratitude. Thank you.
But where was Rosie? She looked again at the hole in the roof, and when she 
dropped her gaze this time she saw a seething roil of magic near the feet of a 
haggard man.
Narlshe had not recognised him. His face was grey with pain, and he was missing 
some of his hair, as if it had been burnt off. He held his hands in front of 
him, curled loosely to his breast; she glanced at them and saw that the palms 
were swollen and cracked and bleeding, and the sleeves of his fine coat had been 
tattered to the elbows, and his forearms were marked as if with tongues of fire.
Narl she said, horrified.
He shook his head, and her eyes turned to follow his. She could see through the 
roil of magic only slightly more clearly than Narl, but she knew that what she 
saw was the final confrontation between Pernicia and Rosie, and that Rosie was, 
inevitably, losing.
The merrel stooped so swiftly that neither of them saw it, neither of them nor 
Pernicia either; lightning is slower. The merrels talons seized Pernicia and 
wrenched her out of Rosies slackening grasp as Woodwold opened a gulf in the 
earth just beneath them. Katriona thought she heard Pernicia scream; but if she 
spoke any magic, it did not save her, nor did the merrels hold falter. Katriona 
ran forward and grabbed Rosies shoulders, pulling her back just in time, 
muttering a few hasty words to loose Rosie from the snare of magic that still 
clutched her, and a few more words begging that Woodwold might leave some floor 
under the both of them while she did it; as it was they were pitched backwards, 
and Narl put out his wounded arms and caught them both, and Katriona and Narl 
staggered out of reach, hauling Rosie with them. Katriona noticed that two long 
snowy pinions had caught in Rosies hair.
Pernicia and the merrel plunged deep into the earth, and the gulf round them 
spasmed, spewing raw, dry, mouldy earth and fragments of ancient root and stone; 
and then it snapped shut with a sound like hundreds of anvils banging together, 
and the noise fell upon everyone as hard as a giants blows, and their breath 
was knocked out of them. But the floor where those two had disappeared rose like 
a mountain, and avalanches tumbled down its sides, and there was a roaring, 
echoing noise like many angry taralians in a narrow valley, and there was so 
much fine grit in the air that as the people in the hall opened their mouths to 
drag their breath in again after losing it to the recoil of the closing of the 
pit, their mouths and throats were instantly full of it, and they coughed 
helplessly, and their lungs ached. Frightened, baffled people pressed themselves 
back, nearer the heart of the house, away from the front of the Hall and the 
mountain that had risen up there, dragging their still-sleeping comrades to what 
safety they could.
One of the walls of the Hall cracked and buckled and fell down, and the sounds 
the splintering wood made were like human screams. The walls on either side of 
it tottered and bent toward it, like grief-stricken friends toward a fallen 
companion, like Katriona and Narl over Rosie; the wreckage shot across the 
broken floor, dangerous chunks of lathe and plaster thrown skidding up miniature 
peaks and launching themselves into the air on the far sides, though the central 
mountain was beginning to subside again in showers of chips and clods of earth. 
Tapestries belled out as if blown by the breath of giants; several were torn 
from the wall, and one skimmed round the stricken room like a bird before it 
fell upon what had been the high table; half of the table still stood, while the 
other half was a ragged heap of broken posts and planks and food and serving 
ware.
Rosie was only half aware of the destruction round her. Katriona had peeled the 
worst of Pernicias binding magic away from her face and hands, but as shattered 
furniture and bodies slid this way and that across the writhing floor, Rosie was 
separated from both her and Narl and, dizzy and nearly helpless, fetched up 
against something solid. She groped at it, and discovered one of the legs of the 
high table at the end that was still standing, and slowly worked her way 
upright. The bowed body next to her was familiar, its arms braced against the 
tabletop, but it took her a moment to recognise it: Rowland, bent protectively 
over something, and once she knew him she guessed what, or rather who, that 
something was. Rowland looked up then and recognised her; and in a lull in the 
diminishing sounds of destruction he said hopelessly, Is there anything you can 
do?
Rosie stopped herself from shaking her head. She found an overturned chair with 
a missing back but four sound legs, righted it, and knelt on it, looking into 
Peonys face. Her face was thinner and paler than it had beenlast night? Was it 
still only last night?and her breathing, as Rosie bent low over her, sounded 
strained, as if a weight pressed on her breast.
