I returned to my own quarters. No sign of Geiléis; my idea about the curse making folk forget had upset her more than I’d expected, though it had seemed plausible to me. This entire household was deeply strange. Everyone behaved as if they had rehearsed their responses. There were only two exceptions I could think of—that brief episode with Caisín, when I’d caught her off guard, and the times when Geiléis lost control of her feelings, whether in anger, sorrow or frustration. At those times, and they were rare enough, I thought I got a glimpse of the woman she was underneath. A woman of passions and conflicts. A woman I thought I would like better than the Lady of Bann with her cool composure. That other woman felt far more real.

31

Grim

It’s enough to start a man thinking of magic, and not a good kind of magic. Last bundle of reeds goes up, I knock in the last spar, and the next moment the weather starts playing tricks. Could’ve sworn it would stay dry. Know the signs like I know my right hand. But clouds come over, quick as quick, and rain starts falling, so it’s up with the cover again, and no more work for us today.

Pretty soon it’s bucketing down, soaking the garden. Paths turn to squelching mud. Still, job’s more or less done. Only the ridge left to finish off, and the animals for on top. Don’t need Tadhg anymore. All he’d be doing is passing things up to me. Those last jobs, they’re fiddly. Take a while to learn.

One dry day, that’s all I need. Maybe two, to be quite sure of finishing. If the rain stops for a bit I can take a bundle of reeds back down to Geiléis’s now and start on the creatures there. Bring them back up after I do the ridge. Tie them on safe—that’s the last job of all.

Tadhg goes off to the refectory for a meal. Says why don’t I go too, and I say no thanks. I shelter in a dryish spot, where the new thatch sticks out above the door. Thinking that if it stops I’ll go and get that bundle of reeds right away. If I work tonight too I can maybe get the creatures all done. Be fiddly by lamplight, though. Still, time’s short and even if I never see it again, I want the roof looking the way it should, with a proper finish.

Rain’s coming sideways now, sharp sort of wind behind it. Winter in summer. I hold an old sack up over my head. Doesn’t keep much off. Think of those little folk in the woods, so finely made, like something in a dream. Sheltering where they can. Wonder where they live. Down under the oak roots? In hollow trees, like squirrels? Or are there wee houses hidden all through the forest? Maybe they can make things invisible to our kind. Themselves, even. Gives me a funny feeling, that. Means they could be watching us anytime they wanted, and we wouldn’t know. Easy enough to believe. That little man knew things about Blackthorn and me that nobody could have told him. The one Blackthorn met, the healer, she knew things too. Something about true love’s tears, that herb with the funny little flowers. The small folk are all tangled up in this, same as Geiléis and her servants. Can’t make sense of it, though. Even Blackthorn can’t.