Chapter 8: The Ladle

The farmhouse was the last one on the road with its shutters open.

Its kitchen was the only room in it big enough to feed thirty-two soldiers.

The loaf for the deaf Bellkeeper rode in the top of Naho's bag, wrapped in its cloth.

She had checked it twice that day for crumbs.

She was not carrying the Chosen's pack anymore.

Gerta had taken it after the first hill and had never handed it back, and nobody in the column had noticed.

That was the odd part of being a Spare, Naho had decided.

Nobody had written her on the roll, so nobody could cross her off.

The farmwife set a pot the size of a washtub on the table and told everyone to wash first.

She had three children under ten and a husband gone to the Weir for the harvest.

She also had a grey cat that had been sent out of the kitchen twice already.

She also had a ladle on a hook by the door, a long pear-wood one with a bowl worn thin from use.

The youngest boy asked Naho if she was a hero.

"I carry things," said Naho.

"Mam says that's the real hero stuff," said the boy, and went back to his bread.

Naho found she could not say anything for a moment.

The goose Brant had been given in Pellmarsh was still with the column.

It had bitten four soldiers on the road, and tonight it sat by the hearth, watching the door.

The hound did not knock.

It came through the shutter and across the table in one flat grey stretch, scattering bowls, and landed in front of the hearth.

The goose honked once and went for it.

Its beak closed on a grey leg.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Summoned to Carry His Bags, She Found Thank-Yous Beat His Sword from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.