They knocked and found Samuel did indeed have time to spare, and more, was delighted to meet the village’s new storyteller. “The younglings were full to bursting with your stories of the last couple of days. And my Tilly, o’course, she’s been parading about the place with her new town braids like the fanciest little hen in the coop.”

Tilly, already flushed from stirring the stew pot over the fire, went fire-red at this. Eleanor said. “They suit her. Most of the town girls would be eaten up with envy over how long and thick and pretty her hair is.”

Now a smile accompanied the red cheeks and Tilly flashed Eleanor a grateful smile as she returned to the main table and her chopping board.

Cadan nudged her, and Eleanor remembered why they were here. She described her two encounters with the weasel and asked. “Is it looking for a problem from the cockatrice, or is it just curious about a newcomer?”

Samuel scratched his head. “Can’t say as I know. It ain’t usual behaviour but they are curious little beasties. My best guess is you’ve roused the interest of one of the younger ones and she’s investigating.”

He stood. “How’s about you come and meet them properly? I’m past due getting them out for the evening I’m afraid, but teaching the young’uns leaves me needing a little rest afore I get on with other duties.”

He limped to the door, then led them to the little hut tucked against the side of the cottage.

He opened the door and clicked his tongue. “Come now lads and lassies, time to be out and about. You have a visitor.”

Five narrow, pointed faces poked out of the door, then flowed out and around Samuel’s feet. He dug into his pockets for small bites of dried meat and flicked one to each of the animals surrounding him.

Eleanor frowned, trying to make out the one who’d greeted her the past two evenings. Something pulled at the hem of her dress. She looked down to see one of the creatures attempting to climb her skirt.

Samuel started to chuckle. “Ahh, you’ve caught the eye of our little boss lassie. We call her Duchess, although I’d rather it’s not mentioned at the castle. She’s trying to work out where you fit in the village, who your family is.”

Cadan moved closer and Duchess scurried around his ankles before returning to Eleanor, circling her twice, then trilling something disapproving at Cadan and streaking off into the forest, followed by the other weasels.

Samuel laughed as Cadan looked after them with a wounded expression. “Never you fret, lad. She’s always a little snippy with newcomers, needs to know how and where everyone fits. She’ll have the two of you slotted into place soon enough.”

Sarah appeared at the door of the cottage across the clearing and called out. “If you two are done visiting, Cadan needs to bathe before I let him anywhere near the dinner table.”

They started across the clearing, Eleanor said. “I thought you’d been here for years.”

Cadan replied. “A bit over a year and a half. I guess weasels take their time on these things.”

One day followed the next and became predictable, though still difficult. She spent the evenings sewing the apron for Sarah, complete with the yellow ribbon covering the front of the bandage waistband and ties, and yellow flowers embroidered down the sides. She only knew fancy sewing.

A week after her conversation with Samuel, Sarah said over lunch. “I’ve told Maggie she’s had long enough with you as an introduction to the weaver’s craft. I’d like some time to show you what my afternoons are about.”

Eleanor tried to pretend she wasn’t relieved. Her carding was superior to Martha’s, but her spinning continued to come out as a lumpy, uncertain mess and the village girl sniggered every time Maggie clicked her tongue or shook her head.

She absently worried at the blisters on her hands as Sarah led the way up the narrow, twisting stairs on the other side of the fireplace to Eleanor’s bedroom door.

The bedroom was much the same as the one downstairs, two windows to her and Cadan’s one and the bedhead set against the chimney instead of a wall. They wound through the room and Sarah opened the door through to the rest of the upper section of the cottage.

Eleanor followed her through, then stopped, so she could stare properly. “This looks like an apothecary’s workroom.”

The room seemed larger than the one below it, perhaps because of the row of windows along the back wall, letting in far more light that was available in the living area. That wall had a waist-high countertop running its full length, with cupboards and shelves beneath. The far end held a high set of shelves, full of jars and pots and baskets of interesting things. Three tables sat along the front wall, each with a collection of bowls and pestles and marked jugs for measuring. In the middle was a large table, mostly clear for the moment, other than a huge, leather-bound book, and next to where Eleanor stood, a smaller fireplace than the one below jutted out from the chimney space behind it.

Sarah looked over her shoulder. “I suppose it is. This is where I make up most of my cures, store my more fragile ingredients and experiment with new ideas. Simple concoctions like the tummy tonic and burn paste can be done downstairs over the larger fire but here’s where I can concentrate and put together the things that need a few more steps and a little more skill.”

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