Chapter Ten

Summer arrived accompanied by thick, damp morning mists and hot, heavy stinks that only the strongest breezes could sweep away. It was cooler up on the Hill than down by the harbor, but not by much. The fires that warmed Sir's bedroom had dwindled until the hearth stood cool most evenings. At the same time, calls for Wishbone to attend Sir in that room also dwindled. Wishbone was both relieved and sorry that Sir did not ask him to play the pain game again.

He did not think that Sir neglected him in favor of Terefar. From the quantity of paper and swan feathers that vanished into his bedroom, the writing desk got most of his attention.

Still, going to sleep alone pained Wishbone. He dreaded bedtime, for his body's demands hounded him in the dark and made him feel like a boy whose parents beat him for staining the sheets. He wished that he could either obey and be satisfied, or disobey and be punished. He didn't seem able to manage either.

Three days had passed since Sir had invited Wishbone up to his room. Thus, Wishbone was deeply relieved when Terefar passed on the word that Sir had asked for him, and puzzled when he arrived upstairs to find Terefar waiting, too.

A candle brightened Sir's writing desk where he bent over a piece of paper. Wishbone glanced out of the open window at the nearly vanished light, then over at Terefar, who waited, utterly still,...