It was barred, of course—no reason to invite thieves or ­burglars. Ordinarily, Umbo would simply have jumped the fence around the kitchen garden, but that wasn’t likely to work out well with a baby in his arms. Umbo walked around the corner of the fence to a spot not visible to passersby on the square, nor from any windows in the nearby shops and houses. Then he shifted himself back to the afternoon, a few moments after he walked into that copse a mile or two out on the south road.

Now the roadhouse was open for business, people coming and going, and this early in the night it was safe for him to pull the rope that rang a bell in the kitchen, announcing a delivery.

He could hear Leaky start cursing in the kitchen. Then she bellowed out the back door. “Come back tomorrow! No more deliveries tonight!”

“I’ll just leave it at the gate then!” he shouted back.

At once the kitchen door flew open and Leaky’s heavy footsteps strode along the path. “I can’t believe what I put up with!” she was shouting, but when she opened the gate she looked worried. She must have recognized his voice. Her eyes took in the bundle in his arms.

“You have not had time to get a girl this pregnant since you left this house,” she said softly.

“This would be pretty pregnant,” Umbo agreed.

“Come in, you daft boy,” said Leaky. “I assume that as a kidnapper you don’t wish to be observed?”

“Not a kidnapper,” said Umbo, “but yes, I’d like to get upstairs without anyone noticing this package.”

She led him into the kitchen, where she wrapped the baby loosely in a washed floursack and handed him back to Umbo. “Take that upstairs and leave it in my room, but mind you I know where everything is!” She spoke loudly enough that Umbo knew she was giving him a reason to hurry upstairs, and enough of an explanation for the bundle in his arms to satisfy the eaters and drinkers who might see him come out of the kitchen and hurry up the stairs.

Umbo unwrapped the baby. The flour sacking came in handy, because little Biscuit stank and all Umbo could think to do, lacking a fresh diaper, was to take off all the baby’s clothes, tear the sack in half, wipe him thoroughly with one half, and then using the other to wrap him more or less securely. Through it, Biscuit watched Umbo’s eyes, only occasionally glancing around the room. Umbo kept up a murmuring commentary.

It was a couple of hours, and the room downstairs was markedly quieter, when the door flew open and Leaky stalked in, half-dragging a frightened young woman behind her.

It was Dariah.

Umbo almost spoke her name, but recovered in time. This was Dariah before she ever heard of Biscuit.