Sir James graciously accepted Maid Willow's clumsy aid, answered her many questions. That she would one day be beautiful was evident, but more so than that, he found her to be a gentle soul, a sweet spirit that was easy to adore.

Though difficult, her questions were never full of malice. Sir James answered them as honestly as he had answered her noble sister's questions, though he did his best to keep his answers gentle and appropriate for a maid of just eight years old. This information, she had volunteered. Anything else he knew about her, Sir James either learned or guessed from conversation. She loved the Brownies, loved trees and animals so that her knowledge on these topics seemed inexhaustible. Her visits were the bright spots in Sir James' days. Five times she visited him, bringing not only water and food, but also sips of herbal preparations designed to ease his pain. In addition, she brought conversation and companionship as well, a presence that brightened his soul and lifted the unrelieved boredom of his imprisonment, for during those times between her visits, he saw not a single other living soul, human or otherwise.

Often with Maid Willow on her visits, the Maid Veronica served as the child's companion. That the two maids were sisters was an unmistakable fact, for they greatly resembled each other and to a lesser degree their mistress, the Lady of the Deep Wood. Sir James accepted the idea of a relationship between the sisters and their mistress out of hand, for noblewomen were often served by lesser-born family members, much the same way he might one day have served his father or elder brother, apart from his present circumstances. Both maids wore some of the same stones as their mistress, the unpolished quartz on their left shoulders, the gems in their hair and on each wrist. Unlike their mistress, however, the two young maids wore no greater stone on their brows, nor any at their throat, save to close the cloaks that protected the maids from both weather and prying eyes. Glaringly obvious, even to the lesser-born noble, was the lack of any ruby in the young maids' arrays. While they served the lady and wore a wealth of jewels, neither maid was nobly bred.

Though sisters and of kindred face, the two maids were as unlike in preference and manner as day and night. While Maid Willow dressed after the fashion of Brownies in sturdy clothing designed for hard work, dyed in earth tones and cut to shed the weather, Maid Veronica's style of dress stood in sharp contrast. Maid Veronica wore much lighter, more feminine gowns cut after the same fashion of the Lady of the Deep Wood. The cloth of her gowns was of a much lighter weight, almost gauzy in nature, and dyed brightly so that she greatly resembled a patch of flowers. Having seen the Fairy who'd spoken to his horse, Sir James could accurately compare Maid Veronica's sartorial tastes to that of Fairy-kind.

Where Maid Willow was charming and friendly toward him, it hurt the young knight to see how mistrustful and timid Maid Veronica was of him. Sir James wondered who had authored such a fear of her own kind and did his best to speak kindly to her, though she never spoke a word to him in return. Seeing the fear in her expressive eyes, Sir James wished with all of his heart that he could find whoever had so tormented her and bring him to justice. Something terrible must surely have happened to her, for the Maid Veronica to be so afraid of him and not any of the magical creatures that inhabited the Enchanted Forest. He wondered if it were merely himself that the maid feared or all men in general but, having been given no leave to ask questions of his own, the knight's curiosity would remain unassuaged.

The times betwixt Maid Willow's visits gave the young knight much time for though, for self-examination. Standing immobilized and in his own filth, his emotions ran the gamut; at first, angry, then despairing, until he'd come to accept his punishment. Sir James was a knight, sworn to service in the baron's household, sworn to obey the king's laws, to uphold and defend the Holy Church, to protect the poor and innocent, sworn to speak only truth, to act with honor and to fight with valor. Yet standing in such a prison, there was no valor; no glorious death to be had in battle, no deathbed with his hair hoary with age and loved ones gathered about for comfort. There were only ribs so badly broken that it hurt to breathe, insect bites that could not be prevented nor scratched, legs and feet that cramped and swelled with no means for him to relieve them, a sword-arm bereft of a sword, a jaw that, while not broken, was still tender enough for it to hurt when he chewed, blackened eyes, whose swelling blurred what could be seen, and an arm infected and throbbing with every beat of his heart.

Knowing his injuries, Maid Willow never failed to bring medicine to ease his pain, but Sir James knew they would only work for so long. What had he done, that God should allow him to die in such a debased manner? Sir James thought about the author of much of his pain. The man, Jakin, had been scarred by a fire set by Sir James' own hand, and for what?

