‘We can’t really do that until Nala wakes up, Mistress Pol,’ a thin, pale girl with a runny nose told me, sniffing. ‘She might get offended.’

‘We won’t actually be doing anything but just getting things ready,’ I lied,’– you know, peeling carrots, cutting up vegetables, putting water to boil – that sort of thing.’

‘Oh,’ she said, wiping her nose on her sleeve. ‘That might be all right, I guess.’ I saw immediately that I had a long way to go here. Nala’s semi-comatose state had encouraged a great deal of laxity in the kitchen.

I decided that stew would probably have to do for this evening. There wasn’t really enough time for anything else. I took an oblique approach to the other kitchen helpers. After I’d stowed Garion in an out-of-the way vegetable bin, I started making ‘suggestions’, usually prefaced with ‘would you like to–’ or ‘Don’t you think that –’ or ‘shouldn’t we perhaps –’. Then, when I’d managed to put them all to work, I went into the spice pantry to inventory the condiments. I was muttering darkly even before I was finished. The spice jars were all there, of course, but half of them were empty. I threw a furtive look back over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being observed, and then I cheated.

Nala awoke when we started braising the stew meat. ‘What’s going on here?’ she demanded.

‘We were just getting things ready to start fixing supper, Nala,’ the girl with the runny nose reported. ‘Mistress Pol here thought it might be a good idea. You know how Faldor is when supper’s late.’

‘Mistress Pol?’ Nala asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

‘I just came to work here this afternoon, Mistress Nala,’ I said to her with a polite little curtsey. ‘Enna here said you were feeling a little under the weather.’ I put one arm familiarly around the shoulder of the red-nosed girl. ‘I didn’t think we should disturb you. What do you think? Would stew be all right for this evening?’

Nala pretended to consider it. ‘Whatever you decide, Mistress Pol,’ she consented with a little shrug. What else could she say? Everything was ready to go into the stew-pot.

I looked at her rather closely. ‘You don’t look at all well, Mistress Nala,’ I said with mock concern. Then I laid the back of my hand to her forehead. ‘You’ve got a fever,’ I told her. ‘We’d better do something about that just as soon as we get the stew to simmering and the biscuits in the oven.’

‘I do feel a little feverish, Pol,’ she admitted.

Of course she felt feverish. I’d just elevated her temperature with the back of my hand. I really wanted this job.

The vegetables and braised stew meat cascaded into the large bubbling stew-pots, and then I compounded a mixture of ordinary cooking spices to counteract Nala’s ‘fever’. After that, I hovered over the stew-pots with my collection of seasonings.

The stew we served that evening was barely adequate in my opinion, but Faldor and his farm hands went at it like starving men, some of them even going so far as to pour the last dribblings of gravy over biscuits.

‘Oh, my,’ Faldor said, groaning and putting his hands on his belly. ‘I think I ate too much.’

‘You’re not the only one, Faldor,’ Durnik agreed, also groaning. Then he gestured toward me as I stood in the doorway with Garion in my arms. ‘I think we should keep her, don’t you?’

‘Um,’ Faldor replied. ‘I’ll tell you what, Durnik. As soon as you’re able to walk, why don’t you just nip across the compound and close and lock the gate? We wouldn’t want to let her get away, now would we?’

And that was how I cooked my way into a permanent place at Faldor’s farm. As I mentioned, the stew wasn’t really all that spectacular, but it was several cuts above what Nala had been offering.

As soon as supper was over, I beckoned to Enna, the pale blonde girl with the red nose. ‘Yes, Mistress Pol?’ she said, coming obediently.

I reached out and touched her nose. ‘How long have you had the sniffles?’ I asked her.

‘Weeks,’ she said, rolling her eyes upward.

‘I rather thought you might have.’

‘If s not a cold, Mistress Pol,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel achy or feverish.’

‘No, if s not a cold. It’s spring, Enna, and there are some things in bloom right now that don’t agree with you. Let’s fix that right now.’

‘Are you a physician, Mistress Pol?’

‘I wouldn’t go all that far, Enna,’ I replied. ‘I know a few home remedies is about all. Let’s dry up that nose of yours. We do work around food, after all, and – well, I’m sure you get my point.’

She giggled and then she sniffed.

Though we all still deferred to Nala, her instructions became increasingly vague. By the end of the week, I was the one who was really running the kitchen, but I’d still periodically carry a spoonful of whatever we were preparing to her for approval. It didn’t really inconvenience me that much, so I spoon-fed her.

Within a month, the goat, Garion and I were all settled in, and I’m sure that in the minds of Faldor, Durnik and the other farm workers we’d always been there. I cleaned and straightened up our little sleeping room, but Garion spent most of his time in that vegetable bin. I always knew just exactly where he was, even when my back was turned to him.

I was very comfortable at Faldor’s farm. These people were Sendars all the way down to the bone, and in a very real sense, I’d created the Sendars, so coming here was much like coming home.

It was midsummer when uncle Beltira stopped by, ostensibly to ask directions to Upper Gralt. I took him just outside the gate and pretended to be pointing out the way while we talked.

‘We’ve been tearing this end of Sendaria apart looking for you, Pol,’ he said. ‘I’d have walked right by if I hadn’t caught sight of your goat. Why didn’t you get in touch with us?’

‘I’m trying to stay out of sight until father tracks down Chamdar. Is he having any luck with that?’

‘He hasn’t told us so yet. He’s in Tolnedra right now. The last time he talked with us, he and that young Prince Kheldar were hot on the trail of Asharak the Murgo. We’ve been out of touch for a few weeks, so we can’t be sure if they’ve succeeded yet or not.’

‘Well, I’d better stay under cover until they find him and start shipping pieces of him back to Ctuchik. Get word to father about where I am, but you’d probably better have Drasnian intelligence carry the message. As long as Chamdar’s still all in one piece, I’d rather not have my location echoing off every hilltop.’