He was nearly done with the shelling when Moira came out of the kitchen and saw him working.
“Why thank you, Sparrow,” she said in genuine pleasure. “That is well done indeed.”
Once it would have thrilled Wiz to hear her praise him like that. But that time was past. “Pretty good for someone who’s worthless, huh?”
Moira sobered. “I’m sorry, Wiz. I should not have said that.”
“Meaning it’s all right to think it, but not to say it.”
“It isn’t right to hurt another person needlessly,” she said earnestly. “I spoke in anger and loss. I hope you will forgive me.”
The way she said it hurt Wiz even more. She was sincerely sorry, he realized, but she was sorry for hurting his feelings, not for the thought. She was a queen, graciously asking pardon of one of her subjects.
“You know I can’t refuse you anything, Moira.”
Moira closed her eyes and sighed. “I know, Wiz. And I’m sorry.”
“Well, that’s the way it is. Anyway, here are your beans.”
Wordlessly Moira took the basket of shelled beans and went back into the kitchen.
That day in the garden was a turning point for Wiz. From then on he largely took over the job of harvesting the rapidly ripening crops. He spent several hours a day working outdoors while Moira divided her time between the kitchen, pantry and stillroom. Most of the time Wiz picked without supervision, although Moira occasionally came out to instruct him in the finer points of gathering herbs and some of the more delicate vegetables.
A few times he went out into the Wild Wood with Ugo to gather fruits and berries. There were several ancient orchards in the quiet zone, their trees long unpruned and loaded with apples, pears and other fruits. The sight of the trees, so obviously planted and long unattended, made Wiz sad. He wondered if some long-ago Lothar had planted those saplings, full of hope for the future.
Ugo forbade Wiz to gather more than half the fruit on any tree. “Leave for forest folk,” he admonished. Still they brought back basket upon basket of crisp pears and small flavorful apples which Moira set about processing in the kitchen or storing in the cellars.
Three of the four “cellars” were not under the keep or hall at all. They were root cellars, small underground rooms a few steps from the kitchen door. One day Moira asked Wiz to help her move several barrels of apples packed in oak leaves from the kitchen out to the furthest cellar.
Huffing and puffing, they tilted the heavy barrels and rolled them out to the place where they would be stored. It took both of them to carry each barrel down the steps into the cool twilight of the root cellar.
“Whoo!” Wiz gasped, standing upright after the last of the barrels had been shifted into place. “I wonder how they did this before we got here?”
“Ugo doubtless did it,” panted Moira. “Wood goblins are stronger than they look and they can be very ingenious when needs be.”
“Do you think we’ve got enough food here for the winter?”
Moira ran a practiced housewife’s eye over the cellar. “That and then some, if I am any judge. It is the flour, salt and other staples that are the concern. The Mighty bring those to Heart’s Ease over the Wizard’s Way and they have not increased the supply since we came.”
“Why not?”
“First because the Wizard’s Way was chancy when the Dark League was in full cry for us. Secondly, because they dared not increase the amount of supplies brought through lest it reveal to the League that there are extra mouths here.”
Moira looked around the cellar again and breathed deeply to take in the scent of the apples and other good things stored in the earth. Then she sighed.
“Penny,” Wiz said.
“What?”
“A penny for your thoughts. I was wondering what you were thinking.”
“What I was thinking was none of your concern, Sparrow,” Moira said coldly. “And if you are through prying into my private thoughts, we still have work to do. Come!”
“No, I don’t think I am done,” Wiz said slowly. He moved in to block her way out. “There’s still something I want to know and I think you owe it to me to tell me.”