“Got my word on that,” said Makepeace Smith. “And you don't have to write it down. A man who keeps his word doesn't have to read and write. But a man who has to write down his promises, you got to watch him all morning. I know that for a fact. We got lawyers in Hatrack these days.”

“The curse of civilized man,” said Taleswapper. “When a man can't get folks to believe his lies anymore, then he hires him a professional to lie in his place.”

They laughed together over that one, setting there on two stout stumps just inside the door of the forge, the fire smoldering in its brick chimney place behind them, the sun shining on half-melted snow outside. A redbird flew across the grassy, trampled, dunged-up ground in front of the forge. It dazzled Taleswappees eyes for a moment, it was such a startlement against the whites and greys and browns of late winter.

In that moment of amazement at the redbird's flight, Taleswapper knew for certain, though he couldn't say why, that it would be a while yet before the Unmaker let young Alvin come to this place. And when he came he'd be like a redbird out of season, to dazzle folks all hereabouts, them thinking he was just as natural as a bird flying, not knowing what a miracle it was every minute that the bird stayed in the air.

Taleswapper shook himself, and the moment's clear vision passed. “Then it's done, and I'll write to them to send the boy.”

“I'll look for him the first of April. No later!”

“Unless you expect the boy to control the weather, you'd best be flexible about the date.”

The smith grumbled and waved him away. All in all, a successful meeting. Taleswapper left feeling good– he had discharged his duty. It'd be easy to send a letter with a westbound wagon– several groups passed through the town of Hatrack every week.

Though it had been a long time since he passed through this place, he still knew the way from the forge to the inn. It was a well-traveled road, and not a long one. The inn was much larger now than it had been, and there were several shops a bit farther up the road. An outfitter, a saddler, a cobbler. The kind of service traveling folk could use.

He hardly set foot on the porch when the door opened and Old Peg Guester came out, her arms spread wide to embrace him. “Ah, Taleswapper, you've been away too long, come in, come in!”

“It's good to see you again, Peg,” he said.

Horace Guester growled at him from behind the bar in the common room, where he was serving several thirsty visitors. “What I don't need here is another teetotaling man!”

“Good news, then, Horace,” Taleswapper answered cheerfully. “I gave up tea as well.”

“What, do you drink water?”

“Water and the blood of greasy old men,” said Taleswapper.

Horace gestured to his wife. “You keep that man away from me, Old Peg, you hear?”

Old Peg helped him strip off a few layers of clothing. “Look at you,” said Old Peg, sizing him up. “There ain't enough meat on you to make a stew.”

“The bears and panthers pass me by in the night, looking for richer fare,” said Taleswapper.

“Come in and tell me stories while I fix up a mess of supper for the company.”

There was talk and chatter, especially once Oldpappy came in to help. He was getting feeble now, but he still had a hand in the kitchen, which was all to the benefit of those who ate here; Old Peg meant well and worked hard, but some folks had the knack and some folks didn't. But it wasn't food that Taleswapper came for, nor conversation either, and after a while he realized he'd have to bring it up himself “Where's your daughter?”

To his surprise, Old Peg stiffened, and her voice went cold and hard. “She ain't so little no more. She's got a mind of her own, she's the first to tell you.”

And you don't much like it, thought Taleswapper. But his business with the daughter was more important than any family squabbles. “Is she still a–”

“A torch? Oh, yes, she does her duty, but it's no pleasure for folks to come for her. Snippy and cold, that's what she is. It's got her a name for being sharp-tongued.” For a moment Old Peg's face softened. “She used to be such a soft-hearted child.”

“I've never seen a soft heart turn hard,” said Taleswapper. “At least not without good reason.”

“Well, whatever her reason, she's one whose heart has crusted up like a waterbucket on a winter's night.”

Taleswapper held his tongue and didn't sermonize, didn't talk about how if you chip the ice it'll freeze up again right away, but if you take it inside, it'll warm up fresh as you please. No use stepping in the middle of a family squabble. Taleswapper knew enough of the way people lived that he took this particular quarrel as a natural event, like cold winds and short days in autumn, like thunder after lightning. Most parents didn't have much use for a halfgrown child.

“I have a matter to discuss with her,” said Taleswapper. “I'll take the risk of having my head bitten off.”

He found her in Dr. Whitley Physicker's office, working on his accounts. “I didn't know you were a bookkeeper,” he said.

“I didn't know you held much with physicking,” she answered. “Or did you just come to see the miracle of a girl who does sums and ciphers?”

Oh, yes, she was as sharp as could be. Taleswapper could see how a wit like that might discommode a few folks who expected a young woman to cast down her eyes and speak softly, glancing upward only now and then under heavy-lidded eyes. There was none of that young ladyness about Peggy. She looked Taleswapper in the face, plain as could be.

“I didn't come to be healed,” said Taleswapper. “Or to have my future told. Or even to have my accounts added up.”

And there it was. The moment a man answered her right back instead of getting his dander up, why, she flashed a smile fit to charm the warts off a toad. “I don't recollect you having much to add or subtract anyhow,” she said. “Naught plus naught is naught, I think.”

“You've got it wrong, Peggy,” said Taleswapper. “I own this whole world, and folks haven't been keeping up too well on the payments.”

She smiled again, and set aside the doctor's account book. “I keep his records for him, once a month, and he brings me things to read from Dekane.” She talked about the things she read, and Taleswapper began to see that her heart yearned for places far beyond Hatrack River. He also saw other things– that she, being a torch, knew the folks around here too well, and thought that in faraway places she'd find people with jewel-like souls that would never disappoint a girl who could see clean into their heart.

She's young, that's all. Give her time, and she'll learn to love such goodness as she finds, and forgive the rest.

After a while the doctor came in, and they chatted a bit, and it was well into the afternoon by the time Taleswapper was alone with Peggy again and could ask her what he came to ask.

“How far off can you see, Peggy?”

He could almost see wariness fall across her face like a thick velvet curtain. “I don't reckon you're asking me whether I need spectacles,” she said.

“I just wonder about a girl who once wrote in my book, A Maker is born. I wonder if she still keeps an eye on that Maker, now and then, so she can see how he fares.”

She looked away from him, gazing at the high window above where the curtain gave privacy. The sun was low and the sky outside was grey, but her face was full of light, Taleswapper saw that right enough. Sometimes you didn't have to be a torch to know full well what was in a person's heart.

“I wonder if that torch saw a ridgebeam failing on him one time,” said Taleswapper.

“I wonder,” she said.

“Or a millstone.”

“Could be.”

“And I wonder if somehow she didn't have some way to split that ridgebeam clean in twain, and crack that millstone so a certain old taleswapper could see lantern light right through the middle of that stone.”