Ark to do, so I stopped and said, “I have just one question to
ask before I go.”
Goodwife Filster’s face knotted up in a way that
reminded me of the Wylmeens’ dog, but she didn’t say
anything, so I quickly got out my papers and pen and got
ready to write down her answer. When she looked like she
was going to yell at me, I asked my question, which was,
“Do you think the gods did the right thing when they struck
down Istar so that the balance of the world was preserved
and freedom of thought, will, and action was granted to all
once more?” I’m not sure I asked the question exactly as
you wanted Ark to, and I borrowed some of your phrases
from your letter to get it right, but I figured I was close
enough and didn’t think it would hurt.
On the other hand, maybe I didn’t ask the question
properly after all, since Goodwife Filster called me a name
that meant that my real parents weren’t married, which for
all I know they weren’t, but that wasn’t any business of hers,
and then she came at me with a bread knife, so I ran outside
and down the street and was cold and hungry again before I
knew it.
As I was standing outside her shop with my arms
crossed under my robes because it was too cold to write
this down yet, a fisherman came up to go into the bakery,
and I said, “It’s not open yet,” because I’d never known
Goodwife Filster to lie, even if she once said that all elves
carried diseases and kidnapped children, which I don’t think
they do, or at least not all of them, or at least not the ones I
know. Anyway, the fisherman said, “Oh,” and left.
Then the Moviken kids came up, and I said, “It’s not
open yet,” so they made faces at the bakery window and
left. Then the spinster sisters Anwen and Naevistin Noff
came up, and I said, “It’s not open yet,” and they groaned
and left.
Then Goodwife Filster came out, wiping her hands on a
towel, and she looked around and frowned at me, and I
said, “Are you open yet?”
And she made a snorting noise through her nose and
said, “When Istar rises, you damn kender,” then went back
inside to bake some more.
Then Woose, the dwarf, came by and said, “Morning,
Walnut,” and I said, “Morning, Woose. The bakery’s not
open yet.”
Woose peered at the bakery door and scratched his
beard and said, “That’s funny. She’s usually open at this
hour,” and then he left. Woose isn’t a human, but he has lots
of steel coins from his mining business, and maybe Good-
wife Filster forgives him for not being human on account of
that.
Five more people came by whose names I’ve forgotten,
and they left, and then Goodwife Filster came out and
mumbled to herself and looked around and glared at me
and said, “What did you tell those last two people who
were here just now?”
And I said, “That you weren’t open yet,” and she got a
look on her face that reminded me of the Wylmeens’ dog
when it bit me on the finger, and she called me a name that
meant I liked my mother more than normal people were
meant to, which was silly because I don’t even remember
my mother, and Goodwife Filster grabbed me by my robes
and brought me here to the magistrate to be hanged.
We had to wait until Jarvis, the magistrate, could get
out of bed and find his spectacles, and he was as tall and
thin as ever, and his black hair was all messed up from
sleeping on it. He combed out his hair and big moustache,
then looked at me and said, “You again?” and looked sad,
probably on account of this being the fifth time this year he
would have to throw me in jail for being a public nuisance,
which Jarvis says is really just a way to let everyone cool
off and forget whatever I had done so they wouldn’t tie me