“People will appreciate my ale more when they’ve had to drink Shiring ale for a few weeks,” Leaf said complacently.

Her unconcern drove Dreng wild. “And this isn’t the first time!” he raved. “You’ve burned the brewhouse down twice. Last time you passed out dead drunk and nearly burned yourself to death.”

Edgar had a brainstorm. He said: “You should build a stone brewhouse.”

“Don’t be daft,” Dreng said without looking at him. “You don’t put up a palace to make ale in.”

Cuthbert, the portly jeweler, was in the crowd, and Edgar now noticed that he was shaking his head in disagreement with Dreng. Edgar said: “What do you think, Cuthbert?”

“Edgar’s right,” Cuthbert said. “This will be the third time in five years that you’ve rebuilt the brewhouse, Dreng. A stone building would withstand storms and wouldn’t burn down. You’d save money in the long run.”

Dreng said scornfully: “Who’s going to build it, Cuthbert? You?”

“No, I’m a jeweler.”

“We can’t make ale in a brooch.”

Edgar knew the answer. “I can build it.”

Dreng gave a scornful grunt. “What do you know about building in stone?”

Edgar knew nothing about building in stone, but he felt he could turn his hand to just about any type of construction. And he yearned for the opportunity to show what he could do. Displaying more confidence than he felt, he said: “Stone is just like wood, only a bit harder.”

Dreng’s default position was scorn, but now he hesitated. His gaze flickered to the riverside and the sturdy moneymaking ferryboat tied up there. He turned to Cuthbert. “What would that cost?”

Edgar felt hopeful. Pa had always said: “When the man asks the price, he’s halfway to buying the boat.”

Cuthbert thought for a moment, then said: “Last time repairs were done to the church, the stone came from the limestone quarry at Outhenham.”

Edgar said: “Where’s that?”

“A day’s journey upriver.”

“Where did you get the sand?”

“There’s a sandpit in the woods about a mile from here. You just have to dig it up and carry it.”

“And the lime for the mortar?”

“That’s difficult to make, so we bought ours in Shiring.”

Dreng repeated: “What would it cost?”

Cuthbert said: “The standard rough stones cost a penny each at the quarry, if I remember rightly, and they charged us a penny per stone for delivery.”

Edgar said: “I’ll make a plan, and work it out exactly; but I would probably need about two hundred stones.”

Dreng pretended to be shocked. “Why, that’s almost two pounds of silver!”

“It would still be cheaper than rebuilding in wood and thatch again and again.” Edgar held his breath.

“Work it out exactly,” said Dreng.

Edgar set off for Outhenham at sunrise on a cool morning, with a chill September breeze wafting along the river. Dreng had agreed to pay for a stone brewhouse. Now Edgar had to make good on his boasting and build it well.