‘Then maybe I’ll find you a better crossbow,’ Blessed said. ‘That one is fine for coneys but wouldn’t be much use against spotted cats or reavers wanting to rob you. I have one that swaps out wheels, so reloading is much faster. Carried it when I used to spend time up in the summer ranges. I’m too old for that now, so you’re welcome to make use of it.’

‘That’s a generous gift, Uncle.’

‘It isn’t a gift. I expect you to bring it back when you’re done.’

One day, while Pilgrim was unsaddling his mara after a ride along the lakeshore, a lodge hand came up and told him that he should hurry on over to the commons. It seemed that he had a couple of visitors. The hand shrugged when Pilgrim asked who they were. ‘Strangers. Didn’t catch their names.’

The visitors were sitting with Blessed on goat-hide cushions by the big stone fireplace in the commons. One was Intrepid Windrush, sleek and composed in a brightly patterned waistcoat and whipcord riding trews; the other a person Pilgrim didn’t recognise.

‘I’ve been learning about your friends’ work in the New Territories,’ Blessed said cheerfully. ‘Dash was telling me how he was a scout one time in the borderlands. We were trying to figure out if he ever met Bearbane.’

‘Stories grow large in the telling,’ the second visitor, Dash, said. ‘Even so, your grandfather sounds quite the character.’ He was a compact muscular blunt-muzzled person, a white stripe in his pelt running from his forehead across his scalp, dressed in canvas trews and a patchwork vest with rawhide lacing. He gazed at Pilgrim with calm self-possession.

‘I know Intrepid Windrush slightly, but this fellow I haven’t yet met,’ Pilgrim said, looking at his uncle.

‘Dash Crow,’ Intrepid Windrush said. ‘An invaluable companion and guide whenever I make a visit to the New Territories.’

‘At your service,’ Dash Crow said to Pilgrim with a lazy smile.

‘Your guide seems to have led you somewhat south of your destination,’ Pilgrim said to Intrepid.

‘We thought we’d break our journey to bring you the latest good news.’

‘They’ve been telling me about the preacher who’s stirring things up on the west coast,’ Blessed said.

A tray of tea and small eats was set on the floor by the cushions. Blessed clearly believed that Intrepid and this smiling stranger, Dash Crow, were friends and colleagues of his nephew, and was treating them to the appropriate degree of hospitality.

‘I should talk to Intrepid alone for a moment,’ Pilgrim told his uncle, and once outside, on the porch, he let his anger show. Aiming his cane at the charlatan, telling him that he might admire his persistence if it wasn’t so pointlessly intrusive.