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water must counteract the dry fire, or soon water and wood will be consumed, and only earth will remain. I’ll make you a mixture of herbs to brew and pour down his throat. Force him to drink as much water as you can. It will push the poison out through the skin and restore a balance to the humors of the body. Once it begins to work and you see him perspiring, keep the fire hot and pile blankets on him. Change the bedding frequently and wash it in clear water to dissipate the poisonous exudations.”
    â€œI knew you would know what to do,” sighed Fair Sarah in relief.
    That night they kept the peat fire burning hotly and didn’t bank it with ash. Maddie curled up in the box bed, listening to the wood-carver groan and mutter. But she woke the next morning to hear her mother talking to him, and over breakfast, Fair Sarah was elated.
    â€œLady Mary’s brew is working wonderfully!” she whispered to them while the young man slept. “His fever is down, and he’s in his own mind. I’m calling him Carver.”
    â€œAnd he’s talking, Sarah?” inquired the weaver before Maddie could ask the same question.
    â€œWell, no,” admitted his wife. “He’s back to his old tricks. But he drank his brew and a big mug of water when I asked him to.”
    Maddie hurried off to morning Mass and delivered Lady Mary’s breakfast. Then she hunted for eggs, took water to the reapers in the grain fields, and gathered sheep’s wool. The sheep were shedding their thick winter coats, rubbing the wool off on trees and stones. She filled two egg-shaped wicker baskets with wool and carried them back to the house. She laid more peat blocks on the fire and tiptoed over to the settle to check on Carver.
    The young man was pale and sweaty, buried under blankets, and his black hair was sticking to his temples. He caught a glimpse of her and quickly looked away. Then he turned and stared.
    â€œMadeleine!” he gasped.
    â€œIt’s Maddie,” she reminded him. The old hen with the bent comb was roosting on his blankets. She cackled loudly in protest when Maddie shooed her off.
    â€œMadeleine, what are you doing here?” he demanded in a whisper.
    â€œI live here,” she told him. “That was my ma you wouldn’t talk to this morning. Why won’t you talk to her? You talk to me.”
    The wood-carver glanced around the empty room, his eyes dull and tired. His face was leaner than before, and there were big black rings under his eyes. He looked like he was suffering, decided Maddie, probably because he was. He glanced back at her and made an effort to move his head closer to her.
    â€œWhat did I do?” he asked in a low voice. She looked puzzled. “To get here,” he explained urgently. “What did I do? You’ll have to tell me because I can’t remember.”
    â€œYou saved my life,” said Maddie, and she smiled at him. Perhaps she was no beauty, but her straight hair had russet highlights, and her brown eyes were soft and pretty. The young man gazed at her, and the suffering look on his face eased. But just for a short space of time. Then it was back.
    â€œFrom what?” he muttered. When she gave him a blank look, he gritted his teeth. “Saved you from what?” he insisted doggedly.
    Maddie told him about her narrow escape from the Water Horse and his leaving the castle to save her. Then she described the various searches they had organized and the town defenses against the beast. During the whole spirited rendition, the wood-carver stared up at the sooty, cobweb-hung ceiling, his face wearing no expression whatsoever.
    â€œSo it came here,” he murmured. “Straight to your house. You were the first person it wanted to kill.”
    Maddie watched him in silence for a minute, so full of questions that she didn’t know where to start. “Who are your people?” she wanted to know. But he didn’t