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moment and ran through the rhythms of Queen’s Herald in his head.
Drrr . . . drr-drrr . . .
    Crack!
Little-Marten sat up with a jerk as something thwhacked against the dead trunk of the Rowdy-Dow tree.
    â€˜Be you
awake
, Woodpecker?’
    â€˜Aye!’ Little-Marten looked down to see Maglin there, ready to hit the tree trunk with his spear again if necessary.
    â€˜Aye, you are now,’ said Maglin. ‘Sound Queen’s Herald, then, to mark her passing. ’Twill be the last time.’ The old warrior began to walk on.
    â€˜Maglin!’ Little-Marten somehow found the courage to call out. ‘Have ’ee . . . have ’ee spoken yet?’
    â€˜Spoken?’ Maglin turned to scowl up at him, shading his eyes against the bright light. His thinninghair looked greyer than ever in the winter sunshine, the creases on his face deeper and more numerous. ‘Spoken o’ what?’
    â€˜To Tadgemole. About . . . Henty.’
    â€˜Ah. The Tinkler maid. You’ve still a mind to wed, then? I said that I’d ask for ’ee, didn’t I, come the turn of the season, and if Tadgemole were still against it. As I take it he be.’
    â€˜Aye. He’ll have none o’ me.’
    â€˜Hm. And what of your own father? What does Fletcher Marten say?’
    â€˜He’ll not stand in our way.’
    â€˜Oh? And be those his words or your own?’
    Little-Marten said nothing.
    â€˜Well, I’ll tell ’ee this, Woodpecker. The day that an Ickri weds a Tinkler, then both’ll be wedded to trouble, that’s certain. Such a thing have never happened yet, and there’s good reason for it; the two don’t mix. Now there’s my say. But now that I be Steward ’tis also my say to grant leave or no. And if Tadgemole will agree to it, then I shall also. Though I think ’ee a pair o’ young fools, I can’t see it’ll bring hurt to any but yourselves. I’ve to speak with Tadgemole directly on other matters, and I’ll put in a word for ’ee. Now that’s all I can promise. To your work, then.’
    â€˜Aye. And . . . and thank ’ee, Maglin.’
    â€˜Hmf.’
    Maglin left Royal Clearing and followed the narrow woodland pathway that led down towards the caves.The dry rattle of the woodpecker sounded among the treetops, Little-Marten drumming out Queen’s Herald for the final time. The lad was too thin, thought Maglin, his wrists no thicker than the clavensticks that he wielded. Ah, but they were all too thin nowadays, lads and maids and stewards alike.
    What a cuckoo’s errand this was. He was astonished at himself for agreeing to do it. Still, there it was. He had been flattered that Little-Marten and the Tinkler maid had come to him and begged him to plead their cause, and obviously thought him so powerful and wise that he could successfully do so. He found that he had a soft spot for the Woodpecker, honest little fool that he was, and the maid seemed properly respectful. But to wed! An Ickri and a Tinkler! Such a thing was unheard of, and he was not surprised that the idea had been turned down. Yet what did these things matter, when all tribes were likely to perish?
    Maglin climbed awkwardly up the bank of loose shale that fronted the main cave. He waited for a moment until he had caught his breath, and then shouted, ‘Ho there! Are any of ’ee about?’
    He peered into the gloom. Now that he was here he felt foolish, and was in half a mind to turn on his heel without waiting for a response. The cave-dwellers were no friends of his – less so now than they had ever been – and he began to wonder what business he had being here at all. But then he saw movement at the back of the cave. A figure crept forward, some old Troggle-dame, bearing an armful of sticks by the seem of it.
    â€˜What do ’ee want?’
    â€˜I’ve come to talk with