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dozed again, until her bladder woke her up. Oh, well, at least at this time of the morning she’d have a clear run.
    She reached out for her pack and stepped as softly as she could out into the rain.
    It was mostly just coming off the trees now, which were roaring in the wind that blew up the valley. The moon was hidden in the clouds, but there was just enough light to make out the inn’s buildings. A certain grayness suggested that what passed for dawn in Plün was on the way.
    She located the men’s privy, which, indeed, stank of inaccuracy.
    A lot of planning and practice had gone into this moment. She was helped by the design of her breeches, which were the old-fashioned kind with generous, buttoned trapdoors, and also by the experiments she’d made very early in the mornings when she was doing the cleaning. In short, with care and attention to detail, she’d found that a woman could pee standing up. It certainly worked back home in the inn’s privy, which had been designed and built with the certain expectation of the aimlessness of the customers.
    The wind shook the dank building.
    In the dark, she thought of Aunty Hattie, who’d gone a bit strange around her sixtieth birthday and persistently accused passing young men of looking up her dress. She was even worse after a glass of wine, and she had one joke: “What does a man stand up to do, a woman sit down to do, and a dog lift its leg to do?” And then, when everyone was too embarrassed to answer, she’d triumphantly shriek “Shake hands!” and fall over. Aunty Hattie was an Abomination all by herself.
    Polly buttoned up the breeches with a sense of exhilaration. She felt she’d crossed a bridge, a sensation that was helped by the realization that she’d kept her feet dry.
    Someone said, “Psst!”
    It was just as well she’d already taken a leak. Panic instantly squeezed every muscle. Where were they hiding? This was just a rotten old shed! Oh, there were a few cubicles, but the smell alone suggested very strongly that the woods outside would be a much better proposition. Even on a wild night. Even with extra wolves.
    “Yes?” she quavered, and then cleared her throat and demanded, with a little more gruffness: “Yes?”
    “You’d need these,” whispered the voice. In the fetid gloom, she made out something rising over the top of the cubicle. She reached up nervously and touched softness. It was a bundle of wool. Her fingers explored it.
    “A pair of socks? ” she said.
    “Right. Wear ’em,” said the mystery voice hoarsely.
    “Thank you, but I’ve brought several pairs—” Polly began.
    There was a faint sigh. “No. Not on your feet. Shove ’em down the front of your trousers.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Look,” said the whisperer patiently, “you don’t bulge where you shouldn’t bulge. That’s good. But you don’t bulge where you should bulge, either. You know? Lower down?”
    “Oh! Er…I…but…I didn’t think people noticed…” said Polly, glowing with embarrassment. She had been spotted! But there was no hue and cry, no angry quotations from the Book of Nuggan. Someone was helping. Someone who had seen her…
    “It’s a funny thing,” said the voice, “but they notice what’s missing more than they notice what’s there. Just one pair, mark you. Don’t get ambitious.”
    Polly hesitated.
    “Um…is it obvious?” she said.
    “No. That’s why I gave you the socks.”
    “I meant that…that I’m not…that I’m…”
    “Not really,” said the voice in the dark. “You’re prettygood. You come over as a frightened young lad trying to look big and brave. You might pick your nose a bit more often. Just a tip. Few things interest a young man more than the contents of his nostrils. Now I’ve got a favor to ask you in return.”
    I didn’t ask you for one, Polly thought, quite annoyed at being taken for being a frightened young lad when she was sure she’d come over as quite a cool, non-ruffled young lad.