Rowland moved back a little, as if to give Rosie room, or as if he couldnt bear 
to look any longer, to watch Peonys life ebbing away from a wound neither of 
them could see.
Rosie, tired and bruised and miserable and shaken and sick as she was, felt her 
own life beating strongly in her, and reached out and took Peonys hands. She 
stared at her friends face for a moment, at the face so like and unlike her 
own, and then she let go with one hand long enough to reach in Peonys pocket, 
and find there the spindle end she had made for her, and drew it out, and put it 
between Peonys hands, and clasped her own round them. One of the merrels 
feathers came loose from Rosies matted hair, and drifted down to lie on Peonys 
breast.
Somethingsomethingsome nonmagic moved between them. Princess, not-princess, 
two young women who had traded places, who had pretended to be one young woman, 
who had become two other young women. Rosie with her strength and her careless 
energy, her generosity to everything that lived; Peony with her gentler 
kindness, her subtler understanding, and an elasticity that had never been a 
part of Rosies nature.
Narl came up beside her. There were stained scraps of cloth wrapped round the 
palms of his hands, but when he put his gently round hers, Rosie felt him adding 
his strength of hope and love to her own, and she cared about nothing but that 
he should help her bring her friend back to life.
   
Katriona was moving through the Hall, waking those who still slept, against whom 
Pernicias savage, ensnaring spell had struck hardest, the fairies, the 
magicians, the royal family. She had a long way to go to reach these, and even 
with Zel providing a safety line the way was ugly and dangerous. The king and 
the queen and the three princes she awakened first, drawing them back tenderly 
and carefully from the sticky, heavy emptiness where their spirits had been 
suspended; and several of the queens ladies, who had pulled their queen and her 
family bodily away from the wreck of the Great Hall, burst into tears. Osmer 
woke up first; he looked round, half hearing the nearest ladys attempt to 
reassure him that the wicked fairy was gone and he was safe, and an admiring 
amazement came into his face. Ive been asleep? I wish Id seen that! Katriona 
discovered that she could still smile, and moved on.
She found Barder, who was easily awakened, and Aunt, who was not, and Ikor, who 
was harder yet, and even after his eyes were open, Katriona could see the ends 
of nightmares in them, gleaming like toads backs. She turned then to the other 
Gig fairies, and when she had recalled them, Aunt and Ikor had recovered enough 
to help her awaken the other royal fairies and magicians; it took all three of 
them to awaken Sigil, whom they might not have found at all but that they were 
sure she had, after all, attended the ball. She had lain under a fallen-down 
tapestry, and she was so small and drab, even in her ball clothes, that she 
looked like a crumpled fold of vague foresty background to the bright woven 
scene of ladies gathering flowers. She opened her eyes with her head on Ikors 
arm, facing a window, and the first thing she saw was briar roses: Dear 
Woodwold, she said.
Lastly, and as gently as they could, they woke Lord and Lady Prendergast and 
their sons and daughters, who woke to find the Great Hall, the oldest part of 
their ancient and beloved house, destroyed, and for a little while the thought 
of a wicked fairy defeated and their country and future monarch saved seemed too 
small a victory to them.
Katriona wearily moved back toward the table where Peony lay, where Rowland 
stood and Narl and Rosie crouched over their joined hands. The stallion, Gorse, 
stood behind Narl, and several dogs were scattered round the tables end. One of 
themher name, Sunflower, swam into Katrionas mindhad her feet up on the edge 
of the table, where she could just raise her chin high enough to stare into 
Rosies face. Gorse was as bedraggled as a wild moor-horse, and had strange 
marks on his flanks, as if he had squeezed through a space too narrow for him; 
the dogs chests were all matted with foam. Katriona guessed that this was part 
of the story of how they had pulled down Pernicias castle; and wondered what 
else she had missed while she was asleep. But those stories could wait.
Katriona was exhausted. Never attack a spell head-on, Aunt had said years ago. 
You need to sniff out where the weak places are. All spells have them; its just 
a matter of finding them and, of course, being able to use them. Katriona could 
not have found nor used the weak spot of Pernicias spell. Not alone. She looked 
down at a small pointed red furred face looking up at her. I am still here, Zel 
said. I am still here.
They were all still here, and they were all still alive.