With shame, Sir James knew he hadn't defended the poor that day. He should have taken the man's part, rather than blindly obeying the baron's orders to fire the roof. Though he had not barred the door beforehand as ordered, there was no honor in throwing a burning torch atop the thatched roof of the shepherd's croft. After all, how could it possibly have been the shepherd's fault, when the lambs died during lambing season because of the weather? The shepherd had explained it fully and at the time, Sir James had been impressed that so many had survived. Still though, he had hoped that the shepherd and his family were with the sheep and not inside the croft at the time and the knowledge that the entire family had been inside at the time he'd set fire to their home burned guilt into his soul.

There were other incidences of course, other times when he had done the wrong thing. In those times of quiet reflection, Sir James had to admit that instead of following the oaths he'd taken when he'd been knighted, he'd allowed a corrupt master to corrupt him. Despair set in as Sir James realized that he was only receiving the just reward of his actions. Tears he could not stop nor wipe away fell as Sir James tried to pray.

He would die here, and here would his body rest. There would be no burial on sanctified ground, no priest to hear his confession and administer the sacrament nor last rites, no one to wash his body or dress them in burial clothes. There would be no one save sweet Maid Willow and perhaps, if Sir James were lucky, her noble sister to mourn his death.

The tears subsided eventually though, and after a while, Maid Willow came to wash them away and feed him lunch. Her sweet concern was nearly his undoing, but she soon was distracted to another topic, mercifully, and so amused her captive companion with her conversation. Compared to her sweet innocence, Sir James knew that he deserved only the fate he'd found, if not for the reasons he'd found it. Still though, he would not refuse Maid Willow's ministrations.

Sir James couldn't find it in himself to rebuff her, but promised himself that, when he next saw the Lady Carnelian, he would end the visits. What good could come of such an innocent child watching him die a little each day? No, it would be better to end it entirely. He would be dead a mere three days after her last visit. Those final days promised to be miserable and mean, but what right had Sir James to a noble death, when he had not lived such a noble life as he'd sworn before God to lead? Perhaps his death, and then his corpse woven into this wall, would protect the Lady of the Deep Wood and her two young maids; perhaps his purpose in death would be far more noble than the choices he'd made in life.

Resigned to his fate, Sir James ate a little less with each meal, slowly weaning himself from food and water, easing himself into the final days of his life. He could not forbear enjoyment of the visits, however, for the Maid Willow was a lovely child and with every visit, Sir James found himself finding greater room in his heart for the little girl, despite his knowledge that his relationship with her was rather likely to be quite transient. That he would never have a daughter such as she was a given, but the pain in his heart was much assuaged by her visits, her laughter, her conversation and easy, affectionate manner.

~~~

After Lady Carnelian had heard her sisters' reports and offered them the tale of her own adventures, she saw to the evening meal and then set out for the Deep Woods, having set her maids to work at various tasks. In the Deep Woods, several encampments formed rude villages of men and their families who'd sought refuge from various disasters or injustices. Lady Carnelian judged every newcomer on the basis of his case and merit before deciding if he would be allowed to stay. Those who were merely seeking escape from a just reward for crimes committed were returned to their lords. In a very few cases, the wrongdoer had been allowed to stay, lest the punishment overmatch the crime.

The camps were watched over by two lieutenants, the closer of whom was Thomas Tallman, a giant of a man who was nearly as stout as he was tall, but whose allegiance to Lady Carnelian would never be called into question. The second lieutenant was called John the Mad. John was a Little Person who had fallen in love with and married a Brownie maid. As his family had never seen the maid in question, John Little had earned the reputation as a madman. He had fled his home village to escape being lobotomized in the hopes that a hole in his brain would release the demon that caused him to see a bride that no one else believed existed. His bride, Althea, had brought her husband to live as close to her family as the fairies would allow.

Though small in stature, John the Mad was respected by the villagers in the three villages he oversaw for his fair and wise governance. That his children could be seen, even if his wife would not, didn't hurt his case either. Aside from Lady Carnelian and her maids, John the Mad was the only other living human to wear a Brownie Stone, which enabled him to see all Brownie-kind, even those who habitually hid themselves from human view.

