“So,” said Grim, “stories. The ones folk think they’ve forgotten. That’s what we’ll be looking for.”

“And quickly,” said Blackthorn, “since by my reckoning we have less than a turning of the moon until Midsummer Eve, and the ritual will take time in the planning. A good first step would be for us to talk to everyone in this household. Senach, I hope you can help us with that.” She glanced at the steward. “I’m not sure how many folk live here or where we might find them.”

This, at least, should be entirely safe. “The men-at-arms have their own quarters up near the stables,” Geiléis said. “A fair walk away. This house has seven retainers, including Senach. Speaking to them should not take you long.”

“Good,” said Blackthorn, rising from the table. She seemed to have forgotten her breakfast. “And while I’m doing that, Grim can talk to Onchú about a visit to the tower and a ride out to the settlement. Is there only one on your holdings?”

“One close by. Two others at a distance. Farms scattered here and there, some quite isolated. It would be difficult to get the word to all. And, I fear, pointless.”

“That’s for me to decide, Lady Geiléis.” Blackthorn looked at Grim, who had got up when she did. “We’ll talk to the household now. Visit the tower this afternoon, if that suits Onchú. Riding farther afield can wait a day or two. We’ll start issuing invitations once we know where the ritual will be held. And the day and time—I need to think about what is most appropriate. It will have to be before dawn or after dusk, or nobody will hear anything but the creature’s screams.”

Geiléis found herself uncharacteristically lost for words. Once Blackthorn decided to take the reins, it seemed she was blind to anything that might stand in her way.

18

Blackthorn

I spoke with the household servants and learned very little. Unusually, none of them had family living nearby. Dau, who did the cooking, mentioned a grandmother in the south who might be still living, though he had not seen her for some time. Geiléis seemed to like youngish folk around her—even Senach, who was more or less in charge of the household, appeared no more than five-and-twenty, and the rest were younger. There was only one woman among them: Caisín, a slender, quiet girl who did sewing and mending and looked after the household linen. She was married to one of the men-at-arms, Rian. Nobody had much to say about the monster, save that it tried Lady Geiléis sorely, and that they were doing their best to make things easier for her, since she was such a good mistress. They believed what Geiléis believed: that midsummer was the only time the thorns would yield, and that perhaps only a woman would succeed in cutting her way through. None offered a theory about what that woman was supposed to do when she entered the tower—battle the monster and kill it, talk to it kindly and send it on its way, answer riddles, sing songs . . . With my fund of lore, I had plenty of ideas to suggest. They listened with courtesy and made minimal comment.