She stood at the end of the table, looking down at the top of Peonys head, at 
Rosies face, fierce with concentration; and Narl looked up at her and said, 
half shouted, Kat! Wake up! Dont you want to keep her?
Katriona did not at first know what he meant, but she responded to the 
desperation in his voice, and saw that Peony, now alone in all the Hall, 
remained asleep; and obediently she put her hands out, and laid them as gently 
as she could on the burned backs of Narls hands. But with that contact she 
realized the intricate interlacing of energies at play beneath her 
palmsdiscovered, too, the secret Narl had been hiding in his forge for many 
yearsand suddenly understood what Narl had meant. Her fingers bit down against 
Narls skin, and she put every mote of magic she had left in her into the work, 
for Pernicia was gone, and she could use her last strength as she chose.
Aunt looked up from where she was rubbing the temples of a young fairy with a 
headache, catching a whiff or a whisper of what was happening among the remains 
of the high table; Ikor, in one of the anterooms strapping the sprained ankle of 
one of the grandest of the royal magicians, leaped to his feet and ran back into 
the Hall, shouting, No, no! You cannot! No
Rosie leaned forward, round the globe of hands, and kissed Peony on the lips.
Everyones hands collapsed inward as the spindle end shattered; Rosie felt an 
eerie, sucking sensation against her palms for a moment as she involuntarily 
fell forward onto Peonys breast, and a queer, fluttery, disorienting sensation 
in her own breast and throat, as if something were being pulled out of her and 
drawn into her friend. Narl and Katriona both took a sudden, hasty step 
backward.
Rosie sat up, spitting Peonys hair out of her mouth as Peony said, Oof. Rosie, 
you weigh a ton.
It was at this moment that the cook came howling up from the kitchens saying 
that Lady Prendergasts terrier and two mice were lying asleep in the centre of 
the kitchen table with a single long black hair twisted round them in a circle, 
that nothing could pass that boundary hair, and would some fairy please come and 
get these animals off her table?



Chapter 23
 ^ 
Woodwold was not the only house that had suffered in the final confrontation 
between Pernicia and the princess and the princess allies; all over the Gig 
there was wreckage as if by tiny, violent, very local storms, or duels among 
goblins or a fire-wyrm or two. There was a great deal of work to be done to set 
all to rights. But no ones village had been flattened, and friends and family 
gave housing and help to those who had been unlucky; and the crops and the 
animals were largely unhurt, although the latter in some cases had strayed so 
far some humans suspected they had been ill-sent or driven, especially when, 
after their initial journeys, hitherto stolid beasts showed a tiresome new urge 
to wander. And, of course, as soon as the news of Pernicias final defeat went 
out (and everyone shook themselves and stared at each other and said, How could 
we ever have imagined that Pernicia had just gone away? That was a very powerful 
spell! And everyone was a little annoyed, especially because no one could 
remember the end of the ball and the appearance of Pernicia, which must have 
been one of the best stories if anyone could tell it, but then, it was kings 
business and magic, and alls well that ends well), everyone in the Gig was a 
hero. This pleasant knowledge helped the work go a little quicker, as did the 
amount of volunteer labour that poured in from all over the rest of the country, 
to hear the tales of heroism firsthand in return for some digging and dragging 
and sawing and hammering and heaving and putting together. The volunteer labour 
and free goods came even more thickly when the announcement of the wedding went 
out.
Prince Rowland Jocelyn Hereward and Princess Casta Albinia Allegra Dove Minerva 
Fidelia Aletta Blythe Domnia Delicia Aurelia Grace Isabel Griselda Gwyneth Pearl 
Ruby Lily Iris Briar-Roses marriage was celebrated only six weeks after the 
death of Pernicia and the merrel beneath the ruins of Woodwolds Great Hall. The 
princess insisted that she wished to be wed in the Gig, from Woodwold, and the 
Prendergastswhatever damage had been done to their familys ancient homewere 
incapable of saying no to her about anything whatsoever, aside from the fact 
that it was a tremendous honour. (And, of course, as a result of the prospect of 
the princess wedding, every royal fairy and magician put their minds to the 
work of restoring the Prendergasts Great Hall, which was the only possible 
location in the entire Gig for such an occasion as a royal wedding, so that it 
nearly put itself back together and was, furthermore, now glistening with 
powerful new spells and good wishes, fully sound and solid and complete by the 
day. The new Great Hall, indeed, was so lofty and beautiful that the kings 
bishop was almost reconciled to having to hold the most important wedding of 
this generation in the barbarian, backwater Gig instead of at his own noble 
cathedral in the royal city.)