As usual, Lady Carnelian was met outside the first and largest camp by a bevy of children, who either swarmed around her with excitement, or ran ahead to share the good news that the Lady of the Deep Wood had come to visit. Without fail, the first adult to greet the lady was Thomas Tallman. "My Liege!" he greeted with a bow, speaking over the noise of the exuberant children, "welcome; what brings you to our humble village?"

"Greetings, Thomas!" smiled Lady Carnelian in return. "I've come for several reasons, not the least of which is to enquire after your own, dear wife. Has she recovered well?"

Her query brought a smile to the man's face. "She is as well as can be expected, My Lady. The twins keep her awake most of the night. I am deeply grateful for the assistance of Mistress Baker, who has been helping my dear Peggy during the day."

Lady Carnelian had attended the birth of the twins and had saved the lives of mother and sons during the difficult process. She was quite satisfied by her lieutenant's news, so allowed it to show on her face. "You must give her my greetings. Has there been anyone new in the village?" she enquired further. There was not, so she got down to business. "Maid Willow's favorite goat is refusing to stay within our keep," the lady explained, "and my maid is quite afraid she will be shot by hunters. I promised I would ask you to refrain from detaining or shooting the goat, for she quite resembles a deer, though she does have a black stripe down her back."

Thomas Tallman nodded respectfully. "We'll keep a watch for her, Milady. Please reassure Maid Willow that I will keep anyone here from claiming her goat, but the season for hunting deer does not start for another four months." He couldn't repress the excitement when he said this, for King Obsidian only requested that the villagers wait until the fawns could be weaned before shooting any deer, whereas the human king and his nobles forbade the hunting of them entirely, at least by common folk.

Lady Carnelian thanked him before moving on to her next topic. She pulled her hatchet from the loop on her belt designed to hold it and asked him to sharpen the hatchet for her. Maid Veronica's attempts to use it had left the blade not only dull, but notched as well. Thomas Tallman offered to care for it immediately, so the pair of them set out for his barn, kindly sending the children on about their business.

Only after the ragged youngsters had left to find other amusements and the pair of them were in the barn and away from prying eyes, did the lady continue conversing with her lieutenant. Briefly, she explained about the condemned knight and the items stolen from him. Unfortunately, Thomas Tallman had heard nothing of the entire affair, so Lady Carnelian would need to discuss it with John the Mad. Thomas immediately offered to accompany her to John's home village and Lady Carnelian accepted his offer. Of the series of encampments, the farther few were much rougher, and the people had not the deep respect of the lady that Thomas' people did.

In the farther village, John and his wife invited their visitors into the house immediately. Althea Little spared no time in bringing up the subject most in Lady Carnelian's thoughts. "It's a bad business, Milady," the Brownie-maid said with a woeful shake of her head. "Hagadorn is calling for his own removal as Steward of the Wall, but no one else will take up the issue. Though you have ruled in favor of the human and Hagadorn supports your ruling, most Brownies do not. They feel that the wall was cut, and so the sentence must stand. Those who side with Hagadorn dare not cut the human free, for no one wants to suffer his fate. Sir James of Whittburg will not be the first entombed within the walls, nor the first to be entombed there alive." She excused herself to tend one of her children, so her husband took up the discourse.

John Little agreed with his wife. "The whole business has been to our detriment. The Brownies are at odds with each other, Hagadorn spends his time alone now and has refused to return to the wall at all, by all report. It has even affected the villagers here, all the way out to the most southern camp."

The entire time that the couple was speaking, Thomas glanced from person to person as if he didn't quite understand or believe what he was hearing. "How has it so greatly affected your people," he asked, "when the matter is entirely unknown amongst mine?"

John sighed heavily and worked a kink from his back. Returning from the other room, his wife answered for him. "Several of the rougher men from around here found the poor fellow bound into the wall, beat him and stole what they could. Jakin wanted only to provide for his family, for they have nothing beyond what he has managed to gather or cobble together over the last year. His wife was nearly in tears when she had to cut apart that fine cloak so she could make clothing for the children from it, and the boots have greatly aided Jakin's work . . ."

