“Have you all been busy evolving new lungs?” asked the boy.

“More or less. The Northerners have discovered a way to air-flood even such a huge vacuum.”

The pedlar stood by, the wild breezes caressing him. The boy stared. He was only about thirteen, straight and tall but still with young, sloped shoulders and a hollow at the top of the back of his neck. To him, and I think some of the others too, my statement was news. But it was tvpical of them that there were no moans nor even exclamations.

“The Northerners are those led by the one called the Dragon, aren’t they?” said the boy.

“Yes,” I said, which couldn’t reassure him.

“Does your brother know you’ve come here?” asked another.

“He has no idea,” I muttered.

“Sit down,” the pedlar ordered. I did and so did everyone else.

“Have you any food?” I couldn’t stop myself asking eagerly. “And can you release my bird now—he’ll do no harm.”

“Are you sure?” asked the pedlar, smiling grimly at me, but before I could work out how seriously he meant it and how to answer he’d sort of carelessly snapped his fingers in Urns’ face and Urns gave a long shiver. He turned his burning eye for a long time on the pedlar, then to me. This decided him. Moving as if each great muscle were throwing off the recent bewildering indignity, he came to me and stood just behind me. Then he began a series of grunts and snarling coughs.

I was glad the pedlar didn’t start to speak through this, get fed up, and petrify him again. He started to gather large shells—there were so many he hardly had to move, though I’d noticed very few before—and he fished about in each with his dagger, and without fail each yielded a whelk or an oyster or something. Another volunteered to fish, catching them in his hands, chilly work at the best of times. I thought of offering Urns’ services but didn’t know how he’d behave. However, the fisher seemed to have as good luck as the pedlar. The others sat around talking in low voices, then fell to on the meal. It was raw though, because of course sending fire-smoke up in the sky was out of the question.

The pedlar sat friendly beside me, but I was rather afraid of him.

Also, I noticed that my arms as I ate were rather grubby, with a sort of mottled grey effect which I myself thought quite attractive, but which he probably wouldn’t. I haven’t washed properly for ages, since the night I escaped from Court with Kaselm, but I could imagine the pedlar thinking “Ho. She had plenty of opportunity to wash in rivers and things on the way here, even if she was in a hurry. Ho.” Or words to that effect.