Rosie and Narl were the bride and grooms First Friends (although the queues of 
attendants behind both of them were several dozen strong, and there was a 
certain amount of sniffing and eyebrow raising that a horse-leech and a smith, 
however dear the friendship, should come at the heads of the columns). Both of 
them felt extremely silly in the royal getups they were expected to wear, but 
both felt so complacent about their part in what had occurred, with this wedding 
as its culminating feat, that they almost forgot to mind. (Since Rosie had begun 
to let her hair grow so that she could braid the merrels feathers into it, at 
least the ladies assigned to her hairdressing for the wedding, unlike those who 
had tried to dress it for the princess ball, had had a little to work with. 
Rosies godmothers gifts appeared to have stayed with her even when being the 
princess had left her, and her hair grew at a cracking pace, as if it had been 
impatiently waiting its opportunity for the last seventeen years. But the curls, 
while initially just as bumptious as ever, began to hang out of their own weight 
as they spilled past her shoulders. The royal hairdressers had taken full 
advantage, thinking, rightly, that there was fairy work in it somewhere, but 
grateful that this tall young woman would not spoil the show.)
Rosie privately thought that Narl was taking Peonys marriage remarkably well, 
but when, a week later, they had seen the wedding party set off for the royal 
city, and Rosie was beginning to realise just how much she was going to miss 
Peony (who, with twenty-one new names to choose from, had chosen to remain 
Peony), she couldnt stop herself from saying something about it to Narl. At 
least they might be able to share their sense of loss.
But Narl was off-hand. Well all miss her. Lovely young woman, and clever with 
it. Shell make a splendid queen; she has all the right instincts, and the grace 
to make what needs doing get done.
Rosie said, only speaking the truth, I can hardly imagine Foggy Bottom without 
her.
Youll miss her worse than I, of course, said Narl. Whistling in a curiously 
lighthearted way, he returned to his hammer and his fire.
Rosie blinked. He had been whistling like this for the last seven weeks. Narl 
never used to whistle. Of course everyone was tremendously relieved at having 
the curse off the country for good, and the future queen officially 
heir-selected by the future king, and married to the man who both she and her 
country liked best as her consort, but Rosie still did not clearly remember 
everything that happened during the destruction of the old Hall. She remembered 
that she and Pernicia had been grappling with each other (she seemed to remember 
attacking Pernicia with her bare hands, but rejected this as crazy); more 
particularly she remembered the white streak out of the sky, and the merrels 
last words, Good-bye, friend. She knew that it was the merrel who had saved her.
And she knew that Narl and Katrionaand possibly her own spindle endhad done 
something besides just wake Peony up.
Her final meeting with Peony had been extremely painful. Even if they did manage 
to keep a courier busy round the year with their letters to each other (and any 
sort of writing was not Rosies favourite activity; it came approximately second 
to embroidery), even if Rosie did go up to the royal city at least once a year 
herself, their friendship was going to be nothing like it had been for the last 
six years. Peony herself would becomewas already becomingsomeone else than she 
had been; she had to. Rosie supposed that even she herself would change. What 
had happened to them wasnt like losing your best friend so much as it was like 
losing your shadow or your soul; you barely knew it was there sometimes, but you 
knew it was crucial to you. There had been tears of joy and despair on both 
sides; that Rosie would stay where she was, in a world and a life that suited 
her, and that Peony had found a life that suited herthat suited her as if she 
had been born to itand people who loved her. Most particularly one person who 
loved her: Rowland.
But I cant she said, as she began to understand what had happened. But Im 
not
Neither am I, said Rosie, through her own tears. Im really not. I wasnt, 
even when I was supposed to be. I just wasnt. Even when Ikor She stopped. 
Ikor had not spoken to her since the ball; had not come near her. If, as had 
happened once or twice during her visits to Woodwold, she entered a room that he 
was in, he left at once. At least she had seen him that once or twice, and so 
had seen Eskwa, regrown and shining, hanging from his belt.