John interrupted his wife when she paused for thought. "Yes, but the sword and spurs have caused nothing but trouble here. Peter Thatcher has become quite the bully with that sword and I am hard-pressed to control him."

"Yes," agreed his wife, "and with those spurs hanging over Daniel Fletcher's mantelpiece, he's gotten it in his head that he would make a better lieutenant than John, and wishes to take control of the camp he lives in. The only thing stopping most of the trouble is the threat of retaliation by my kin, should anything happen to my husband." Amongst the Fairies and Brownies alike, the affection held by the Brownies for John the Mad was well known, for a human who was alike to Brownie-kind in form and stature was a rare thing, indeed, much less one who would work as hard as John.

Lady Carnelian stood. "John, you and Thomas gather the three men together by the well. Tell them to bring the items in question, for I must judge between them and the owner. The theft might have been overlooked, but for the beating they gave Sir James. He was helpless to defend himself, noble or not. Such things cannot be tolerated here."

Althea sighed in relief. "I was hoping you would say so, Milady. Thank you; perhaps this foolishness will be put to rest."

"It will be put to rest, one way or another," Lady Carnelian promised. "If worst comes to worst, someone will be put out of camp; but let us pray events do not lead to such drastic action." She took her leave of Mistress Little and headed for the town square, where the well had been dug not too long before.

On the way, Lady Carnelian was diverted from her course by loud voices. Following the sound, she came upon a large crowd, standing before what appeared to be a rudimentary tavern. In front of the hasty structure, an adolescent boy stood, calling into the interior. "Peter Thatcher, John Little says, 'come out to the well'!"

"You tell that . . ."

The boy interrupted. "I wasn't told to wait for a reply, merely bear a message. You are to meet him at the well and I gotta' go deliver another. Tell him yourself!" With that cheeky retort, the boy sprinted off, obviously accustomed to such errands.

Lady Carnelian suppressed a grin. Sensing that the entertaining bit of happenings was over, the crowd lost interest. "There is one more thing," the lady spoke up before the assembled villagers could leave. Everyone quieted to hear what she would say, making hasty courtesies as they realized who was addressing them. "There is a goat, large with kid, that wanders about these woods. The goat resembles a small deer, save that she has a black stripe along her back. Please leave her unmolested, for she is a pet in the Enchanted Forest and her absence will be noticed immediately."

"It's good you said," a woman said from the crowd. "I saw her just the other day. Would have taken her home, but that I didn't have any rope or string with me. The woman chucked. "I have not been without rope since, hoping to see her again. But I won't touch her, now I know she belongs to the king."

Lady Carnelian smiled at the speaker. She was an older woman, missing more than a few teeth. Tabitha had come to the Deep Wood in order to escape a harsh punishment over a minor crime and had been a model resident since. "I thank you, Tabitha. And how did you fare this winter past?" Old and alone, the woman seemed to barely get by. Her clothing was ragged but she was clean; and though thin, was fit for her age.

Tabitha smiled and dropped a quick curtsey, pleased to have been recognized. "I fared all right, Milady. The forest takes care of me. I was warm and had food to eat. I been planting leeks and radishes about my place this spring, and the herbs I been finding in the woods are growing right well in my garden now. Pretty soon, all I'll need from the forest is the firewood!"

The sprightly woman's answer made Lady Carnelian chuckle. She was preparing in her own way for her advancing age, it seemed. "Tell me though," Lady Carnelian replied thoughtfully, "if you had caught the goat, how would you have fed her through the winter?"

The old woman smiled sheepishly. "I hadn't thought that far; probably with grass from my own bed, if I couldn't find enough to store up before winter. Still though, goats are good at browsing for themselves, so they can graze even in winter. All I'd need is enough to fill her after she done come home again."

Lady Carnelian approached, enjoying the conversation. "You've raised goats before then?"

"Never been without, until now. A good buck is better than a dog for protection and all it takes to make a year's worth of cheeses is three does . . . and seeing the little ones play isn't bad, either." Tabitha paused to glance at the sky. "I thank you for taking the time to notice an old woman, My Liege, but the day also grows old. With all due respect, you had better start back. I hate to think of you out in the dark."

