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Seven Chimneys," said the woman in green, as if addressing an assembly rather than just Karigan.
    Karigan counted the chimneys and came up with nine, not seven.
    "It was built by our father long ago," the woman continued. "Come." She extended her hand. A fine tracery of veins like rivers on a map looped around her thin wrist and across the back of her hand. "Our servants will see to your friend, the horse."
    No servants appeared, but The Horse walked toward the stable as obediently as if led. The two old ladies certainly were peculiar, but they didn't seem threatening, and so she followed them into the house.
    The floors were a light stained oak, and the walls were papered with intricate, flowery designs. Rich hangings, anonymous portraits of men and women garbed in armor or fancy dress, and hand-braided carpets adorned each room they passed through, all miraculously unfaded by time or sunlight.
    Heavy furnishings were intricately carved, not a surface left untouched. One such chair in the corridor had a back carved in the likeness of a tree, its armrests and legs all leaves and sinuous, winding branches and roots. A red velvet cushion covered the seat.
    Cheerful fires glowed in each fieldstone hearth they passed, and Karigan's damp chill began to be replaced by warmth.
    "Letitia has set a bath for you, child," the plump lady said. "She will be none too happy about the mud you've let in, but don't let her annoy you. If she couldn't complain, she wouldn't enjoy life at all. Isn't that right, Miss Bay-berry?"
    "Indeed. Mud season is the bane of her life, poor dear, and sends her into a snit every year. We endure, however. It is impossible to find good help out here." Miss Bayberry paused in front of a door and took a deep breath. "Well, then, child, we shall lend you a nightgown and robe after your bath. Letitia will see to the cleaning of your clothes."
    They led her into a stone-flagged room where yet another hearth merrily crackled with fire. A solitary window looked out into the garden. Sunlight filtered through its upper pane, which was stained in the deep hues of wild blueberries and cast liquid splashes of blues and greens on the slate floor.
    Plumes of steam rose from a brass hip bath in the center of the room. It wasn't what Karigan was used to, with Selium's porcelain tubs and piped water, but in her present state, the hip bath looked heavenly.
    Miss Bayberry pointed her cane at the tub. "Take your time, child. Relax—you look thoroughly done in."
    The two left, pulling the door shut behind them. The voice of the plump one drifted back to Karigan from somewhere down the corridor: "I think our etiquette has improved over the years, dear sister."
    The other made a muffled agreement.
    Karigan disrobed, untidily dropping her clothes on the floor. A bucket of cold water and a dipper stood next to the tub. She ladled enough cold water into the bath to make it bearable, but it was still shockingly hot as she submerged.
    Sprigs of mint floated on the water, the scent soothing and relaxing her. Her body quickly adapted to the heat, and her taut muscles loosened. Before she became too languid, she set about cleaning several days' accumulation of grit from herself. Her long hair wasn't easily managed, but she struggled with it till it was clean and fully rinsed.
    She sighed blissfully and eventually dozed off. When she awakened, the bath water was still comfortably warm, and sunshine still glimmered through the window as before. Yet, she couldn't help but think hours had passed.
    Her clothes had disappeared, but the promised nightgown and robe hung from pegs on the wall, a comb placed on a side table, and a pair of soft suede slippers were on the floor below.
    They do think of everything.
    When she was dry, robed, and her long hair was combed out, the pleasant smell of mint lingered on her skin and hair. As if on cue, Miss Bayberry tapped on the door.
    "Child, are you prepared for tea?"
    Karigan cracked the door open and smiled.