Peony looked at Hrocs head on her friends knee, and Sunflowers head on her 
foot, and at Fwab singing the chaffinch spring song on the windowsill, and the 
cooks cat just happening by the doorway where they were sitting in one of the 
little anterooms off the Great Hall (the latter alive with the hum and bang of 
feverishly working, magic-augmented carpentry), just happening to sit down there 
for a wash, her back to the embarrassing tedium of human tears.
The animals know. The animals will always know the truth of it.
The animals knew. They still called Rosie Princess and she had heard the tale 
that had gone round after the wreck of the Hall and what came of it: Pernicia is 
dead. Rosie and Oroshralwhich was how Rosie learnt for the first time that the 
merrel had a namekilled her. Rosie is staying here. Peony is going back to the 
city to be the princess instead. Yes, said Rosie. But theyre not telling. 
Except each other. And theyll stop that too, soon enough. Theyll close it 
down. Zelwho was so puffed with importance for having become Katrionas 
familiar there was almost no bearing himis already trying to, because he knows 
Kats worried. He hasnt learned yet that Kat is always worried. She added, 
less easily, And, Peony, itthat I talk to animals should never have happened. 
That it did happen may have beenwhat made the rest happen. Or made it possible 
to happen that Pernicias curse didnt work. That we found a way out. That 
Imyourewere still here.
Peony took Rosies hands in hers and squeezed them painfully. Youre sure? 
Youre sure?
It doesnt matter if Im sure or not, its done, said Rosie, but seeing the 
look on her friends face she added, I was there, remember? If I hadnt been 
sure, it couldnt have happened. Whatever did happen, she amended, remembering 
Narls and Katrionas hands on hers, and the queer feeling that she had somehow 
gone invisible, or insubstantial, and that the spindle end, just before it 
imploded into emptiness, had been the only real thing about either herself or 
Peony. But she had felt something pass between her and Peony when she kissed 
her, something that had come trudging up from the depths of her own being, 
something she herself had called out, and Narl and Katriona had given the 
capacity to come in response to that call, something she hardly recognised as 
hers except that she knew by the small surprised blank it had left behind when 
it moved that it had been there all her life till then and had planned to stay 
there for the rest of her life as well, something that hopped quietly over to 
Peony when their mouths met. Think of Rowland. Just keep thinking about 
Rowland. And Peony smiled through her tears.
Rosie had been called into the queens private room once, too, the day before 
the wedding. Rosie had been uncomfortable at going to meet the woman she knew to 
be her mother, remembering, too, that the queen had known, when the deception 
was still a deception. The queen had stared at her as if trying to remember 
something. I am sorry, the queen said to the Foggy Bottom horse-leech, I 
cannot think who you remind me of. It is very rude to stareeven for queens. 
Especially for queens. She smiled, and Rosie thought of the story Katriona 
told, of her standing in her fathers kitchen making supper when the kings 
messengers had come to offer her a throne. Rosie smiled back, and then curtseyed 
(not too clumsily; three months of being the princess first lady-in-waiting had 
had some effect), having no idea what to say.
You are my daughters best friend, the queen said slowly. I want to remember 
you clearly till I can come to know you. For you will come up to the city 
sometimes to see your friend, will you not?
Rosie nodded, a lump suddenly in her throat, and then croaked politely, Yes, 
maam.
I hope we can be friends, too. Something about your facewhatever it isI think 
my daughters heart chose its friend well. I would like to be your friend, too, 
said the queen.
The queen held out her hands, and Rosie knelt as she took them, and bowed her 
head over them; but the queen freed one of her hands, and stroked Rosies head, 
and touched the merrel feathers. At that moment the door of the queens chamber 
opened, and a little round person walked in; Rosie looked up.
A little, round, elderly, white-haired person; a fairy. Sigil. Rosie knew her at 
once. Knew her as she had not known her own mother and father because they were 
the king and queen and she had thought about them too much in the three months 
between Ikors arrival at the Gig and her first meeting with them in over twenty 
years; knew her because in the unexpected shock of this meeting she had no guard 
against knowing. She remembered that face bending over herher hair had been 
grey then, not whitebending over her when she had been too small to do anything 
but lie in a cradle or in someones arms, and smile, so that they would smile 
back. Sigil.
Rosie drew her breath in on a sob. It had all been half imaginary to her till 
thenthe three months as a lady-in-waiting seemed the most imaginary at alland 
she now wanted it to be imaginary, now that her own mother no longer remembered. 
