He looked down at himself. The Trainee uniform was serviceable enough, but it had its share of places where it had been mended, and none of the others in his possession were much better. When he looked back up again, Herald Caelen was chewing his lip.

“Let me see what I can come up with,” he replied, and then smiled. “I think I have an idea.”

By this time it was well into the dinner hour; Mags went down to the kitchen to get something, not feeling much like eating in the dining hall. Paradoxically, it was very crowded, which might have made no sense until you realized that with the Trainees out of the way, workmen had been pulled in from all over Haven to help on the three Collegia, and part of the benefit of working over Midwinter holiday was being fed from the Palace. The food was no longer the same utilitarian fare of previous months. These workmen and -women were being treated very well to compensate for losing part of their holiday. Breakfast had meats and eggs as well as the usual bread and butter and porridge with various things that could be added to it. Luncheon was meat pies and sausage rolls, or cold sliced meat, cheese, and lots of bread and pickles and onions—the ideal sort of thing for workmen in a hurry. Dinner was generally roasts and hams—something that only happened once a week or so when the Collegia were in session—which then went to serve as the next day’s luncheon. The kitchen fixed him up with a heaping plate that they put in a kind of shallow bucket with a lid on it to keep the heat in. This contrivance served very well indeed; his dinner was still piping hot when he got down to the stable.

Instead of taking it to his room, he made himself a little table and chair of a couple of bales of straw in Dallen’s stall, and fell to. :Wotcher think?: he asked Dallen.

:I agree with Caelen. I think you should go. I think it is time that you experienced “fun” for yourself.:

Mags stopped with the bite on his fork halfway to his mouth. He put it down. :Wotcher mean?: he asked cautiously.

:I mean . . . you should be with people, and in a place, where you are, for once, doing something only for the pleasure of it. You did a bit of that today, going with me down to the Midwinter Market, but I would like it if you could do more of that.: Dallen nosed his hair affectionately. :You are an awfully solemn fellow. Do you know, I have never heard you laugh?:

Suddenly he felt strangely sad. :Ain’t had much reason to,: he responded gruffly.