“I don’t know if I can do this,” Alain muttered. He was a big boy with a mop of unruly blond hair spilling out from under his stockman’s hat. He had cleaned up well—they all had—but Alain, no social butterfly under the best of circumstances, looked scared to death. Cuthbert was doing better, but Roland guessed his old friend’s patina of insouciance didn’t go very deep. If there was to be leading done here, he would have to do it.

“You’ll be fine,” he told Alain. “Just—”

“Oh, he looks fine,” Cuthbert said with a nervous laugh as they crossed the courtyard. Beyond it was Mayor’s House, a sprawling, many-winged adobe hacienda that seemed to spill light and laughter from every window. “White as a sheet, ugly as a—”

“Shut up,” Roland said curtly, and the teasing smile tumbled off Cuthbert’s face at once. Roland noted this, then turned to Alain again. “Just don’t drink anything with alcohol in it. You know what to say on that account. Remember the rest of our story, too. Smile. Be pleasant. Use what social graces you have. Remember how the Sheriff fell all over himself to make us feel welcome.”

Alain nodded at that, looking a little more confident.

“In the matter of social graces,” Cuthbert said, “they won’t have many themselves, so we should all be a step ahead.”

Roland nodded, then saw that the bird’s skull was back on the horn of Cuthbert’s saddle. “And get rid of that!”

Looking guilty, Cuthbert stuffed “the lookout” hurriedly into his saddlebag. Two men wearing white jackets, white pants, and sandals were coming forward, bowing and smiling.

“Keep your heads,” Roland said, lowering his voice. “Both of you. Remember why you’re here. And remember the faces of your fathers.” He clapped Alain, who still looked doubtful, on the shoulder. Then he turned to the hostlers. “Goodeven, gents,” he said. “May your days be long upon the earth.”

They both grinned, their teeth flashing in the extravagant torchlight. The older one bowed. “And your own as well, young masters. Welcome to Mayor’s House.”

2

The High Sheriff had welcomed them the day before every bit as happily as the hostlers.

So far everyone had greeted them happily, even the carters they had passed on their way into town, and that alone made Roland feel suspicious and on his guard. He told himself he was likely being foolish—of course the locals were friendly and helpful, that was why they had been sent here, because Mejis was both out-of-the-way and loyal to the Affiliation—and it probably was foolish, but he thought it best to be on close watch, just the same. To be a trifle nervous. The three of them were little more than children, after all, and if they fell into trouble here, it was apt to be as a result of taking things at face value.