“What’s the matter, Emer?” said the curer, turning his thin face and strange eyes to her.
“Oh, it’s no good, I know it’s no good. Nothing’s any good with a drunkard,” she said. She wiped her eyes with her apron. “Was that what broke you,” she said, “the drink?”
“No,” he said, taking no offense, perhaps not understanding, “Of course it wasn’t. I beg your pardon,” she said.
“Maybe he drinks to try to be another man,” he said. “To alter, to change…”
“He drinks because he drinks,” she said. “With some, that’s all it is. I’ll be in the dairy, now. I’ll lock the house door. There’s… there’s been strangers about. You rest yourself. It’s bitter out.” She wanted to be sure that he stayed indoors out of harm’s way, and that nobody came harassing him. Later on she would go into the village, have a word with some of the sensible people, and put a stop to this rubbishy talk, if she could.
When she did so, Alder’s wife Tawny and several other people agreed with her that a squabble between sorcerers over work was nothing new and nothing to take on about. But San and his wife and the tavern crew wouldn’t let it rest, it being the only thing of interest to talk about for the rest of the winter, except the cattle dying. “Besides,” Tawny said, “my man’s never averse to paying copper where he thought he might have to pay ivory.” “Are the cattle he touched keeping afoot, then?” “So far as we can see, they are. And no new sickenings.” “He’s a true sorcerer, Tawny,” Gift said, very earnest. “I know it.” “That’s the trouble, love,” said Tawny. “And you know it! This is no place for a man like that. Whoever he is, is none of our business, but why did he come here, is what you have to ask.” “To cure the beasts,” Gift said.
Sunbright had not been gone three days when a new stranger appeared in town: a man riding up the south road on a good horse and asking at the tavern for lodging. They sent him to Sans house, but San’s wife screeched when she heard there was a stranger at the door, crying that if San let another witch-man in the door her baby would be born dead twice over. Her screaming could be heard for several houses up and down the street, and a crowd, that is, ten or eleven people, gathered between Sans house and the tavern.
“Well, that won’t do,” said the stranger pleasantly. “I can’t be bringing on a birth untimely. Is there maybe a room above the tavern?”
“Send him on out to the dairy,” said one of Alder’s cowboys. “Gift’s taking whatever comes.” There was some sniggering and shushing.
“Back that way,” said the taverner.
“Thanks,” said the traveler, and led his horse along the way they pointed.
“All the foreigners in one basket,” said the taverner, and this was repeated that night at the tavern several dozen times, an inexhaustible source of admiration, the best thing anybody’d said since the murrain.
Gift was in the dairy, having finished the evening milking. She was straining the milk and setting out the pans. “Mistress,” said a voice at the door, and she thought it was the curer and said, “Just a minute while I finish this,” and then turning saw a stranger and nearly dropped the pan. “Oh, you startled me!” she said. “What can I do for you, then?”
“I’m looking for a bed for the night.”
“No, I’m sorry, there’s my lodger, and my brother, and me. Maybe San, in the village-“
“They sent me here. They said, “All the foreigners in one basket.”” The stranger was in his thirties, with a blunt face and a pleasant look, dressed plain, though the cob that stood behind him was a good horse. “Put me up in the cow barn, mistress, it’ll do fine. It’s my horse needs a good bed; he’s tired. I’ll sleep in the barn and be off in the morning. Cows are a pleasure to sleep with on a cold night. I’ll be glad to pay you, mistress, if two coppers would suit, and my name’s Hawk.”