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torrents down his face. What he would have given for fresh clothes. A bright red tomato hanging down in front of him beckoned. He plucked it and ate it like a peach, the seeds and juices dribbling down his chin. Best tomato he’d ever eaten. The oak door swung open.
    â€œNO EATING FROM THE GARDEN!”
    â€œAll right! All right!”
    â€œCan I make you some tea, dear?”
    â€œCan you make it iced?”
    â€œIced? Where would I get ice?”
    â€œRegular tea is fine, then.”
    The sun ticktocked over the forest as he toiled, nervously scanning for dogfaces every few minutes from the demon garden. They were still out there. Maybe they were still hunting him.
    At last, he yanked out the final nasty little shit weed and piled all of them in a compost heap outside the fence. The garden was lovely now, and the cottage door swung open once again. The old woman stood next to Ben, her hands clasped over her tummy. She looked delighted.
    â€œThis is magnificent. It looks better than it has in years!” She took his arm. “Come inside. I have some things for you.”
    She led him inside the cottage. It was just a single room, with a wood stove over in the corner and a bed of hay on the other side. In the center was a heavy wooden table laid out with fresh pies and jams and piping hot loaves of crusty bread and big hunks of hard cheese that looked like cliff faces. In the center of the table was a trivet, on top of which rested a bubbling pot of beef stew. The old woman went over to the table and poured him a cup of hot tea.
    â€œCome eat.”
    He sat down and began eating everything immediately. His appetite had no attention span of any kind: a little bit of stew, then a roll, then a slice of pie, then more stew, then a hunk of cheese and a sip of tea. Even if the food was all poisoned and the old lady was just waiting to skin his face off, it was all very real and very tasty. Within five minutes, he was full and bursting.
    â€œHow was it?”
    â€œExcellent. Thank you, ma’am.” He stared at her for longer than was comfortable. “Do I know you?” he asked.
    â€œWell, you do now!”
    â€œNo, but I mean from before. Have we ever met?”
    â€œOh, I doubt that. Now, I didn’t forget my promise to you.” She took a small leather pouch out of her apron pocket and slid it toward him. He peered inside and saw three hard brown seeds. “You’re a good, hardworking lad, and you’ve done well today,” she said. “Those seeds will get you to Courtshire.”
    He pulsed with anger. “How is that?”
    â€œThe first one you throw down on the ground will become an iron tower. The second, a wolf. And the third, a wall of flame.”
    â€œAre you kidding me? I just worked in your stupid yard for five hours.”
    â€œTake the seeds. But please note: They’ll only grow at the exact moment you need them.”
    Ben had to restrain himself from throttling her. He pressed down on his fury like a spring and wedged it into the corner of his psyche as best he could. He prayed that his unhinged mind was giving him a series of clues: a way out of his own lunacy.
    He grabbed the seeds, silently fuming at the old crone.
    â€œYou won’t reach Courtshire until nightfall,” she said. “Take some of my food. I don’t have clothes for a boy your size, but I can feed you well enough.” She filled up a bunch of porcelain jars with stew and jam, then grabbed the backpack from off his shoulder and stuffed them in, along with some loaves of bread and pieces of cheese. She also snuck in the cheese knife, in case he needed something sharp. Again, everything fit. When she gave the backpack back to him, it felt as light as when it had been nearly empty.
    â€œAre you really not coming with me?” he asked.
    â€œI told you I would help get you to Courtshire, and I have. I’m certain of it.”
    â€œWhere am I? Just tell me,