"I guess I should continue on my way; I too, am due at the well. Thank you for your conversation Tabitha. God keep you this night."

Tabitha's smile was genuine and affectionate. "And you, Milady." She curtseyed again and went on her way, leaving Lady Carnelian to join her lieutenants with a thoughtful silence. Tabitha was industrious, kind and resourceful. She was a good example to the entire village, one that certain, worthless fellows would do well to heed.

Having heard that the lady was headed for the well, herself, nearby villagers spread the word and the crowd followed behind her and when the lady had reached her destination, crowded around to see what would happen. Standing before the well, John Little and Thomas Tallman were having difficulty keeping a bellicose man in check. A second confident fellow egged on the first, and the two of them flanked a rather thin, nervous man, who twisted a felt cap in his hands. This man was marked on one side of his face with scars so terrible as to make his face nearly unrecognizable on that side.

The entire group of men fell silent as Lady Carnelian approached at a measured pace. The men whipped caps from heads and lowered their collective gaze respectfully. When only the nervous man knelt, Thomas Tallman kicked at the back of the other two's knees before kneeling, himself. Once she'd reached the well, Lady Carnelian nodded her head. "You may rise," she told the men, ignoring the gathered villagers who'd assembled to see the proceedings.

The men straightened themselves and the nervous one spoke up. "Milady, I cannot bring you the items you asked for. You see, the cloak has been undone and remade into clothing for my children, and the boots also have been altered greatly. I done cut the tops off to make shoes for my woman and our oldest boy." Lady Carnelian glanced at the man's feet and sure enough, the boots were barely ankle-high on him and showed cut leather at the top rather than a careful seam.

"Thank you for telling me," she told the man in soothing tones. "I will not make you give me the clothes off your children's bodies, nor the shoes from their feet- but Jakin, did I not give you a cow when first you came here?"

He hung his head. "You did, Milady. She's a good milker and what kept us from starving, those first few months."

"And the bull-calf at her side? What became of it? You might have had leather for shoes enough for the family and some to sell, beside."

"I been raising him for an ox, Milady. He's done good in the training and he's right gentle with the youngsters, even being left a bull, as he is." He started twisting his cap in his hands again, obviously afraid that his draft animal would be ordered for slaughter.

"Well done," the lady praised him instead. "You showed forethought in the decision and that so young a bull is gentle with the children shows the degree of training that you have invested in your animal." He started to relax but the lady wasn't done with him yet. "Now, if you please, tell me of your encounter with the knight in the wall."

The hat twisted into an impossible shape. "He ordered us to let him loose, but it were obvious how he got there, so none of us dared let him out. And since he was to die anyway, no one thought it would be a problem if we took what we needed. I took his boots because mine wore through to the ground in the spring, so I used the leather to pad the ox yoke. Then I done took his cloak; I thought it would please me wife to be warm." He flushed and stubbed the toe of the mutilated boot into the ground. "Instead, it pleased her to keep the wee ones warm."

"And the knight, he let you take his cloak and boots?" enquired the lady, knowing he hadn't. The deep purple in Sir James' feet and bruised, battered face had spoken volumes about that.

The man holding the spurs let out a guffaw of laughter. "Not like he had much choice," he pointed out, "but he never lifted a finger to stop us!" The man with the sword laughed as well. The two men elbowed Jakin, obviously expecting him to join their mirth.

Lady Carnelian leveled an icy expression at the men. "If he offered no resistance, then how came he by the bruises he now sports?"

"No hard thing there," shrugged the holder of the spurs, Daniel Fletcher. "He cursed Jakin's wife after we would not release him."

"He cursed us all, kith and kin as well," corrected Jakin, showing boldness despite the way the one with the spurs stood on his foot. "But he serves Baron Whittaker and I remembered him. Then I remembered being afire and trying to carry out my wee ones without them being burned." He turned anguished eyes toward the lady. "Something come over me, Milady. I was so angry, I couldn't help me-self. Daniel took the spurs off his boots while I was out of my head that way and since Peter already had the sword, I dared not try to take them back."

