Emer had finished the job. ‘You’d best be off home now,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you out.’

By now the girl could read the signs. She knew when I’d had enough of her company, and went to get her cloak from the peg. Still upset about her runaway friend; her eyes were red. I couldn’t think of anything to say that would both comfort her and not be a lie, so I held my tongue.

‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn,’ Emer said, and was away down the path.

When she was gone, I went back in and shut the door. Made a brew; sat down at the table to drink it. The salve was for the fellow at Silverlake, the one who made the special cakes. It seemed he often had problems with his shoulders and wrists, no surprise with all that mixing. The baker hadn’t come to see me; he hadn’t called me to come over there. I’d got a message, brought by a boy, asking for the remedy. It went against my better judgement to provide it without taking a look at the patient. Chances were he needed not only the salve itself, but someone with strong and expert hands to massage it into his shoulders. And probably not just once, but often. Otherwise the pain would only keep getting worse. Men could be like that, thinking they were all better after one treatment and not bothering to keep it up. On the other hand, Silverlake was a fair way on foot, and I wasn’t over-eager to waste a day getting there and back. Especially when I hadn’t been asked to go. I set the salve on a shelf. If the man wanted it, let him come and fetch it.

Emer’s tale nagged at me as I made up the fire, swept the cottage floor, then went out into Dreamer’s Wood with my basket over my arm, looking for mushrooms. It stuck in my head like one of those tunes you hear once and then can’t forget even when you want to.