It had all beenjust possiblysome great mistake from the beginning. But she 
looked into Sigils face and knew it was not. She, Rosie, had been born a 
princess; and she had chosen to forsake her heritage forever. To her horror, the 
tears poured down her face, and she could not stand, nor move away from the 
queen, the queen who did not know whose hand she held.
Sigil was there at once, kneeling beside her, smoothing her wet cheeks with her 
small dry hands, and whispering to her in a voice Rosie remembered singing old 
lullabies. There, there, my dear, it is always hard to lose a friend; and you 
are losing yours ever so dramatically, are you not?
Rosie gulped and nodded, staring into Sigils eyes, knowing that Sigil knew what 
Rosie was remembering, and why Rosie wept. As Rosies tears slowly stopped, 
Sigil cupped the tip of Rosies chin in her hands, hands that had once cupped 
her entire face when she had been only three months old, and said, Live long 
and happily, my dear. Live long and happily. You have earned it, and I thinkI 
believeyou may have it. She shook Rosies chin, gently and fondly and 
familiarly, and whispered, All will be well. All will be well.
Rosie, through her tears, looked up at her, suddenly remembering the spider that 
had stowed away in Ikors sleeve during the long journey in search of the 
twenty-year-old princess, and had, perhaps, been the same spider that had hung 
in the corner of the window in the princess bedroom at Woodwold.
All will be well. Some day the queen would remember the young fairy who had sat 
on her bed and held her hand, and told her about her four-year-old daughter. 
Some day the queen would remember that she had looked over Peonys shoulder at 
their first meeting in Woodwolds park, had looked into Rosies eyes. Magic 
cant do everything. All will be well.
Sigil kissed Rosies forehead and stood up, and Rosie bent her head once more to 
the queen, and stood up also, and took her leave.
Rosie had not seen Sigil again, except briefly, at the wedding, at a distance, a 
distance one or both of them were careful to maintain; and now they were gone, 
her family, her past, what might have been her future She shook herself, and 
took a deep breath, and thought, Peony will make a better queen. She even gets 
along with Osmer. And shell have Rowland to help her.
Her mind reverted with relief to the sound of Narls lighthearted whistling. Of 
course he was happiest when he had more work to be done than any six ordinary 
smiths could do, and at the moment, not only was the rebuilding of the Gig still 
going on; his was the only fully operational forge within it.
The centre of Foggy Bottom seemed to have been the eye of the magic-storm, and 
the centre of Foggy Bottom was the village square.
Everyone assumed that this had to do with the wainwrights yard, which opened 
onto the square; but the wheelwrights yard was there, too, and Narls forge. 
Whatever the reason, for half a league round it, as cleanly as if someone had 
measured it, no damage had been done to any field or tree or fence or building; 
and perhaps this was the reason why so many of the wandering animals had found 
themselves there, and why so many of them seemed to want to return there even 
after they had been fetched home. The condition of the other smithies was 
causing some frustration on the part of the other, less fortunate, smiths; 
usually a smith only has to hang a few pointy bits of iron round the area he 
wants to make into a smiths yard and he can get on with his making more or less 
untroubled; but in the Gig for nearly a year after Pernicias death the iron 
bits round every smithy but Narls kept falling down, or being rearranged 
overnight by persons or presences unknown, and perfectly sound bellows developed 
holes the moment they blew on smiths fires, and the fires themselves flared and 
collapsed maddeningly, and iron broke instead of consenting to being worked, and 
the level of magic-midges was so dire that the smiths themselves were batting 
away at them.
No one, however, had been quite so ill-spirited as to accuse Narl of being 
responsible for any of this, nor of himself being a fairy (there hadnt been a 
smith who was also a fairy in so many years it never occurred to anyone to think 
of such a thing unless he or she had restless children to keep amused with fairy 
tales), especially after it was discovered that if he forged the pointy bits of 
iron to mark out other smithies, they stayed where they were put. No one but 
Aunt, Katriona and Barder ever heard the full story about the journey to the 
castle in the wasteland beyond the edge of the Gig.
But even too much work didnt make Narl lighthearted. Narl didnt know how to be 
lighthearted.
But, Narl, said Rosie. Arent you going to I mean really miss her? Peony, I 
mean, she added in amazement, as he looked across at her blankly. She was 
sitting on a bale of hay and plaiting (badly) a few of the longest stems 
together.
