Pattern

'You're up, then.' Rannwey was in charge of catering today. Usually it was Elja's job, but she wasn't there, of course, and wouldn't be back for days. 'We let you sleep in, you were dead beat when you got home last night.'

'Thanks,' Poldarn muttered, wondering how they'd managed to wake up before he did; that was supposed to be impossible, wasn't it? Well, maybe things had changed, either because half the household was away or for some other reason nobody had seen fit to tell him about. Better that way, needless to say. He was pretty sure he wasn't really a morning person at the best of times.

'You sit down,' Rannwey continued briskly, not looking at him. She never looked at him; always over his head or just past his shoulder, as if he wasn't there. 'Porridge and leeks again,' she added. 'Same as usual.'

He nodded. 'We're going to have to do something about that,' he said. 'We can't go on eating that muck for ever.'

Rannwey looked at him. 'Why not?' she said. 'It's good, wholesome food. Also, it's all we've got.'

'Yes, I know. But we must be able to get something different from somewhere. Trade for it with another house, something like that.'

'Really? Where? You don't suppose anybody else is going to be any better off, do you? Worse off, most of 'em, I shouldn't wonder. You want to count your blessings, before you go turning your nose up at good food.'

Well, that was him told; so he sat down and tried to look hungry. He wasn't. Thirsty, yes, but he had no appetite for food just then. But he got porridge and leeks anyway, and did his best to eat it. When breakfast was finally over, he jumped up and headed outside.

The red glow over the mountain was as bright as ever, and there had been a light sprinkling of black ash; nothing to worry about, though, just a slight film of dust, such as you'd find in a neglected house. The good news was that the fire-stream hadn't moved at all in their direction, and where it had been glowing red the last time he'd seen it from down in the valley, now it was just a black smudge on the mountainside. Beyond the mountain, over its shoulder, so to speak, Poldarn could see a column of black smoke rising straight up into the air-no wind to speak of, which was good, since it meant there wasn't anything to blow ash out their way. Nobody else was looking at the mountain, he noticed. That job was over and done with, evidently, as far as they were concerned.

Well, that was good too. Everybody was extremely busy, naturally enough-with half the household absent, everyone had at least two jobs to do. Almost everyone. However busy and rushed off their feet they might be, they didn't appear to need Poldarn's help with anything. It was all right, they assured him, they could manage just fine, nothing needed doing that they weren't able to handle, or that couldn't wait. He must have far more important things to do than scrape down yards or chop firewood, and they wouldn't dream of keeping him from them.

After spending the whole morning unsuccessfully touting for work-this must be what it was like for Boarci, he realised-Poldarn took a brush-hook and a small axe, and set off to cut back the greenery that was sprouting up all round the bridge over the river. It wasn't really a job that needed doing, the vegetation wasn't nearly tall or thick enough to clog the flow of the river or anything like that, but it was something that would have to be done sooner or later. He arrived only to find that Reed, Carey's eldest boy, had got there first and nearly finished one whole side. He sighed, and trudged back to the house.

'There you are.' Poldarn recognised the face of the man who'd spoken to him but couldn't put a name to it. 'They said you were around the place somewhere-I've been looking all over for you. Got a minute?'

Did he have a minute? Yes, he probably did. 'Excuse me,' he said, 'but who are you?'

The man looked confused, then laughed. 'Of course,' he said, 'they did tell me about your memory loss but I'd forgotten. My name's Hart. From Hartsriver, over the south ridge. Actually, I don't think I've seen you since you got back. You stayed over my place one summer, just before you went off.'

'Ah,' Poldarn said, 'I thought I recognised you. Anyway, what can I do for you?'

Hart was looking at him oddly, but he knew what that meant; it was that bemused look they gave him when they first realised they couldn't read his mind. He was used to that by now, of course. No need to say anything. They generally got the message soon enough.

'Really,' Hart said, 'it's more what I can do for you, though actually you'd be doing me a favour as well. Truth is, I was on my way to Eylphsness with twenty-six barrels of salt beef when the wheel came off my cart, just by your southern boundary there. I was wondering if you could run me up a new linchpin and weld my tyre.'

Poldarn frowned. 'Sure,' he said. 'At least, I think I should be able to. Or you can use our forge, if you prefer. I'm still rather new to blacksmith work, you see.'

Hart laughed. 'Well, you're better at it than me, that's for sure. My brother's the smith in our house. Anything you can do will be fine, I'm sure. Also,' he went on, 'how would you feel about a trade? You see, I owe Eylph fifteen barrels of beef, and I was going to trade him the some other stuff we need-hay and oats, mostly, and some apples if he'd got any. But like I said, what I mostly need is hay and oats. Since I'm here-'

'I'm sure we can work something out,' Poldarn said smoothly, trying not to show his emotions. 'All our stock's away at the moment,' he went on, 'till the mountain's stopped playing up, you understand. So we've got plenty of hay in hand, and oats-' He smiled. 'Oats won't be a problem. Can't help you with apples, I'm afraid, but if you could use a few leeks-'

Hart thought for a moment. 'So happens I could,' he said. 'Bloody ash wiped out half our crop. Yes, that sounds like a good deal as far as I'm concerned. And it'll save me trying to haul my stuff all the way to Eylphsness on a dodgy axle. I could take the fifteen barrels of beef up there, and then stop off for the hay and the rest of the stuff on my way back.'

Hart was a big man, very straight-backed and with broad shoulders, his hair thinning on top but compensated for by a dense bush of grey fur under the chin and swarming up both cheeks. He had the biggest hands Poldarn could remember having seen, and a pair of very watery pale blue eyes. 'Sounds ideal,' Poldarn said. 'In fact, if you like you can take one of our carts over to wherever it is you're going, and we can have yours spruced up and properly fixed by the time you get back.'

Hart seemed to think that was an excellent idea. 'All I need is a little two-wheeler trap,' he said. 'Tell you what; we can use it to run your barrels back here, along with my busted wheel; then once we've unloaded I'll run the trap over to Eylph's. How does that sound?'

It sounded just fine when compared with the alternative (mooching around the farm all day with nothing to do) so Poldarn smiled brightly and led the way to the trap-house. Disconcertingly, the ostlers had already backed the steady grey gelding into the shafts. He thought about that, and came to the conclusion that they must have seen it in Hart's mind, and taken his agreement for granted.

The trap badly needed new springs and a new axle; every bump and dip in the ground shot them out of their seats straight up in the air. 'It won't be so bad coming back,' Hart pointed out, 'the barrels'll weight it down a bit, damp most of this out. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the big chunks of ash still lying around.'

Two bone-rattling hours later, they reached Hart's derelict wagon. The wheel looked to be quite some way past repair. Five spokes were cracked, the tyre was nearly worn through in two places as well as being buckled, and the hub was three parts split. 'Don't worry about it,' Poldarn sighed. 'We can make you a whole new one. Horn down at the Colsceg house is a pretty fair wheelwright, and I can probably find a tyre to fit in the scrap-there's a whole bunch of 'em, hardly worn.'