On the third day out from Bann, a westerly blew up and the weather turned cold and wet. We rode on through it, getting crosser and chillier by the moment. Just as the light was fading, we found a sheltered camping spot near a stand of old trees. By then the worst of the rain was over; it had been a passing storm. But we were wet, the horses were wet, and all of us were perilously cold.

Without any need for talk, Grim and I set to work. He unloaded the baggage while I gathered firewood from under the trees, where it was passably dry. He tethered the horses, rubbed them down, got them food and water. I made a fire. It was necessary to use a couple of what might be called wise woman tricks to get it burning well; with everything damp, flint and tinder went only so far. I investigated the bag that contained our foodstuffs, found it had withstood the deluge fairly well, and prepared a rather eccentric porridge using everything I thought needed finishing up. The main thing was to get a hot, nourishing meal into our bellies before nightfall. With the horses taken care of, Grim sorted out our bedding and performed a swift patrol of the whole area. We had seen nothing of Flannan since we’d left Bann. We’d been avoiding encounters with other folk on the roads, thinking he might be about and asking people if they’d seen us. Or, more precisely, seen me. I was starting to believe he’d gone south by that other route, through Tirconnell, if it really existed and wasn’t just one more of his lies. If he’d done that, there was no way we could stop him from reaching Mathuin and telling what he knew.

But then, I thought as I stirred the strange-looking mixture, what could he tell? If he’d left Bann before I went up the tower, he’d be going back to Laois in the belief that I was dead. Or turned into a monster. The doom will fall upon the assailant, those were the final words of the curse, according to Grim. If that was what Flannan was rushing to impart to Mathuin, perhaps hoping for praise or reward, his departure was good news. If Mathuin believed me dead, I’d be safe for now. I could stay in Winterfalls, keep my promise to Conmael, and wait for the day when I’d finally make Mathuin face up to justice, in my own way, on my own terms. So why did I still have a tight knot in my belly? Why did I feel uneasy every time Grim went out of sight?

“Smells good,” he said, coming to sit opposite me and warm his hands. “What is it?”

“Travelers’ Surprise. You’ll have tasted better. And worse.” The swill in Mathuin’s lockup had been repulsive. And yet we prisoners had licked our bowls clean, every time. You do that when you’re starving. I’d drawn the line at the rats, but most of my cellmates had crunched them up raw, bones and all. “We’ve been through some odd times, Grim,” I said.