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of stealing three of his chickens and they’d nearly come to blows.
    Someone’s got to keep an eye on things, she thought to herself as she closed the door behind her. There’s no knowing what they might get up to.
    The room was near to bursting when Shallah arrived. Raulf ran forward to greet her, finding place enough for them both on a bench near the window. All the chairs around the table were filled, and there were people milling about at the front door and on the cobbled pathway. The loft above was full of children, their chubby faces peeking down at the crowd. Rikild Blighton and two of her girls were passing a jug of ale around, and a few of the older men had already lit their pipes. All through the house there was a buzz of excitement.
    “It’s quite a sight, Miss,” Raulf said, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Rab Hale is here, of course, and Amaria has a seat at the table. That’s Isemay Wray sitting on your right, she’s hardly left her house once in the last year. I know because my Mam brings food over to her.”
    Though young Raulf had failed to notice it, the attention of the room had shifted somewhat when Shallah entered. More than a few faces were turned their way with interest, and a great deal of whispering was going on. To be fair, many hadn’t seen Shallah’s face in years, for she seldom worked in the fields, and if she had to come into the village she usually did so when few were about – which is not to say she didn’t make a contribution to the town.
    In their isolation, the villagers were forced to rely on one another for all the things they couldn’t make themselves, and like the rest, Shallah had her tasks. While others tended her strip of land, she spun wool, mended clothing, baked bread and oat cakes, and cared for their children – though in actuality the Guerins alone called on her for this service, as many of the other families wouldn’t entrust their children to a blind girl. In short, she was a member of the village as much as any other. Still, to a good number of the farmers she was a phantom girl, sometimes glimpsed out of the corner of an eye as they drove their oxen or carted their grain. She’d not been to a town gathering since childhood.
    One man told his son she was a wild woman. “Stay away from that one,” he whispered. “She might be blind, but she’s got some odd ways. I tell ya, she’s not right.”
    Shallah showed no sign that she was aware of this attention. She sat quietly in her corner, feeling the warmth of the room and listening to Raulf’s lively prattling, until Old Brice got to his feet and a hush fell over the crowd.
    “Well, it seems we’re all here, so I’ll begin,” said Old Brice, his voice clear and strong – the voice of a man used to speaking to a crowd. “This meeting was called to address the issue of the child found by Amaria Hale. She took notice of him in the early hours and brought him directly to the Carberrys to be cared for. We’re told he’s quite a sweet lad, isn’t that right, Betta?”
    Betta Carberry stood up and nodded her head with great enthusiasm, her ample bosom nearly bursting the laces of her brown kirtle.
    “Oh, he’s just the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen,” she said. “So soft and quiet. He must be almost five years old but he never says a word, not a peep, and no crying either. Just sort of looks at you with those strange eyes and smiles and sits and plays. The best boy I’ve ever cared for, if I do say so.”
    “What was that about his eyes?” asked Kimbery Klink, who stood just to Betta’s left. “It’s said demons have peculiar eyes, you know. I heard that somewhere.” Many of the villagers nodded their heads.
    Betta seemed taken aback, and put her hand to her chest.
    “But he’s no demon, Kim,” she said, looking about the room for reassurance. “It’s just that his eyes are a tad golden, is all. Makes ‘em quite pretty in my opinion. He’s a beautiful lad. There’s no harm in