“The curse of civilized man,” said Taleswapper. “When a man can’t get folks to believe his lies anymore, then he hires him a professional to lie in his place.”

They laughed together over that one, setting there on two stout stumps just inside the door of the forge, the fire smoldering in its brick chimney place behind them, the sun shining on half-melted snow outside. A redbird flew across the grassy, trampled, dunged-up ground in front of the forge. It dazzled Taleswappees eyes for a moment, it was such a startlement against the whites and greys and browns of late winter.

In that moment of amazement at the redbird’s flight, Taleswapper knew for certain, though he couldn’t say why, that it would be a while yet before the Unmaker let young Alvin come to this place. And when he came he’d be like a redbird out of season, to dazzle folks all hereabouts, them thinking he was just as natural as a bird flying, not knowing what a miracle it was every minute that the bird stayed in the air.

Taleswapper shook himself, and the moment’s clear vision passed. “Then it’s done, and I’ll write to them to send the boy.”

“I’ll look for him the first of April. No later!”

“Unless you expect the boy to control the weather, you’d best be flexible about the date.”

The smith grumbled and waved him away. All in all, a successful meeting. Taleswapper left feeling good—he had discharged his duty. It’d be easy to send a letter with a westbound wagon—several groups passed through the town of Hatrack every week.

Though it had been a long time since he passed through this place, he still knew the way from the forge to the inn. It was a well-traveled road, and not a long one. The inn was much larger now than it had been, and there were several shops a bit farther up the road. An outfitter, a saddler, a cobbler. The kind of service traveling folk could use.

He hardly set foot on the porch when the door opened and Old Peg Guester came out, her arms spread wide to embrace him. “Ah, Taleswapper, you’ve been away too long, come in, come in!”

“It’s good to see you again, Peg,” he said.

Horace Guester growled at him from behind the bar in the common room, where he was serving several thirsty visitors. “What I don’t need here is another teetotaling man!”

“Good news, then, Horace,” Taleswapper answered cheerfully. “I gave up tea as well.”

“What, do you drink water?”

“Water and the blood of greasy old men,” said Taleswapper.

Horace gestured to his wife. “You keep that man away from me, Old Peg, you hear?”

Old Peg helped him strip off a few layers of clothing. “Look at you,” said Old Peg, sizing him up. “There ain’t enough meat on you to make a stew.”

“The bears and panthers pass me by in the night, looking for richer fare,” said Taleswapper.