Lady Carnelian studied the three men. More than once while Jakin had been speaking, the men on either side of him had elbowed or pinched him, making the lady quite aware that, though Jakin had initiated the theft, he was very much cowed by the other two. Hard-working and an honest man, Jakin had been admitted to the village because he'd been too ill to travel, being covered in burns the way he had been. His wife had been pregnant at the time, and they'd had four other, small children besides. Upon investigation, the lady had come to understand that the man was guilty of no crime but had simply no place else to go. Having barely the clothing on their backs and nothing else, Jakin was struggling to provide for his family and to make a fresh start. Lady Carnelian respected his hard work.

In contrast, the other two were both wanted for petty crimes elsewhere. Both had been accepted on condition that they break no laws, but beyond building huts for themselves, neither man had begun any kind of trade beyond what they needed to survive. Neither man had taken a wife nor made any attempt to settle themselves in any way.

"You will return the spurs," she finally said to Daniel, speaking the judgement she'd decided on before the man had ever begun speaking. "The spurs are the symbol of knighthood," she said firmly when he protested. "What need have you of them? You own no horse and may not wear them if you did. They would make poor tools, for gold is not a strong metal. Further, were you to try and sell them, you would be arrested for harming the knight who earned them." Seeing the wisdom of not keeping the spurs and owning no means for melting them down, Daniel acquiesced at last.

Lady Carnelian turned her attention to the man with the sword. "Peter Thatcher, bring me the sword." The man knelt before her and offered the sword. Lady Carnelian touched an engraving on the hilt. "Whose crest is that?" she asked.

Peter shrugged. "I don't read heraldry." By his tone, he felt it a skill worthless to learn.

"Anyone taught to wield a sword also learns heraldry," she reminded him, and the implication was clear. Not knowing heraldry meant that he had no right to bear a sword, for even the men-at-arms were taught heraldry. "This is Baron Whittaker's family crest. The sword does not belong to the knight in the wall and never did. You must return the sword, that it might be returned to its rightful owner."

By his expression, Lady Carnelian could tell he had no intention of obeying. "You do not know how to properly wield such a weapon. Why keep it when you are so much better with arrows and an axe? If you were to cross swords with anyone else, you would likely not survive the bout. Not only that but, as with the spurs, if you were to try and sell this, it would only get you arrested. You would be safest to give it back."

Finally, he grunted. "Aye, Milady." Lady Carnelian glanced over at her lieutenants and received a slight nod from each of them. The man would be held to his word.

Lady Carnelian, however, was not done yet. "You, Daniel Fletcher and Peter Thatcher, were each allowed into this village only after your oath to break no laws and cause no trouble. I would remind you of your oaths and the consequences for breaking them."

Though Daniel nodded humbly, anger creased Peter's face. "I broke no laws and I done no wrong! 'Twas Jakin who struck the nobleman, not I."

The Firestone warmed, lending the lady courage in the face of the large man's wrath. "No, but he is entombed, though yet alive. Therefore, you have robbed his grave. Furthermore, though he is trapped inside the wall, he has done no wrong worthy of death. The three of you have beaten and robbed an innocent man, one helpless to defend himself."

Being the only man upon whom sentence had not yet been pronounced, Jakin fell to his knees and bowed his head. "Forgive me, Your Ladyship!" he cried out. "I am a coward and a cur, for it was I who beat the nobleman, not them. They touched him not, even when Peter took the sword from the wall, on account of the nobleman had dropped it and couldn't reach it again. I cannot make full restitution as they must, for I destroyed that which I had stolen from his grave." The stricken man raised an anguished gaze to the lady. "I beg you, have mercy; if not for me, then consider my missus and the children."

The lady was silent for a moment, pondering the matter. She had no desire to strip a destitute man of his clothing, or worse, his children's clothing. Still though, a wrong had been committed and must be made right again. What better way to decide than to allow the wronged to decide what restitution he desired? From there, a fair decision could be reached.

"Peter and Daniel may go. I will see the stolen items returned by tomorrow afternoon or you both will be returned to your lords, for grave-robbing is a heinous thing. Jakin, I will judge between you and Sir James D'Apice. You must come to the grave in the wall."

