Chapter 169

CASPIAN

I have come late to a great many things. Blackwater was only the worst of them. A man who lives long enough learns the exact weight of the word late, as a farrier learns the weight of a shoe.

I felt her fear on the fifth day of May, at a little past noon, on Odette’s stool, with a carter’s wife in front of me asking about a fence.

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It did not come as the valley had, as a blow. It came along the bond as weather comes up a long valley: you see it a great way off, and know what it is, and know that it is not going to turn aside.

Fear. Hers. Not the quick hard shutting I knew. Slower. It went down into her and stayed. It was the fear of someone who has seen the price of a thing written out plain and has decided to pay it.

I let the carter’s wife finish about the fence, and gave her a judgment on it, and I believe it was a fair one. Then I asked Odette for a quarter of an hour, and she looked at my face and gave me the kitchen.