Narl stopped whistling, and straightened up from the shoe he was measuring 
against Fasts foot, and looked at her thoughtfully.
Not as much as Idve missed you, he said.
Rosie felt herself turn flame red, and then the blood all drained away from her 
head and she felt dizzy. She looked at her plaiting and let it drop on the 
ground (where Flinx, who, since the advent of Zel, was spending more time at the 
forge, examined it briefly for news of the mice he was sure lived in the hay 
bale). I thought you were in love with her, she said in a very small voice.
In love with? said Narl.
There was a pause. Well, he said, as if commenting on the weather or the 
number of horses waiting to be shod and house- and shop-fittings to be cut and 
ploughshares to be mended, it happens Im in love with you. Have been since 
that day Rowland and Peony met. No, before that. Thats just the day I knew it. 
Not having been in love beforeand old enough to have long since decided it 
wasnt going to happenI didnt recognise the signs.
Rosie couldnt say anything. She stared at the ground. After a moment she heard 
Narl moving toward her, and the toes of his boots appeared in her line of 
vision, and then one drew back, and Narl knelt and tipped her face up with one 
scarred hand till he could look into it. I wasnt going to say anything about 
it, he said quietly, because you seemed so determined to have nothing to do 
with me except as your old friend the farrier.
Rosie stared at him as if he had turned green or grown wings.
Narl, Ive been in love with you forever.
Thats all right then, he said, smiling a little, and Rosie remembered the 
animals saying, Ironface! Smiling! And Flinx, the Block, cracking. That had been 
a terrible day, the grey grim waking after the princess ball, Peony missing and 
Pernicia waiting, and a terrible moment: Narl had just called her Princess, like 
slamming a door shut between them.
Narls smile grew fixed, as if he wasnt sure how to say what he wanted to say 
next, and when he spoke at last he sounded so wistful and forlorn Rosie heard an 
echo in her mind, a great white bird chained to high rafters saying, Will you 
come and talk to me again some time? Then will you marry me?
Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Oh. But youll have to come live with us, you know.
Narl, who lived behind his forge in two small rooms full of old tools and things 
he hadnt figured out how to mend yet, flinched.
Ohplease, said Rosie, and grabbed his dangling hand, suddenly feeling that 
whatever happened next she would burst with it.
What will they say?
Rosie shook her head, still hanging on to his hand. I dont care.
She thought about it a moment, and then, surprised, and realising it was the 
truth, said, Theyll like it.
They will, will they?
But she realised he was laughing at her, and she flung her arms round his neck 
and kissed him, and his arms closed round her, and drew her down next to him. 
They were out of sight of the town common and Fasts groom was safely at the pub 
and this bit of the courtyard ground had been recently swept; and it was a quiet 
afternoon, and no one came bursting through the courtyard gate with the latest 
ironmongery crisis. The kiss went on quite some time, till Fast, standing tied 
to a ring and wearing only three shoes, turned his head round to see what was 
going on. It sounded rather enjoyable.
Well, finally, said Flinx. Did you ever know two humans so thick?
But Fast was a romantic. He could hardly wait to go home and spread the news at 
Woodwold, but he had to have four shoes first. He switched his tail, and nodded 
his head up and down hard enough to jerk at the ring, and began to paw the 
ground. And the hay-bale mice, taking advantage of Flinxs preoccupation, shot 
out of the back of the bale, dodged their way out of the yard, dashed across the 
common, and arrived, panting, to tell their relatives at the pub about the 
princess and the fairy smith.

ROBIN McKINLEY has won various awards and citations for her writing, including 
the Newbery Medal for The Hero and the Crown and a Newbery Honor for The Blue 
Sword, the first two books of her history of the magical country of Damar. Her 
other books include two novel-length retellings of the fairy tale Beauty and the 
Beast, Beauty and Rose Daughter, Deerskin, which was inspired by the Perrault 
fairy tale Donkeyskin; and a retelling of the Robin Hood legend The Outlaws of 
Sherwood.
Robin lives in England with her husband, the English writer Peter Dickinson. You 
may visit Robin at http://www.sff.net/people/robin-mckinley/
Jacket art  2000 by Dan Craig
G. P. Putnams Sons
Publishers Since 1838
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
http://www.penguinputnam.com



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