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came out in lumps, but her weaving and stitching were not much better, so she knew, when Tamen stopped by her loom, that it would not be to praise her work.
    The Guardian stared down her long nose at the misshapen cloth. ‘It’s lucky we’re not relying on you to keep us in warm garments, Calwyn. There’s a hole here I could put my finger through.’
    Gilly, who was sitting beside her with a lapful of mending, tittered, then hastily lifted her own work to her face and pretended she hadn’t heard.
    Tamen paid her no attention. ‘No matter. I have another task for you, if you are willing. I should like you to visit the Outlander in the infirmary and speak with him.’
    ‘Gladly!’ Calwyn pushed back her stool with relief.
    Tamen drew her aside, out of hearing of the others. ‘Ursca tells me that he trusts you more than anyone. I would like you to watch him. Talk to him, find out if he has another purpose here, if he has come to spy for Merithuros, or another land. Can you do that?’
    ‘If you wish, my Sister,’ said Calwyn, taken aback. ‘You don’t believe his story, then?’
    Tamen snorted. ‘Only a child would believe such a fantastical tale. He must take us for fools, or else he is truly mad. See what you can discover.’
    The Outlander did not seem particularly surprised, nor pleased, to see her. He was out of bed, and the bandage on his head had been reduced to a thin strip of linen, but he was still shut inside the tiny cell at the end of the infirmary, his broken foot propped on a stool. Outside, the rain was coming down in silver sheets onto Ursca’s garden; he stared dourly at the falling water, as though it were the cause of all his troubles.
    ‘You gave them my message, then,’ he said, by way of greeting. ‘I have had a visit from your High Priestess, and the other one – the Guardian. At least they gave me that courtesy, though not the courtesy of believing what I had to say.’
    ‘I think Marna believes you,’ said Calwyn. ‘Tamen –’ She hesitated. ‘Tamen has a sceptical mind.’
    He shrugged impatiently. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m finished in any case.’ He gestured toward his injured foot. ‘I am a wounded duck that’s fallen into the swamp. All that remains is for the hunter’s dogs to find me and rip me to pieces.’
    ‘They don’t teach courage in the Outlands, then,’ said Calwyn tartly. ‘Your foot is hurt, but not your tongue. Instead of complaining that you can’t run, why not stand and fight?’
    ‘Fight him ? With chantment?’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘What a fine idea. I should never have thought of that.’
    Calwyn was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘One of the gardeners here was born with a crooked foot, and one leg a whole handspan shorter than the other. He has built himself a shoe with a thick sole, and he carves walking sticks that are marvellous to see.’
    ‘What a clever fellow,’ said Darrow acidly.
    Slowly she said, ‘Perhaps it’s easier for him to bear, since he’s had his whole life to grow used to the idea. Perhaps if it had come upon him suddenly, like this, he would have been as angry and unhappy as you.’
    The stranger’s face became still. Only his grey eyes flickered as he stared out at the rain; the whisper of its falling filled the tiny room. He was bitter indeed, but she liked his bitterness; he was different from anyone she had ever known.
    At last she ventured, ‘Perhaps it’s better to be angry and unhappy than to be mad.’
    Darrow’s mouth twisted in a smile. ‘Is it? I wonder.’
    After that they did not speak for a long time. Calwyn drew up another stool, and he did not tell her to go away. So they sat together and listened to the music of the rain.
    The next time, she brought him one of Tuw’s sticks, and he sat, turning it over in his hands.
    ‘I know you’re not ready to use it yet. But I thought, if you had it waiting, it would be easier.’
    ‘It is a fine piece of work. I had some skill in carving,