From behind the kneeling man, Thomas cleared his throat. "My liege, the hour grows late. It would be well after dark before Jakin could return." The kneeling man's expression turned anxious but he remained silent, though his anxiety was not for nothing. The gathered villagers began murmuring amongst themselves.

Lady Carnelian understood. Even she did not venture beyond her king's walled glade after dark, for the wall had been grown thicker for her protection and it was not safe for her or her sisters to venture beyond it at night. Brownies could and usually did work in the dark, and fairies regularly danced with the fireflies as they tended the night-blooming flowers and grasses, but such magical creatures had nothing to fear from the dark, unlike mankind, the lawful prey of trolls, goblins, werewolves, and other fearsome monsters that roam the dark. Surely if Jakin was forced to return from the Enchanted Forest alone and after dark, he would not arrive home!

"I agree, Thomas. Jakin will arrive at first light, and I will be awaiting his arrival." She paused as the village offered a collective sigh of relief.

John the Mad accompanied his liege to the edge of the village. "I'll watch out for them three tomorrow," he promised. "Shall I make certain they do as ordered?"

"No, but thank you," Lady Carnelian decided. "Give them opportunity to obey, but take note of when they go tomorrow. And John? Keep a careful eye on Daniel Fletcher and Peter Thatcher. They are not to be trusted."

"Aye, Milady." The little man paused for a few steps. "About Old Tabitha?"

"The first two would do well to follow her example, John; what about her?"

"She ain't as good off as she lets on but she's too proud to accept help. What can I do? As you said, she's good for the villagers and she's good to us, too. None of us know the forest herbs the way she does."

"She needs care, most certainly," agreed the lady, using a slow, modulated speech to give her more time for thought. "And much wisdom will be lost with her, not so?" Both men nodded. "Set the older girls of the village in her charge. She should teach them about the herbs. They will help her gather and she may give each of them a bit to plant for themselves. She knows the herbal remedies, I take it?"

"Aye, and won't take payment of any kind, neither."

"Have her choose one woman, even married, that shows the best talent for it from each village. That one should be her apprentice. Perhaps if I have ordered it, she will take a student. Once each apprentice has learned the herbal lore, she should practice under Tabitha's supervision until Tabitha trusts her on her own. Also, once the assistant is practicing on her own, then Tabitha must take another apprentice in her place. The apprentices, if unwed, will live with Tabitha and serve her. If Tabitha chooses a wedded wife as apprentice, then the wife will serve her during the day and return to her own family. As Tabitha has been ordered to perform these services for me, I will send payment for her services."

John grinned. "Thank you, Your Ladyship. I have not the authority to order such things, on my own." He bowed a little, wished the lady and her tall companion a good evening and returned home.

Thomas said nothing for a while, as he accompanied his liege back to his own village. "I think I know who might serve best as Mistress Tabitha's apprentice, from my village, if she'll have her," he said finally.

"Mistress Baker?"

"Nay, she is a good cook, but her daughter is better with the tending of sick folk." He explained. "She's young, but blood and body humors don't bother her none. Also, she's plenty good at gardening; seems to have a knack for knowing just what each plant needs."

"When Mistress Tabitha comes to choose, you should help her. You know each woman in your village, what their strengths and weaknesses are. The sooner we have more in the way of Mistress Tabitha, the better off we'll be when she cannot run about the way she does now."

"I agree. Pardon my saying so, Milady, but John could use an assistant of his own. He does his best and I back him when I can, but if one of the ne'er-do-wells there takes a mind to it and I'm not there, John could be poorly off, Althea's kin notwithstanding."

They were rather near the village by then, and at risk for being overheard, so Lady Carnelian merely nodded her head. "I'll talk to him about it," she promised. "Good evening to you, Thomas, and thank you for your company. I do enjoy conversation with you."

"Will you need me tomorrow?" he asked in an anxious tone, no doubt thinking of two worthless fellows not much inclined to surrender their ill-gotten gains.

Lady Carnelian smiled to reassure him. "If I do, I have but call." Thomas smiled then, bowed his head and returned to his village as Lady Carnelian bypassed it in favor of the Enchanted Forest.